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Parts, chapters, front and back matter — your whole book in one binder. Drag a chapter between parts. Rearrange scenes with a flick. Your structure bends to your story, not the other way around.
No compile step. No second tool. When you're ready to format, you're already there.
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Import a DOCX from Word, Scrivener, or Google Docs. Your chapters, headings, and italics come with it — pick up exactly where you left off.
Your manuscript is already here.
No exporting to another app. No importing and fixing broken formatting. You were just writing — now click a style and watch your chapters become a typeset book. Drop caps, running heads, scene breaks, page numbers. See every detail on a live page before you export a single file.
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Choose your trim size. Cambric does the rest.
Margins, page numbers, running heads, widow control, spread balancing — everything sets itself up. A professional result, every time you generate.
Print-ready PDFs built to KDP and IngramSpark specs.
“You’re going to have to open it eventually,” said Marcus from the doorway. He was already dressed for work, keys in hand, the way he always was by seven.
Eleanor didn’t look up. The postmark read Ashworth, and that alone was enough to make her hands unsteady. Eleven years of silence, and now this — heavy cream paper on her kitchen table, waiting with the patience of something that had already decided how it would end.
“It’s not going anywhere,” she said.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
The door clicked shut behind him. She listened to the car start, the crunch of gravel, the silence that settled back over the house like dust over a room nobody enters.
She poured her coffee and sat across from it, the way she always did. Not touching it. Not opening it. Just sitting with the fact of it, the way you sit with news you already know but haven’t yet confirmed.
It was from her sister. It had to be. Nobody else wrote like that — the sharp downstrokes, the loops that never quite closed, as if every letter was trying to leave before it was finished.
The envelope had been sitting on the kitchen table for three days. Eleanor noticed it every morning when she came downstairs — the heavy cream paper, the handwriting she hadn’t seen in eleven years.
She poured her coffee and sat across from it. The postmark read Ashworth. She could picture the post office — the brass slots, the woman behind the counter who always smelled of lavender and disapproval.
Marcus had noticed it on Monday. “What’s that?” he’d asked, and she’d said “Nothing,” which was true in every way that mattered and false in every way that didn’t.
By Wednesday she had memorized the handwriting through the envelope. She knew it was two pages, maybe three. She knew her sister had pressed hard enough to leave an impression on the back, the way she always did when she was writing something she meant.
The envelope had been sitting on the kitchen table for three days. Eleanor noticed it every morning when she came downstairs — the heavy cream paper, the handwriting she hadn’t seen in eleven years.
She poured her coffee and sat across from it, the way she always did. Not touching it. Not opening it. Just sitting with the fact of it, the way you sit with news you already know but haven’t yet confirmed.
The postmark read Ashworth, and that alone was enough to make her hands unsteady. She could picture the post office — the brass slots, the woman behind the counter who always smelled of lavender and disapproval.
“You’re going to have to open it eventually,” said Marcus from the doorway. He was already dressed for work, keys in hand, the way he always was by seven.
“It’s not going anywhere,” she said.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
The door clicked shut behind him. She listened to the car start, the crunch of gravel, the silence that settled back over the house like dust over a room nobody enters.
The envelope had been sitting on the kitchen table for three days. Eleanor noticed it every morning when she came downstairs.
She poured her coffee and sat across from it, the way she always did. The postmark read Ashworth.
“You’re going to have to open it eventually,” said Marcus from the doorway.
Same project. Every reader's device.
Generate a validated EPUB from the same project you use for print. Kindle, Kobo, Apple Books, Google Play — each store gets a file built to its specs. One manuscript, every reader.
Reflowable text, image optimization, chapter navigation — all handled.
Everything you need to upload.
Description, keywords, categories, and export files all live in one project. Fix a typo or update your backmatter — re-export in seconds. Every edition stays in sync.
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Description, keywords, categories, pricing, ISBN — all saved with your project. Never re-enter metadata again.
Checked before you upload
Bleed, spine width, EPUB structure, embedded fonts — checked against each platform's specs before you generate.
Update anytime
New cover? Fixed a typo? Updated your backmatter? Return to your project, re-export, and have new files in seconds.
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A style for every book you write.
Any genre. Any length. Any series.
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Your manuscript lives on your machine. Internet goes down? Your project doesn't.
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Switching from Vellum, Atticus, or Scrivener? See how Cambric compares →
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