Your backlog is finite
Your queue can hold 10 things to start. Bigger teams have more things to do, so you get another per user. Need more? You sure? Alright, then you can pay more.
Let's be honest, your backlog is where good intentions go to die. Everybody's best ideas, bug reports, and aspirational refactors, throwing themselves a little pity party until the project is archived so you can get some peace of mind.
Yarnt doesn't do that. It limits you to what you actually intend to accomplish, so your queue is true and you don't have to sift through years of sediment nobody has the nerve to delete.
No credit card yet. We'll take your money once you're sleeping better.
Your queue can hold 10 things to start. Bigger teams have more things to do, so you get another per user. Need more? You sure? Alright, then you can pay more.
You get two things on the go. Reach for a third and Yarnt folds its arms. You cannot multitask, nobody can, you just switch between things badly and call it a busy day. Finish one of the two you already opened.
Four is the most we will ever let anyone carry, full stop. There is no premium plan for chaos. You could back a truck of money up to the door and we would still say no, and we would film it.
The whole thing runs under your fingers. Press j and k to move, f to finish, x to drop. Your mouse can stay if it likes, though we both know it's mostly there for moral support.
Your board has three shelves and every one of them has a way out. What you're doing, what's next, the someday-maybes, and the done pile — all bounded, on purpose. A tracker that only ever adds is just a landfill with autosave.
Now and Next, one short list. The only shelf you actually work from: start a thing, finish it, move on. The backlog keeps its lid.
The someday pile, for ideas you're not committing to yet. Capped like the backlog — no infinite wishlist — and each dream is quietly forgotten a while after you jot it down. If it really mattered, you'd have promoted it by now.
Done work, kept around long enough to find it again, then let go. A trophy shelf, not a permanent record. You finished it; you don't need to frame it.
Hopes & Dreams and Finished both age out on a clock: 30 days on the free plan, up to 180 as you pay. Tickets dim for their last week, so nothing vanishes on you without a heads-up. A longer memory is what the upgrade buys — not more room to hoard.
Behave and you pay three dollars a seat, about a third of what the famous ones charge for the same job. Misbehave as far as we allow and you top out at eight, and even that plan is embarrassed. The price only climbs because you insisted on holding more than is good for you, and we are charging you for it on purpose, with a small smile.
| Plan | Price | In flight / person | Backlog | Kept |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Free solo | $0 | 1 | 10 + 2/user | 30 days |
| Basic | $2 | 1 | 10 + 2/user | 30 days |
| Tier 2 | $3 | 2 | 20 + 3/user | 60 days |
| Tier 3 | $5 | 3 | 30 + 4/user | 90 days |
| Tier 4 | $8 | 4 | 40 + 5/user | 180 days |
Per seat, per month, billed yearly. One person pays nothing, forever. Yes, really. Stop looking for the catch.