Making a product for everyone is hard. The defaults need focus. Clarity. You need to alienate some users. Otherwise it gets bloated.

I’ve made this mistake. Too many access models. Too many configurations. The product became complicated before it did anything useful.

The constraint isn’t a feature. It’s complexity. Are you making this too complex too early?

Start simple. Ship. Add features later.

Don’t build the complicated version first.

When I build AI tools, I think about settings. At first I thought people wanted more. How many stages? Which models? What temperature?

But fewer settings is better. The prompt becomes the setting.

Maybe you open it up for power users who want their own prompts. But close it down for everyone else. Let them move forward.

The well-defined prompt that ships with the product? You can’t see that one.

The prompt is the new IP.

Good products need few settings. They’re built with user experience in mind. Clear vision. Someone with taste decided.

macOS used to be like this. Few settings. Easy. Either you could set it or Apple had decided for you. No middle ground. If you don’t like it, take a hike.

Now it’s just Windows. The Settings app is broken. Random options buried under Accessibility that aren’t accessibility features. A search that only works at the first level.

They stopped deciding.

I often find solutions in the opposite. What would make this experience awful? Once you know that, you know what to focus on.

One technique: imagine you’re in the future and the project has failed. Ask why. Suddenly it’s easy to see what might cause failure. Now you can solve for those.

In workshops I ask: what would be the worst way to solve this? It’s a structured exercise. Surfaces what to avoid.

Most people aren’t used to thinking in opposites. Some wear the “Devil’s Advocate” hat, but that’s unstructured. They can say whatever they want.

This is guided Devil’s Advocate. That’s why it works.

Fun is best when shared. Retelling a joke from a comedian is complicated. But if you watched it together, you both get it. Same frame of reference.

Same goes for boring tasks. They can be made fun if shared. At least afterwards. “Do you remember when we did that boring thing…”

I think about GDPR. Such a boring task. But with someone else, it became a common enemy. “Oh shit, let’s get this done together.” That’s what made it memorable.

It’s “us against something” instead of “us against each other.” Alone, you resent others who don’t have to do the boring thing. Together, you’re a power team.

Shared progress makes boring tolerable.

Ask for guidance, not goals. You’ll need to find your own goals. Otherwise they won’t be inspiring. Or interesting. Or fun.

When you’re stuck, it’s tempting to question the goal. But the goal is usually clear. You just can’t see the path.

I experienced this at work. A transformation that felt impossible. No progress. I considered quitting. Instead, I asked my boss for guidance.

She didn’t give me a new goal. She gave me a way forward: talk to new people. Get their perspectives. See possibilities you’re missing.

It unlocked things.

Goals you set yourself have energy. Goals handed to you feel like obligations. Guidance is a gift. It shows you doors.

Be bored. It’ll spark creativity. Maybe not good ideas. Maybe not inventions. But it’ll make use of your brain. Doom scrolling won’t.

Yesterday I didn’t use the computer at all. A few days before Christmas, off work, nothing planned. Just bored.

Then I woke up at 3am with thirteen ideas. That’s where these notes came from. Stream of consciousness. One idea, then the next, then the next.

The hard part isn’t being bored. It’s protecting boredom from yourself. The reflex to reach for your phone. To open a browser. To fill the silence.

It has to be a conscious decision. Put away the things.

Get a habit of publishing. It primes your brain. Suddenly something is needed. Your brain starts searching for content and ideas. Automatically.

I felt this instantly. The commitment was the trigger. I chose to publish every day, and that created a constant push. Not pressure exactly. More like alertness.

Sometimes it’s exhausting. But I remind myself: one line is enough. One sentence. Some days become shit posts. That’s fine.

Seth Godin: “You can’t have writer’s block if you write. You can say, ‘I have bad writer’s block,’ and I say, ‘Show me your bad writing,’ and if you show it to me, then you don’t have writer’s block.”

The priming works in both directions. Forward: what can I write about today? Backward: what lessons did I miss back then?

Once you commit to output, your brain stops waiting for ideas. It goes hunting.

Writing is a muscle. You train it. Not to be good, but so your brain knows you’ll use it.

Write a lot. Most of it won’t be great. That’s fine. At some point the good work comes through. You can’t schedule when.

I’ve posted something every day for over a year now. Some are shit. That was never the point. Output is the point. The reps.

When I started my YouTube channel, I obsessed over the system. How do I create a video every day but post twice a week? The system made it possible. Not motivation. Not inspiration.

Few people read my stuff. That’s okay. This is my habit. Output is the habit.

Faulkner said it: “I only write when inspiration strikes. Fortunately it strikes at nine every morning.”

When ideas don’t come, record yourself talking. You rarely have talker’s block. Like never.

Writing adds a filter. Your finger hovers over backspace. You delete before you finish the thought. Speaking doesn’t let you do that. Once it’s said, it’s said. So you keep going.

I use this constantly. Pressed for a blog post? I talk it out. Need clarity on a vision? I ramble until it makes sense. Tangents are fine. You come back.

The only catch: I need to be alone. When others are around, the filter returns.

These days I send the recordings to Claude or ChatGPT. They find the patterns in the rambling. Faster than I ever could.