scriveno 2.0.5

package/data/demo/.manuscript/drafts/body/2-the-workshop-DRAFT.md

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+# Scene 2: The Workshop
+
+The stairs to the workshop were narrow and unlit. Elias descended them by feel, his left hand trailing the wall, his right holding the letter. Seventeen steps. He had counted them once, decades ago, when he first took over the shop from old Haraldsen, and the number had stayed in his body the way all precise things stayed -- not as knowledge, but as rhythm.
+
+At the bottom, he reached for the light switch. The fluorescent tube buzzed, flickered, then committed to a thin, clinical brightness that made the room look exactly as abandoned as it was.
+
+The workshop. Twenty-two feet by fourteen. A workbench running the length of the far wall, its surface scarred by decades of careful violence -- the controlled application of heat, pressure, and steel to the insides of things. Above the bench, a pegboard held tools in silhouette: tweezers ranked by gauge, screwdrivers with handles worn to the shape of his grip, a loupe on a chain, a spring bar tool he had bought in 1987 and never needed to replace. Everything in its place. Everything waiting.
+
+And the clocks.
+
+They were everywhere. On shelves, on the bench, on a low table by the door where customers had once waited. Bracket clocks and mantel clocks. A cuckoo clock with its pendulum hanging like a stopped heartbeat. A grandmother clock in the corner, its case dark with age, its face staring blankly at the room. Two carriage clocks on the bench, one missing its glass, the other wound tight and frozen at 3:47 -- the last time it had been asked to work.
+
+None of them were ticking.
+
+The silence in the workshop was not like the silence upstairs, which was simply the absence of company. This was a different silence -- thicker, more deliberate. The silence of a hundred mechanisms holding their breath. Elias had always thought of clocks as alive, in their way. Not sentient, not feeling, but animate -- things with a pulse, a rhythm, a relationship to time that was more intimate than his own. A clock did not experience time. A clock *was* time, parceled into increments and released at a steady rate, each tick a small letting-go.
+
+These clocks had stopped letting go. And so had he.
+
+He sat down at the workbench. The stool creaked under him, an old complaint he had never fixed because fixing it would have required acknowledging that it, too, was aging. He placed the letter on the bench, next to the carriage clock with the cracked ivory face.
+
+The carriage clock. He had been working on it when Maren got sick. French, 1890s, a beautiful piece with an English lever escapement that had thrown a pivot. He had ordered the replacement part, set it aside, turned to the business of hospitals and medications and the slow, incomprehensible diminishment of a woman who had been the strongest person he knew. After the funeral, after the silence that followed, he had come down here once, looked at the clock, and gone back upstairs. The part was still in its envelope, taped to the inside of the clock's case.
+
+Three years. The clock had waited three years.
+
+Elias unfolded the letter again and read it, all of it this time, not just the first lines that had stopped his hands.
+
+*My mother is Lena Krol, who lived in this town briefly in the spring and summer of 1992. I believe you are my father.*
+
+*I don't know if you knew about me. My mother says she didn't tell you. She had her reasons, and I have spent a long time deciding not to hold them against her.*
+
+*I am a journalist. I live in Brindal. I am not writing this as a journalist -- I am writing it as someone who has wondered about you for a very long time.*
+
+*I would like to meet you. If you are willing. If not, I will understand. You can write to me at the address below, or not. Either way, I am glad to know where you are.*
+
+He set the letter down.
+
+Lena. 1992. He could place it now -- not the year, which was abstract, but the season. Spring into summer. The smell of paint because Mrs. Olsen across the street was having her shutters done. Lena coming in from the rain, her hair damp, asking if he could repair a travel clock her grandmother had given her. The clock was beyond repair, but he hadn't said so immediately, because she was standing in his shop and the shop was brighter for it.
+
+They had three months. He had not loved her -- or he had, but in the quiet, undramatic way he loved most things: steadily, without declaration, and with the assumption that it would continue. When she left, he felt the loss the way you feel a clock stopping -- a change in the room's texture, a silence where there had been sound.
+
+He had not followed her. He had not written. He had done what he always did: stayed, waited, let time pass over him like weather.
+
+And now this.
+
+The fluorescent light hummed above him. The clocks stood still in their various attitudes of arrested motion. On the workbench, the letter and the carriage clock sat side by side -- two broken things waiting to be fixed, or at least to be held by someone who understood what was wrong with them.
+
+Elias placed his hand on the carriage clock's case. The brass was cold. Inside, the mechanism was complete except for the pivot. One small part, and the clock would run again. One letter, and his life had a daughter in it.
+
+He sat there for a long time, in the workshop, among the stopped clocks, with his hand on the brass and the letter beside it. The fluorescent tube buzzed its one thin note. Upstairs, the kitchen clock ticked into an empty room.
+
+Down here, nothing moved at all.

package/data/demo/.manuscript/drafts/body/3-the-pier-DRAFT.md

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+# Scene 3: The Pier
+
+By Thursday the letter had been on the workbench for two days and Elias had not replied. He had, instead, done everything else. Swept the upstairs hallway. Reorganized the kitchen drawer where he kept string and batteries and a flashlight that no longer worked. Made soup from the last of the potatoes, eaten it standing at the counter, washed the pot. The kind of work that fills hours without filling anything.
+
+On Thursday morning he put on his coat and went outside.
+
+The town was small enough that walking through it was a kind of conversation. He passed the bakery where Greta Holst had worked for thirty years and her daughter worked now. He passed the hardware store, which had a new sign and the same inventory. He passed the church with its clock tower -- the clock still running, still accurate, because he had serviced it every spring until the spring he stopped servicing anything.
+
+"Morning, Elias." This from Dag, the postman, who was coming up the hill with his satchel. Dag had delivered the letter. He did not know what was in it. He only knew that Elias was outside, which was unusual enough to warrant comment.
+
+"Morning."
+
+"Rain coming."
+
+"Always is."
+
+The exchange was complete. Both men were satisfied. Elias continued downhill toward the harbor, where the fishing boats shifted at their moorings and the air tasted of salt and diesel and the particular coldness of deep water brought close to shore.
+
+The pier extended two hundred meters into the grey chop. It was wooden, old, repaired in sections so that you could read its history in the varying colors of its planks -- pale where new boards had been laid, dark and smooth where decades of salt and footsteps had compressed the grain. Elias walked to the end of it.
+
+From here the town was small. The rooftops, the church tower, the dark square that was his shop window. His apartment above it, where a light he had forgotten to turn off burned in the kitchen. The whole of his life, visible from a single point, contained in a handful of buildings and the spaces between them.
+
+The water was the color of pewter. The tide was going out, pulling the harbor's surface toward the horizon in slow, muscular movements that had nothing to do with intention and everything to do with force. The moon pulled, and the water followed. It did not choose. It did not deliberate. It simply went where it was drawn.
+
+He watched it for a while.
+
+A cormorant sat on one of the pier's pilings, wings half-spread, drying itself with the patience of something that has only one task. Elias envied it. The simplicity. Dive, eat, dry, repeat. No letters arriving to rearrange the architecture of a life.
+
+But the architecture had been rearranged. He could feel it -- a shift in the load-bearing walls of his days, a new weight in a structure designed for one. The letter was a fact now, like the tide, like the cormorant. Petra Krol existed. She was thirty-four. She had his -- what? His hands? His silence? His tendency to stay when leaving would have been braver?
+
+She existed, and she wanted to meet him.
+
+The wind picked up. It came from the northwest, carrying the smell of open water -- salt and distance and the faint mineral tang of storms building somewhere beyond the curve of the earth. His coat flapped. His eyes watered. He stood at the end of the pier and let the wind press against him because it was easier than deciding.
+
+But the decision had already been made. He understood this the way he understood a clock's intention before opening the case -- something in the mechanism had shifted, and the rest was just the working-out. He would write back. Not because he was brave, or ready, or had anything adequate to say. But because the letter had arrived, and not answering was its own answer, and he had spent enough of his life choosing silence.
+
+The tide turned. He felt it before he saw it -- a pause in the water's retreat, a moment of perfect stillness, and then the slow reversal. The harbor filling again. Water moving shoreward with the same unhurried certainty with which it had left.
+
+Elias turned from the railing and walked back along the pier. His footsteps sounded on the old wood, steady and even. Behind him the cormorant folded its wings and dove, a clean dark shape entering the water without hesitation.
+
+He would write back today. He would sit at the kitchen table and find the words, or some of them, or enough. And then he would wait, which was the thing he had always been best at, only this time the waiting would have a direction.
+
+The rain started as he reached the harbor road. By the time he climbed the hill to his shop, it was steady and grey and thorough, the kind of rain that does not dramatize itself but simply arrives and stays.
+
+He went inside. He sat down. He picked up a pen.

package/data/demo/.manuscript/drafts/body/4-the-clock-DRAFT.md

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+# Scene 4: The Clock
+
+The workshop door opened for the first time in three years on a Friday morning, and the sound it made was not dramatic. No creak, no groan. Just the soft click of a latch releasing, the door swinging inward on hinges he had oiled in another life, and then light -- real light, not the fluorescent tube but the grey coastal morning pouring down the stairwell and reaching into the room like a hand.
+
+Elias stood in the doorway. He had come down the seventeen steps with purpose this time, not the stunned gravity of two days ago. He had written the letter. Four drafts, each shorter than the last, until what remained was simple enough to be honest.
+
+*Dear Petra. Thank you for writing. I did not know. I would like to meet you. Elias.*
+
+He had posted it yesterday. The act of dropping it into the postbox at the corner -- the small, decisive sound of the slot closing -- had felt like the winding of a mainspring. Something engaged. Something began to turn.
+
+Now he was in the workshop, and the workshop was waiting.
+
+He crossed to the bench and pulled the chain on the work lamp. The bulb cast a warm circle on the scarred wood, illuminating the carriage clock where he had left it -- beside the letter, beside the tools, beside the three-year pause.
+
+He picked up the clock.
+
+It was a beautiful thing. French, as he had told no one, because there was no one to tell. The case was brass, tarnished to a deep honey along the edges where handling had worn through the lacquer. The glass panels were original -- four of them, slightly wavy, giving the mechanism inside a liquid, swimming quality when you tilted it toward the light. The ivory face had a hairline crack running from the six to the center post, fine as a spider's thread. The hands were blued steel, delicate as insect wings.
+
+The problem was the platform escapement. The upper pivot of the balance staff had snapped -- metal fatigue, the kind of failure that happens when something has been running for more than a century. The replacement part was still taped to the inside of the case, in its wax-paper envelope, where he had put it the week Maren went into the hospital.
+
+He opened the envelope. The pivot was there, bright and untouched, a cylinder of tempered steel no larger than a grain of rice. He held it in his tweezers and turned it under the loupe. Perfect. Three years in an envelope and it was still perfect, waiting with the patience of all small, well-made things.
+
+He began to work.
+
+The process was not fast. Watchmaking never is. He removed the movement from the case, backing out the four tiny screws that held it in place, and set the case aside. The movement lay on the bench like an exposed heart -- wheels and springs and bridges arranged in a logic that looked like chaos to anyone who didn't speak the language. Elias spoke it fluently.
+
+He removed the damaged balance staff with a staking tool, pressing out the broken pivot with a punch so fine it was almost invisible. The old pivot came free with a faint click. He cleaned the jewel settings with pith, checking each bearing surface under magnification for wear. The rubies were good. He blew the dust from the hairspring with a puffer and watched it settle back to its resting coil -- still true, still concentrically wound, still capable of regulating time.
+
+The new pivot went in cleanly. He pressed it home with the staking anvil, feeling through his fingertips the precise moment when the steel seated fully in the staff. Then the balance wheel back to its cock, the cock back to the movement, the movement back to the case. Each step a reversal of disassembly, each connection restoring a relationship that had been interrupted.
+
+He oiled the train. Four jewels, each receiving a single droplet from the oiler's tip -- no more, no less. Too much oil was worse than too little. It spread, attracted dust, turned gears into adhesive surfaces. He had explained this to Maren once, early in their marriage, and she had laughed and said it sounded like a philosophy of love. He had not understood what she meant then. He thought he might understand it now.
+
+The last step was the mainspring. He wound it with the key -- a small brass key that came with the clock -- turning it slowly, counting the half-turns. Twelve and a half. He stopped and held the clock level.
+
+For a moment, nothing. The workshop was silent. The fluorescent light hummed. Outside, a gull cried once, far away.
+
+Then the balance wheel moved.
+
+It swung to the right, paused at the limit of its arc, and swung back. Right, left, right, left -- finding its rhythm, each oscillation more confident than the last, the hairspring expanding and contracting with the precise, breathing motion of something coming alive.
+
+Tick.
+
+The sound was small and clean. Not a kitchen-clock tick, not the heavy, public announcement of a wall clock. This was a private sound, the intimate click of an escapement releasing one tooth at a time, letting the gear train advance by a single increment, five times per second.
+
+Tick. Tick. Tick.
+
+Elias set the clock on the bench. He watched the balance wheel through the glass panel, its oscillation steady now, metronomic, the blued-steel hands beginning their slow rotation around the cracked ivory face.
+
+The clock was running. For the first time in three years, something in this workshop was keeping time.
+
+He had started it for Maren. He would give it to Petra.
+
+The thought arrived without ceremony, without the anguish he had expected. It was simply there -- clear and certain, like the tick of an escapement tooth finding its pallet. He could not give Petra a childhood or an explanation or thirty-four years of presence. He could give her this: a clock he had fixed with his hands, a mechanism restored to its purpose, a small and ticking proof that broken things could run again.
+
+He set the brass key beside the clock. He would polish the case tomorrow. He would clean the ivory face, set the hands to the correct time, and find a box -- something simple, lined with felt. And then he would wait.
+
+The workshop hummed with the new sound. One clock, ticking. It was not much. But it was enough to change the quality of the silence from absence to presence, from nothing to something, from stopped to starting.
+
+Elias sat at his bench, among his tools, in the light of the work lamp, and listened to the clock he had made run again.

package/data/demo/.manuscript/plans/5-the-reunion-PLAN.md

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+# Scene 5 Plan: The Reunion
+
+## Scene goal
+
+Petra arrives at Elias's apartment above the shop. They meet for the first time. He gives her the clock. The story closes on fragile, uncertain hope -- not resolution, but a beginning.
+
+## Setting
+
+Elias's apartment above the closed shop. Sunday afternoon. Pale light through salt-filmed windows. The apartment is clean but sparse -- a widower's space, functional rather than lived-in. The carriage clock sits on the kitchen table, polished, ticking, in a felt-lined box.
+
+## Emotional arc
+
+1. **Anxiety** -- Elias waits. He has cleaned the apartment, made tea, moved the clock from table to shelf to table again. He does not know where to put his hands.
+2. **Shock of first sight** -- The doorbell rings. He opens the door. She is there. She has his hands -- long fingers, precise grip. Neither of them knows this yet, but the reader should.
+3. **Awkwardness** -- Two strangers in a room. She is more composed than he expected. He is quieter than she expected. Conversation starts and stalls. She asks about the shop. He gives short answers.
+4. **The gift** -- He brings out the clock. Explains it briefly (not a speech -- a few sentences about the escapement, the age, the repair). She asks "Does it work?" He says "Listen." The room fills with the tick.
+5. **Fragile hope** -- They sit together. The clock ticks between them. Silence, but not the old silence -- a new one, shared. She sets the photographs she brought on the table. He looks at them. The story ends.
+
+## Key beats
+
+- Doorbell rings -- Elias's hands steady (contrast with Scene 1 trembling)
+- First look -- physical recognition (her hands, his jaw, something genetic and undeniable)
+- She brought photographs of herself growing up -- the childhood he missed, offered without accusation
+- The clock changes hands -- literally, from his to hers. The central metaphor completed.
+- Final image: two people at a kitchen table, a ticking clock between them, photographs spread like a second letter
+
+## Voice notes
+
+- Pace quickens here. Shorter paragraphs. More white space.
+- First extended dialogue in the story. Keep it spare -- both characters talk around the important things.
+- Elias's speech pattern: fragments, restarts, trailing em dashes. He is trying.
+- Petra's speech pattern: controlled, then cracking. She is also trying.
+- The clock's ticking should be audible to the reader throughout. It is the scene's heartbeat.
+- End on image, not statement. No summarizing. No moral. Just two people and a ticking clock.
+
+## POV and tone
+
+Close third (Elias), past tense. Intimate distance. The narrator stays inside Elias but does not explain what he feels -- shows it through his hands, his breathing, what he notices about Petra.
+
+## Estimated length
+
+~1,100 words. The longest scene, but much of it is white space and dialogue.
+
+## Dependencies
+
+- Must honor the carriage clock details from Scene 4 (French, 1890s, cracked ivory face, blued-steel hands)
+- Must reference the letter from Scene 1
+- Petra's character voice from CHARACTERS.md
+- Elias's established speech patterns from previous scenes
+
+---
+*This is a planning document. Draft with /scr:draft-scene 5.*

package/data/demo/.manuscript/reviews/2-the-workshop-REVIEW.md

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+# Editor Review: Scene 2 -- The Workshop
+
+**Reviewer:** Editor
+**Date:** 2026-04-04
+**Draft reviewed:** First draft
+**Overall assessment:** Strong foundation. The workshop-as-emotional-state metaphor works well and earns its weight. Main revision target: tighten the middle section where the pacing sags during the letter re-reading.
+
+---
+
+## Line-level notes
+
+### Note 1 -- Paragraph 3 (clock descriptions)
+**Location:** "A cuckoo clock with its pendulum hanging like a stopped heartbeat."
+**Type:** Style
+**Note:** The "stopped heartbeat" simile is effective but slightly expected. Given that the style guide calls for grounded/sensory metaphors from the story's object world, consider a watchmaker-specific image instead. What does a hanging pendulum actually look like to someone who has spent fifty years with these mechanisms? A plumb line? A weighted finger? Find the image Elias would use, not the one a writer would reach for.
+
+### Note 2 -- Memory section (Lena passage)
+**Location:** "He had not loved her -- or he had, but in the quiet, undramatic way he loved most things"
+**Type:** Voice
+**Note:** This is the one moment where the narrator edges toward telling rather than showing. The self-correction ("or he had") is good -- it keeps the uncertainty alive. But "quiet, undramatic" is the narrator explaining what the prose should demonstrate. Consider cutting "quiet, undramatic" and letting the next line ("steadily, without declaration") do the work alone. Trust the reader.
+
+### Note 3 -- Final paragraph
+**Location:** "Down here, nothing moved at all."
+**Type:** Positive
+**Note:** Perfect closing line. Do not touch this. The contrast between the kitchen clock ticking upstairs and the absolute stillness of the workshop is the scene's best structural move. The single-sentence paragraph gives it exactly the right weight.
+
+### Note 4 -- Workshop dimensions
+**Location:** "Twenty-two feet by fourteen."
+**Type:** Detail
+**Note:** The precision is very Elias -- good. But confirm these dimensions are consistent if the workshop appears again in Scene 4. The reader may not notice, but continuity matters. Consider whether you want to repeat the dimensions in Scene 4 (grounding) or deliberately omit them (because by Scene 4, Elias is no longer measuring his space -- he is using it).
+
+---
+
+## Structural notes
+
+### Transition from letter to memory
+**Issue:** The jump from Elias reading the letter to the memory of Lena in 1992 happens without a sensory bridge. One paragraph he's reading words on paper, the next he's remembering the smell of paint. The gap is too clean -- it reads as a narrative device rather than an organic drift of thought.
+**Suggestion:** Add a sensory trigger. What in the workshop connects to Lena? A smell, a sound, a specific clock she might have touched? Let something in the physical present pull him into the past. The travel clock she brought in for repair could be on the shelf -- Elias's eye catches it, and the memory flows from there.
+
+---
+
+## Summary
+
+| Category | Count | Priority |
+|----------|-------|----------|
+| Style | 1 | Medium |
+| Voice | 1 | Medium |
+| Positive | 1 | -- |
+| Detail | 1 | Low |
+| Structural | 1 | High |
+
+**Recommended revision order:**
+1. Structural note (memory transition) -- this is the biggest lift and will improve the scene's flow
+2. Note 2 (telling vs. showing) -- small cut, high impact on voice consistency
+3. Note 1 (pendulum simile) -- find the right replacement image
+4. Note 4 (dimensions) -- just a consistency check for Scene 4
+
+**Overall grade:** B+. The emotional core is solid. The workshop metaphor is the story's strongest structural element. Revisions are about refinement, not reconstruction.
+
+---
+*Review generated by /scr:editor-review 2. Revision tracking in STATE.md.*

package/data/export-templates/scriveno-academic.latex

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package/data/export-templates/scriveno-acm.latex

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+% Scriveno ACM LaTeX Template for Pandoc --template flag
+% Requires acmart.cls (install: tlmgr install acmart)
+% Usage: pandoc ... --template=data/export-templates/scriveno-acm.latex
+%
+% Default class options: [acmconf,review=false] for ACM conference papers.
+% Pass via Pandoc: --metadata classoption=acmconf
+% Note: acmart loads hyperref internally -- do not add \usepackage{hyperref}
+
+\documentclass[$if(classoption)$$for(classoption)$$classoption$$sep$,$endfor$$endif$]{acmart}
+
+% Encoding -- safe with acmart when using pdflatex
+\usepackage[T1]{fontenc}
+\usepackage[utf8]{inputenc}
+
+% acmart.cls already loads amsmath, amssymb, and graphicx internally.
+% Do NOT add \usepackage{amsmath,amssymb} or \usepackage{graphicx} here.
+% Math support and graphics are available without additional declarations.
+
+% Pandoc required: code highlighting
+$if(highlighting-macros)$
+$highlighting-macros$
+$endif$
+
+% Pandoc required: tight lists
+\providecommand{\tightlist}{%
+  \setlength{\itemsep}{0pt}\setlength{\parskip}{0pt}}
+
+% Pandoc required: CSL references (citeproc compatibility)
+$if(csl-refs)$
+\newlength{\cslhangindent}
+\setlength{\cslhangindent}{1.5em}
+\newlength{\csllabelwidth}
+\setlength{\csllabelwidth}{3em}
+\newenvironment{CSLReferences}[2]%
+  {\setlength{\parindent}{0pt}%
+   \everypar{\setlength{\hangindent}{\cslhangindent}}\ignorespaces}%
+  {\par}
+\newcommand{\CSLBlock}[1]{\hfill\break#1\hfill\break}
+\newcommand{\CSLLeftMargin}[1]{\parbox[t]{\csllabelwidth}{\strut#1\strut}}
+\newcommand{\CSLRightInline}[1]{\parbox[t]{\dimexpr\linewidth-\csllabelwidth\relax}{\strut#1\strut}}
+\newcommand{\CSLIndent}[1]{\hspace{\cslhangindent}#1}
+$endif$
+
+% Document metadata
+\title{$if(title)$$title$$else$Untitled$endif$}
+\author{$if(author)$$for(author)$$if(it.name)$$it.name$$else$$it$$endif$$sep$ \and $endfor$$else$~$endif$}
+\date{$if(date)$$date$$else$\today$endif$}
+
+\begin{document}
+
+\maketitle
+
+$if(abstract)$
+\begin{abstract}
+\noindent $abstract$
+\end{abstract}
+$endif$
+
+$if(keywords)$
+\noindent\textbf{Keywords:} $keywords$
+$endif$
+
+$body$
+
+% Bibliography: use biblatex-acm or natbib per ACM template guidance
+
+\end{document}

package/data/export-templates/scriveno-apa7.latex

@@ -0,0 +1,83 @@
+% Scriveno APA7 LaTeX Template for Pandoc --template flag
+% Requires apa7.cls (install: tlmgr install apa7)
+% Usage: pandoc ... --template=data/export-templates/scriveno-apa7.latex
+%
+% Default class options: [jou,longtable] for journal format; [man] for manuscript format.
+% Pass via Pandoc: --metadata classoption=man
+% Note: apa7.cls requires biblatex -- load with \usepackage[style=apa]{biblatex} in your local preamble additions
+
+\documentclass[$if(classoption)$$for(classoption)$$classoption$$sep$,$endfor$$endif$]{apa7}
+
+% Encoding -- safe with apa7 when using pdflatex
+\usepackage[T1]{fontenc}
+\usepackage[utf8]{inputenc}
+
+% Math support
+\usepackage{amsmath,amssymb}
+
+% Graphics
+\usepackage{graphicx}
+\makeatletter
+\def\maxwidth{\ifdim\Gin@nat@width>\linewidth\linewidth\else\Gin@nat@width\fi}
+\def\maxheight{\ifdim\Gin@nat@height>\textheight\textheight\else\Gin@nat@height\fi}
+\makeatother
+\setkeys{Gin}{width=\maxwidth,height=\maxheight,keepaspectratio}
+
+% Pandoc required: code highlighting
+$if(highlighting-macros)$
+$highlighting-macros$
+$endif$
+
+% Pandoc: allow preamble additions via header-includes in metadata YAML
+$for(header-includes)$
+$header-includes$
+$endfor$
+
+% APA7 requires biblatex-apa. Uncomment if using bibliography:
+% \usepackage[style=apa,sortcites=true,sorting=nyt,backend=biber]{biblatex}
+% \addbibresource{references.bib}
+
+% Pandoc required: tight lists
+\providecommand{\tightlist}{%
+  \setlength{\itemsep}{0pt}\setlength{\parskip}{0pt}}
+
+% Pandoc required: CSL references (citeproc compatibility)
+$if(csl-refs)$
+\newlength{\cslhangindent}
+\setlength{\cslhangindent}{1.5em}
+\newlength{\csllabelwidth}
+\setlength{\csllabelwidth}{3em}
+\newenvironment{CSLReferences}[2]%
+  {\setlength{\parindent}{0pt}%
+   \everypar{\setlength{\hangindent}{\cslhangindent}}\ignorespaces}%
+  {\par}
+\newcommand{\CSLBlock}[1]{\hfill\break#1\hfill\break}
+\newcommand{\CSLLeftMargin}[1]{\parbox[t]{\csllabelwidth}{\strut#1\strut}}
+\newcommand{\CSLRightInline}[1]{\parbox[t]{\dimexpr\linewidth-\csllabelwidth\relax}{\strut#1\strut}}
+\newcommand{\CSLIndent}[1]{\hspace{\cslhangindent}#1}
+$endif$
+
+% Document metadata
+\title{$if(title)$$title$$else$Untitled$endif$}
+\author{$if(author)$$for(author)$$if(it.name)$$it.name$$else$$it$$endif$$sep$ \and $endfor$$else$~$endif$}
+\date{$if(date)$$date$$else$\today$endif$}
+
+\begin{document}
+
+\maketitle
+
+$if(abstract)$
+\begin{abstract}
+\noindent $abstract$
+\end{abstract}
+$endif$
+
+$if(keywords)$
+\noindent\textbf{Keywords:} $keywords$
+$endif$
+
+$body$
+
+% Bibliography: apa7 requires biblatex-apa; use \printbibliography manually after compiling
+
+\end{document}