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When you build something, you have to pick some design goals and priorities. Ideally you do so explicitly, but even if you don't, you're still implicitly doing so based on your design choices. These choices are trade-offs. If you want to write a quiet song, it won't be loud. If you are writing a software tool and you want to prioritize speed over simplicity, then it won't be as simple as if you'd prioritized simplicity over speed. There are two main signs that you've succeeded at your goals. The first, and more pleasant, is that you get compliments about how your thing is like you wanted it to be. "I love that song, it's so quiet!" "Your tool is so fast!" Why thank you, that's exactly what I was going for. The second sign, though, is that you will get complaints. Specifically, people will complain that your thing does not achieve the things you didn't set out to achieve. "I wish this song was louder", "this tool is so hard to use". That you are receiving complaints at all means that people are aware of your creation; that they are complaining about what you specifically set out to make a non-goal is a side-effect of the fact that you made that trade-off. The worst thing to do, when you receive such complaints, is take them to heart and try to fix them. This is because by definition you wanted these complaints. They are a sign that the thing you built is built as you wanted to build it. The people complaining want something different, they don't want your thing. It's just that your thing is so good that it's the thing they're compelled towards even though it doesn't prioritize the things they care about most. If you try to fix these complaints, you will, again by definition, be compromising on your goals. If you make the song have a loud part, then it's no longer a quiet song. You wanted a quiet song. Now it's a song that's quiet in parts and loud in parts. It probably still doesn't satisfy the needs of the people who want a loud song, and now it also doesn't satisfy the needs of the people who wanted your original quiet song. If you make your tool easier to use by compromising on the speed, then now you have a tool that's both not as fast as it could be and not as usable as it could have been if you'd started with that as a goal. It's important, therefore, to separate out complaints into those that are complaints you expect based on your design goals (which you should acknowledge but not fix), vs complaints that are either orthogonal to your goals (which you can fix without compromising your goals), or that are in line with your goals (which you should prioritize, since that's what you said to yourself was most important in the first place).
My involvement in web standards started with the CSS working group. One of the things that we struggled with as a working group was that we would specify how the technology should work, but the browser vendors' implementations weren't exactly what we intended, and web authors would then write web pages that worked with those browsers, even though that meant the web pages themselves were also not doing things like the specifications said they should. The folks I worked with at the W3C (especially the academics and people working for organizations that did not themselves implement browsers) would frequently bemoan this state of affairs, expressing surprise at how they, the people in charge of the standards, were not being respected by the people implementing the standards. One of the key insights I had very early on in my work, before working on HTML5, which really influenced the WHATWG and its work, is the realization that the power dynamics at work were not at all the power dynamics that the folks at the W3C described. The reality of the situation was that the power lay entirely in the hands of the users. The users chose browsers. A browser vendor that ignored what the users wanted would lose market share. Market share is everything in this space. Browser vendors want users because they can convert users into dollars (in various ways, but they typically boil down to someone showing them ads and paying the browser vendors for the privilege). In turn, the browser vendors had more power than the specifications. What they implement is, by definition, what the technology is. The specification can say in absolute clarity that the keyword "marigold" should look yellow, but if a browser vendor makes it look red, then no web author is going to use it to mean yellow, and many will use it to mean red. There is a feedback loop here: if one browser implements "marigold" to mean red, and some important web site (or many unimportant web sites) rely on it, and say something like "best viewed in ThisOrThat browser!" because that's the one they use and in that browser it looks red and red is what looks best, then the other browser vendors are incentivised to make sure that the web page looks good in their browser too. Regardless of what the specification says, therefore, they are going to make "marigold" look red and not yellow. When I realized this, I also realized a corollary: if you have two competing specifications that both claim to define the same technology, but one matches what the browsers already do while the other one does not, the browser vendors are going to find it more useful to follow the one that matches what they do. This is because they can trust that implementing that specification will get them more market share. It means they won't have to stop and think at every step, "will following this specification cause me to lose users?". It is easier for them to use a specification that takes into account their needs in this way. We actually tried to explain this to the W3C membership. There was a big meeting in 2004 at Adobe in San Jose, the "W3C Workshop on Web Applications and Compound Documents". We tried to convey the above (I didn't quite understand it in the stark "power dynamic" terms yet, or at least, I didn't really express it in those terms, but if you read our position paper you can see this insight starting to crystalize). At this meeting, we made a pitch for the W3C to continue to maintain HTML and to care about what the browser vendors wanted. Representatives from Microsoft and Sun (in many ways arch enemies at the time) supported us. I seem to recall Apple being more quiet about it at the meeting but also essentially supporting the principles. The W3C membership resoundly rejected this whole concept. One of the W3C staff even explicitly said something along the lines of "if you want to do this you should do it elsewhere". That's what led to the WHATWG being founded a few weeks later. The WHATWG was founded on this core principle — the specifications need to actually specify reality. When the browsers disagree with the spec, the spec is by definition incorrect and needs to change, regardless of how much technically superior the design in the spec is. Naturally, when you provide browser vendors with something that valuable, they will follow. You end up with a weird inverted power dynamic. The spec writer (when they follow this principle) has all the power, but only within the space that the browser vendors are themselves willing to play; and the browser vendors have all the power, but only within the space that the users are willing to put up with. It's very easy to appear to be in control when you tell people to do the thing they were going to do anyway (or at least, one of the things they were willing to do if they were to think about it). There is a (probably apocryphal) quote supposedly by Alexandre Auguste Ledru-Rollin that is often cited in mockery of bad leadership, but that perfectly matches the power dynamic here: "There go my people; I must find out where they are going so I can lead them". (Thanks to Leonard Damhorst for prompting me to write this post.)
Despite my departure from Google, I am not leaving Flutter — the great thing about open source and open standards is that the product and the employer are orthogonal. I've had three employers in my career, and in all three cases when I left my employer I continued my job. With Netscape I was a member of the team before my internship, during my internship, and after my internship. With Opera Software, I joined while working on standards, kept working on standards, and left while working on the same standard that I then continued to work on at Google. So this is not a new thing for me. Flutter is amazingly successful. It's already the leading mobile app development framework, and I think we're close to having the table stakes required to make it the obvious default choice for desktop development as well (it's already there for some use cases). It's increasingly used in embedded scenarios. And Flutter is extremely well positioned to be the first truly usable Wasm framework as the web transitions to the more powerful, lower-level Wasm-based model over the next few years. In the coming month I will prepare our roadmap for 2024 (in consultation with the rest of the team). For me personally, however, my focus will probably be on fixing fun bugs, and on making progress on blankcanvas, my library for making it easy to build custom widget sets. I also expect I will be continuing to work on package:rfw, the UI-push library, as there has been increasing interest from teams using Flutter and wanting ways to present custom interfaces determined by the server at runtime without requiring the user to download an updated app.
I joined Google in October 2005, and handed in my resignation 18 years later. Last week was my last week at Google. I feel very lucky to have experienced the early post-IPO Google; unlike most companies, and contrary to the popular narrative, Googlers, from the junior engineer all the way to the C-suite, were genuinely good people who cared very much about doing the right thing. The oft-mocked "don't be evil" truly was the guiding principle of the company at the time (largely a reaction to contemporaries like Microsoft whose operating procedures put profits far above the best interests of customers and humanity as a whole). Many times I saw Google criticised for actions that were sincerely intended to be good for society. Google Books, for example. Much of the criticism Google received around Chrome and Search, especially around supposed conflicts of interest with Ads, was way off base (it's surprising how often coincidences and mistakes can appear malicious). I often saw privacy advocates argue against Google proposals in ways that were net harmful to users. Some of these fights have had lasting effects on the world at large; one of the most annoying is the prevalence of pointless cookie warnings we have to wade through today. I found it quite frustrating how teams would be legitimately actively pursuing ideas that would be good for the world, without prioritising short-term Google interests, only to be met with cynicism in the court of public opinion. Charlie's patio at Google, 2011. Image has been manipulated to remove individuals. Early Google was also an excellent place to work. Executives gave frank answers on a weekly basis, or were candid about their inability to do so (e.g. for legal reasons or because some topic was too sensitive to discuss broadly). Eric Schmidt regularly walked the whole company through the discussions of the board. The successes and failures of various products were presented more or less objectively, with successes celebrated and failures examined critically with an eye to learning lessons rather than assigning blame. The company had a vision, and deviations from that vision were explained. Having experienced Dilbert-level management during my internship at Netscape five years earlier, the uniform competence of people at Google was very refreshing. For my first nine years at Google I worked on HTML and related standards. My mandate was to do the best thing for the web, as whatever was good for the web would be good for Google (I was explicitly told to ignore Google's interests). This was a continuation of the work I started while at Opera Software. Google was an excellent host for this effort. My team was nominally the open source team at Google, but I was entirely autonomous (for which I owe thanks to Chris DiBona). Most of my work was done on a laptop from random buildings on Google's campus; entire years went by where I didn't use my assigned desk. In time, exceptions to Google's cultural strengths developed. For example, as much as I enjoyed Vic Gundotra's enthusiasm (and his initial vision for Google+, which again was quite well defined and, if not necessarily uniformly appreciated, at least unambiguous), I felt less confident in his ability to give clear answers when things were not going as well as hoped. He also started introducing silos to Google (e.g. locking down certain buildings to just the Google+ team), a distinct departure from the complete internal transparency of early Google. Another example is the Android team (originally an acquisition), who never really fully acclimated to Google's culture. Android's work/life balance was unhealthy, the team was not as transparent as older parts of Google, and the team focused on chasing the competition more than solving real problems for users. My last nine years were spent on Flutter. Some of my fondest memories of my time at Google are of the early days of this effort. Flutter was one of the last projects to come out of the old Google, part of a stable of ambitious experiments started by Larry Page shortly before the creation of Alphabet. We essentially operated like a startup, discovering what we were building more than designing it. The Flutter team was very much built out of the culture of young Google; for example we prioritised internal transparency, work/life balance, and data-driven decision making (greatly helped by Tao Dong and his UXR team). We were radically open from the beginning, which made it easy for us to build a healthy open source project around the effort as well. Flutter was also very lucky to have excellent leadership throughout the years, such as Adam Barth as founding tech lead, Tim Sneath as PM, and Todd Volkert as engineering manager. We also didn't follow engineering best practices for the first few years. For example we wrote no tests and had precious little documentation. This whiteboard is what passed for a design doc for the core Widget, RenderObject, and dart:ui layers. This allowed us to move fast at first, but we paid for it later. Flutter grew in a bubble, largely insulated from the changes Google was experiencing at the same time. Google's culture eroded. Decisions went from being made for the benefit of users, to the benefit of Google, to the benefit of whoever was making the decision. Transparency evaporated. Where previously I would eagerly attend every company-wide meeting to learn what was happening, I found myself now able to predict the answers executives would give word for word. Today, I don't know anyone at Google who could explain what Google's vision is. Morale is at an all-time low. If you talk to therapists in the bay area, they will tell you all their Google clients are unhappy with Google. Then Google had layoffs. The layoffs were an unforced error driven by a short-sighted drive to ensure the stock price would keep growing quarter-to-quarter, instead of following Google's erstwhile strategy of prioritising long-term success even if that led to short-term losses (the very essence of "don't be evil"). The effects of layoffs are insidious. Whereas before people might focus on the user, or at least their company, trusting that doing the right thing will eventually be rewarded even if it's not strictly part of their assigned duties, after a layoff people can no longer trust that their company has their back, and they dramatically dial back any risk-taking. Responsibilities are guarded jealously. Knowledge is hoarded, because making oneself irreplaceable is the only lever one has to protect oneself from future layoffs. I see all of this at Google now. The lack of trust in management is reflected by management no longer showing trust in the employees either, in the form of inane corporate policies. In 2004, Google's founders famously told Wall Street "Google is not a conventional company. We do not intend to become one." but that Google is no more. Much of these problems with Google today stem from a lack of visionary leadership from Sundar Pichai, and his clear lack of interest in maintaining the cultural norms of early Google. A symptom of this is the spreading contingent of inept middle management. Take Jeanine Banks, for example, who manages the department that somewhat arbitrarily contains (among other things) Flutter, Dart, Go, and Firebase. Her department nominally has a strategy, but I couldn't leak it if I wanted to; I literally could never figure out what any part of it meant, even after years of hearing her describe it. Her understanding of what her teams are doing is minimal at best; she frequently makes requests that are completely incoherent and inapplicable. She treats engineers as commodities in a way that is dehumanising, reassigning people against their will in ways that have no relationship to their skill set. She is completely unable to receive constructive feedback (as in, she literally doesn't even acknowledge it). I hear other teams (who have leaders more politically savvy than I) have learned how to "handle" her to keep her off their backs, feeding her just the right information at the right time. Having seen Google at its best, I find this new reality depressing. There are still great people at Google. I've had the privilege to work with amazing people on the Flutter team such as JaYoung Lee, Kate Lovett, Kevin Chisholm, Zoey Fan, Dan Field, and dozens more (sorry folks, I know I should just name all of you but there's too many!). In recent years I started offering career advice to anyone at Google and through that met many great folks from around the company. It's definitely not too late to heal Google. It would require some shake-up at the top of the company, moving the centre of power from the CFO's office back to someone with a clear long-term vision for how to use Google's extensive resources to deliver value to users. I still believe there's lots of mileage to be had from Google's mission statement (to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful). Someone who wanted to lead Google into the next twenty years, maximising the good to humanity and disregarding the short-term fluctuations in stock price, could channel the skills and passion of Google into truly great achievements. I do think the clock is ticking, though. The deterioration of Google's culture will eventually become irreversible, because the kinds of people whom you need to act as moral compass are the same kinds of people who don't join an organisation without a moral compass.
More in programming
We might be seeing the end of remote coding interviews as we know them, and a return of in-person interviews, trial days and longer trial periods. Could hiring be returning to pre-pandemic norms?
<![CDATA[My journey to Lisp began in the early 1990s. Over three decades later, a few days ago I rediscovered the first Lisp environment I ever used back then which contributed to my love for the language. Here it is, PC Scheme running under DOSBox-X on my Linux PC: Screenshot of the PC Scheme Lisp development environment for MS-DOS by Texas Instruments running under DOSBox-X on Linux Mint Cinnamon. Using PC Scheme again brought back lots of great memories and made me reflect on what the environment taught me about Lisp and Lisp tooling. As a Computer Science student at the University of Milan, Italy, around 1990 I took an introductory computers and programming class taught by Prof. Stefano Cerri. The textbook was the first edition of Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs (SICP) and Texas Instruments PC Scheme for MS-DOS the recommended PC implementation. I installed PC Scheme under DR-DOS on a 20 MHz 386 Olidata laptop with 2 MB RAM and a 40 MB hard disk drive. Prior to the class I had read about Lisp here and there but never played with the language. SICP and its use of Scheme as an elegant executable formalism instantly fascinated me. It was Lisp love at first sight. The class covered the first three chapters of the book but I later read the rest on my own. I did lots of exercises using PC Scheme to write and run them. Soon I became one with PC Scheme. The environment enabled a tight development loop thanks to its Emacs-like EDWIN editor that was well integrated with the system. The Lisp awareness of EDWIN blew my mind as it was the first such tool I encountered. The editor auto-indented and reformatted code, matched parentheses, and supported evaluating expressions and code blocks. Typing a closing parenthesis made EDWIN blink the corresponding opening one and briefly show a snippet of the beginning of the matched expression. Paying attention to the matching and the snippets made me familiar with the shape and structure of Lisp code, giving a visual feel of whether code looks syntactically right or off. Within hours of starting to use EDWIN the parentheses ceased to be a concern and disappeared from my conscious attention. Handling parentheses came natural. I actually ended up loving parentheses and the aesthetics of classic Lisp. Parenthesis matching suggested me a technique for writing syntactically correct Lisp code with pen and paper. When writing a closing parenthesis with the right hand I rested the left hand on the paper with the index finger pointed at the corresponding opening parenthesis, moving the hands in sync to match the current code. This way it was fast and easy to write moderately complex code. PC Scheme spoiled me and set the baseline of what to expect in a Lisp environment. After the class I moved to PCS/Geneva, a more advanced PC Scheme fork developed at the University of Geneva. Over the following decades I encountered and learned Common Lisp, Emacs, Lisp, and Interlisp. These experiences cemented my passion for Lisp. In the mid-1990s Texas Instruments released the executable and sources of PC Scheme. I didn't know it at the time, or if I noticed I long forgot. Until a few days ago, when nostalgia came knocking and I rediscovered the PC Scheme release. I installed PC Scheme under the DOSBox-X MS-DOS emulator on my Linux Mint Cinnamon PC. It runs well and I enjoy going through the system to rediscover what it can do. Playing with PC Scheme after decades of Lisp experience and hindsight on computing evolution shines new light on the environment. I didn't fully realize at the time but the product packed an amazing value for the price. It cost $99 in the US and I paid it about 150,000 Lira in Italy. Costing as much as two or three texbooks, the software was affordable even to students and hobbyists. PC Scheme is a rich, fast, and surprisingly capable environment with features such as a Lisp-aware editor, a good compiler, a structure editor and other tools, many Scheme extensions such as engines and OOP, text windows, graphics, and a lot more. The product came with an extensive manual, a thick book in a massive 3-ring binder I read cover to cover more than once. A paper on the implementation of PC Scheme sheds light on how good the system is given the platform constraints. Using PC Scheme now lets me put into focus what it taught me about Lisp and Lisp systems: the convenience and productivity of Lisp-aware editors; interactive development and exploratory programming; and a rich Lisp environment with a vast toolbox of libraries and facilities — this is your grandfather's batteries included language. Three decades after PC Scheme a similar combination of features, facilities, and classic aesthetics drew me to Medley Interlisp, my current daily driver for Lisp development. #Lisp #MSDOS #retrocomputing a href="https://remark.as/p/journal.paoloamoroso.com/rediscovering-the-origins-of-my-lisp-journey"Discuss.../a Email | Reply @amoroso@fosstodon.org !--emailsub--]]>
I’ve been writing some internal dashboards recently, and one hard part is displaying timestamps. Our server does everything in UTC, but the team is split across four different timezones, so the server timestamps aren’t always easy to read. For most people, it’s harder to understand a UTC timestamp than a timestamp in your local timezone. Did that event happen just now, an hour ago, or much further back? Was that at the beginning of your working day? Or at the end? Then I remembered that I tried to solve this five years ago at a previous job. I wrote a JavaScript snippet that converts UTC timestamps into human-friendly text. It displays times in your local time zone, and adds a short suffix if the time happened recently. For example: today @ 12:00 BST (1 hour ago) In my old project, I was using writing timestamps in a <div> and I had to opt into the human-readable text for every date on the page. It worked, but it was a bit fiddly. Doing it again, I thought of a more elegant solution. HTML has a <time> element for expressing datetimes, which is a more meaningful wrapper than a <div>. When I render the dashboard on the server, I don’t know the user’s timezone, so I include the UTC timestamp in the page like so: <time datetime="2025-04-15 19:45:00Z"> Tue, 15 Apr 2025 at 19:45 UTC </time> I put a machine-readable date and time string with a timezone offset string in the datetime attribute, and then a more human-readable string in the text of the element. Then I add this JavaScript snippet to the page: window.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded", function() { document.querySelectorAll("time").forEach(function(timeElem) { // Set the `title` attribute to the original text, so a user // can hover over a timestamp to see the UTC time. timeElem.setAttribute("title", timeElem.innerText); // Replace the display text with a human-friendly date string // which is localised to the user's timezone. timeElem.innerText = getHumanFriendlyDateString( timeElem.getAttribute("datetime") ); }) }); This updates any <time> element on the page to use a human friendly date string, which is localised to the user’s timezone. For example, I’m in the UK so that becomes: <time datetime="2025-04-15 19:45:00Z" title="Tue, 15 Apr 2025 at 19:45 UTC"> Tue, 15 Apr 2025 at 20:45 BST </time> In my experience, these timestamps are easier and more intuitive for people to read. I always include a timezone string (e.g. BST, EST, PDT) so it’s obvious that I’m showing a localised timestamp. If you really need the UTC timestamp, it’s in the title attribute, so you can see it by hovering over it. (Sorry, mouseless users, but I don’t think any of my team are browsing our dashboards from their phone or tablet.) If the JavaScript doesn’t load, you see the plain old UTC timestamp. It’s not ideal, but the page still loads and you can see all the information – this behaviour is an enhancement, not an essential. To me, this is the unfulfilled promise of the <time> element. In my fantasy world, web page authors would write the time in a machine-readable format, and browsers would show it in a way that makes sense for the reader. They’d take into account their language, locale, and time zone. I understand why that hasn’t happened – it’s much easier said than done. You need so much context to know what’s the “right” thing to do when dealing with datetimes, and guessing without that context is at the heart of many datetime bugs. These sort of human-friendly, localised timestamps are very handy sometimes, and a complete mess at other times. In my staff-only dashboards, I have that context. I know what these timestamps mean, who’s going to be reading them, and I think they’re a helpful addition that makes the data easier to read. [If the formatting of this post looks odd in your feed reader, visit the original article]
Nearly a quarter of seventeen-year-old boys in America have an ADHD diagnosis. That's crazy. But worse than the diagnosis is that the majority of them end up on amphetamines, like Adderall or Ritalin. These drugs allow especially teenage boys (diagnosed at 2-3x the rate of girls) to do what their mind would otherwise resist: Study subjects they find boring for long stretches of time. Hurray? Except, it doesn't even work. Because taking Adderall or Ritalin doesn't actually help you learn more, it merely makes trying tolerable. The kids might feel like the drugs are helping, but the test scores say they're not. It's Dunning-Kruger — the phenomenon where low-competence individuals overestimate their abilities — in a pill. Furthermore, even this perceived improvement is short-term. The sudden "miraculous" ability to sit still and focus on boring school work wanes in less than a year on the drugs. In three years, pill poppers are doing no better than those who didn't take amphetamines at all. These are all facts presented in a blockbuster story in New York Time Magazine entitled Have We Been Thinking About A.D.H.D. All Wrong?, which unpacks all the latest research on ADHD. It's depressing reading. Not least because the definition of ADHD is so subjective and situational. The NYTM piece is full of anecdotes from kids with an ADHD diagnosis whose symptoms disappeared when they stopped pursuing a school path out of step with their temperament. And just look at these ADHD markers from the DSM-5: Inattention Difficulty staying focused on tasks or play. Frequently losing things needed for tasks (e.g., toys, school supplies). Easily distracted by unrelated stimuli. Forgetting daily activities or instructions. Trouble organizing tasks or completing schoolwork. Avoiding or disliking tasks requiring sustained mental effort. Hyperactivity Fidgeting, squirming, or inability to stay seated. Running or climbing in inappropriate situations. Excessive talking or inability to play quietly. Acting as if “driven by a motor,” always on the go. Impulsivity Blurting out answers before questions are completed. Trouble waiting for their turn. Interrupting others’ conversations or games. The majority of these so-called symptoms are what I'd classify as "normal boyhood". I certainly could have checked off a bunch of them, and you only need six over six months for an official ADHD diagnosis. No wonder a quarter of those seventeen year-old boys in America qualify! Borrowing from Erich Fromm’s The Sane Society, I think we're looking at a pathology of normalcy, where healthy boys are defined as those who can sit still, focus on studies, and suppress kinetic energy. Boys with low intensity and low energy. What a screwy ideal to chase for all. This is all downstream from an obsession with getting as many kids through as much safety-obsessed schooling as possible. While the world still needs electricians, carpenters, welders, soldiers, and a million other occupations that exist outside the narrow educational ideal of today. Now I'm sure there is a small number of really difficult cases where even the short-term break from severe symptoms that amphetamines can provide is welcome. The NYTM piece quotes the doctor that did one of the most consequential studies on ADHD as thinking that's around 3% — a world apart from the quarter of seventeen-year-olds discussed above. But as ever, there is no free lunch in medicine. Long-term use of amphetamines acts as a growth inhibitor, resulting in kids up to an inch shorter than they otherwise would have been. On top of the awful downs that often follow amphetamine highs. And the loss of interest, humor, and spirit that frequently comes with the treatment too. This is all eerily similar to what happened in America when a bad study from the 1990s convinced a generation of doctors that opioids actually weren't addictive. By the time they realized the damage, they'd set in motion an overdose and addiction cascade that's presently killing over a 100,000 Americans a year. The book Empire of Pain chronicles that tragedy well. Or how about the surge in puberty-blocker prescriptions, which has now been arrested in the UK, following the Cass Review, as well as Finland, Norway, Sweden, France, and elsewhere. Doctors are supposed to first do no harm, but they're as liable to be swept up in bad paradigms, social contagions, and ideological echo chambers as the rest of us. And this insane over-diagnosis of ADHD fits that liability to a T.
Two weeks ago we released Dice’n Goblins, our first game on Steam. This project allowed me to discover and learn a lot of new things about game development and the industry. I will use this blog post to write down what I consider to be the most important lessons from the months spent working on this. The development started around 2 years ago when Daphnée started prototyping a dungeon crawler featuring a goblin protagonist. After a few iterations, the game combat started featuring dice, and then those dice could be used to make combos. In May 2024, the game was baptized Dice’n Goblins, and a Steam page was created featuring some early gameplay screenshots and footage. I joined the project full-time around this period. Almost one year later, after amassing more than 8000 wishlists, the game finally released on Steam on April 4th, 2025. It was received positively by the gaming press, with great reviews from PCGamer and LadiesGamers. It now sits at 92% positive reviews from players on Steam. Building RPGs isn’t easy As you can see from the above timeline, building this game took almost two years and two programmers. This is actually not that long if you consider that other indie RPGs have taken more than 6 years to come out. The main issue with the genre is that you need to create a believable world. In practice, this requires programming many different systems that will interact together to give the impression of a cohesive universe. Every time you add a new system, you need to think about how it will fit all the existing game features. For example, players typically expect an RPG to have a shop system. Of course, this means designing a shop non-player character (or building) and creating a UI that is displayed when you interact with it. But this also means thinking through a lot of other systems: combat needs to be changed to reward the player with gold, every item needs a price tag, chests should sometimes reward the player with gold, etc… Adding too many systems can quickly get into scope creep territory, and make the development exponentially longer. But you can only get away with removing so much until your game stops being an RPG. Making a game without a shop might be acceptable, but the experience still needs to have more features than “walking around and fighting monsters” to feel complete. RPGs are also, by definition, narrative experiences. While some games have managed to get away with procedurally generating 90% of the content, in general, you’ll need to get your hands dirty, write a story, and design a bunch of maps. Creating enough content for a game to fit 12h+ without having the player go through repetitive grind will by itself take a lot of time. Having said all that, I definitely wouldn’t do any other kind of games than RPGs, because this is what I enjoy playing. I don’t think I would be able to nail what makes other genres fun if I don’t play them enough to understand what separates the good from the mediocre. Marketing isn’t that complicated Everyone in the game dev community knows that there are way too many games releasing on Steam. To stand out amongst the 50+ games coming out every day, it’s important not only to have a finished product but also to plan a marketing campaign well in advance. For most people coming from a software engineering background, like me, this can feel extremely daunting. Our education and jobs do not prepare us well for this kind of task. In practice, it’s not that complicated. If your brain is able to provision a Kubernetes cluster, then you are most definitely capable of running a marketing campaign. Like anything else, it’s a skill that you can learn over time by practicing it, and iteratively improving your methods. During the 8 months following the Steam page release, we tried basically everything you can think of as a way to promote the game. Every time something was having a positive impact, we would do it more, and we quickly stopped things with low impact. The most important thing to keep in mind is your target audience. If you know who wants the game of games you’re making, it is very easy to find where they hang out and talk to them. This is however not an easy question to answer for every game. For a long while, we were not sure who would like Dice’n Goblins. Is it people who like Etrian Odyssey? Fans of Dicey Dungeons? Nostalgic players of Paper Mario? For us, the answer was mostly #1, with a bit of #3. Once we figured out what was our target audience, how to communicate with them, and most importantly, had a game that was visually appealing enough, marketing became very straightforward. This is why we really struggled to get our first 1000 wishlists, but getting the last 5000 was actually not that complicated. Publishers aren’t magic At some point, balancing the workload of actually building the game and figuring out how to market it felt too much for a two-person team. We therefore did what many indie studios do, and decided to work with a publisher. We worked with Rogue Duck Interactive, who previously published Dice & Fold, a fairly successful dice roguelike. Without getting too much into details, it didn’t work out as planned and we decided, by mutual agreement, to go back to self-publishing Dice’n Goblins. The issue simply came from the audience question mentioned earlier. Even though Dice & Fold and Dice’n Goblins share some similarities, they target a different audience, which requires a completely different approach to marketing. The lesson learned is that when picking a publisher, the most important thing you can do is to check that their current game catalog really matches the idea you have of your own game. If you’re building a fast-paced FPS, a publisher that only has experience with cozy simulation games will not be able to help you efficiently. In our situation, a publisher with experience in roguelikes and casual strategy games wasn’t a good fit for an RPG. In addition to that, I don’t think the idea of using a publisher to remove marketing toil and focus on making the game is that much of a good idea in the long term. While it definitely helps to remove the pressure from handling social media accounts and ad campaigns, new effort will be required in communicating and negotiating with the publishing team. In the end, the difference between the work saved and the work gained might not have been worth selling a chunk of your game. Conclusion After all this was said and done, one big question I haven’t answered is: would I do it again? The answer is definitely yes. Not only building this game was an extremely satisfying endeavor, but so much has been learned and built while doing it, it would be a shame not to go ahead and do a second one.
