Back To

Basics
Hype-free Principles for
Software Developers

Jason Gorman
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jason Gorman is a software

developer, trainer and coach based
in London. A TDD practitioner
since before it had a name, he’s
helped thousands of develope to
learn this essential discipline
through his company
Codemanship. He’s the founder of
the original international Software Craftsmanship 20xxx conference, an
activist for software developer apprenticeships, a patron of the Bletchley
Park Trust, a one-time-only West End producer, a failed physicist, and a
keen amateur musician. His twelve fans know him as Apes With Hobbies.

You can follow him on Twitter (@jasongorman), or email

[email protected]

ABOUT CODEMANSHIP

Founded in 2009, Codemanship

provides training, coaching and
consulting in the practical software disciplines that enable organisations to
sustain the pace of digital innovation. Based in London, Codemanship has
trained and guided teams in TDD, refactoring, software design,
Continuous Integration and Continuous Delivery, and Agile Software
Development for a wide range of clients including the BBC, UBS, Waters
plc, Ordnance Survey, salesforce.com, Electronic Arts, John Lewis,
Redgate and Sky.

You can find out more about Codemanship training and coaching at
www.codemanship.com

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION .............................................................................................................. 3
SUMMARY OF PRINCIPLES ................................................................................................... 6
SOFTWARE SHOULD HAVE TESTABLE GOALS .................................................................. 7
CLOSE CUSTOMER INVOLVEMENT IS KEY ...................................................................... 10
SOFTWARE DEVELOPMENT IS A LEARNING PROCESS..................................................... 13
DO THE IMPORTANT STUFF FIRST .................................................................................. 16
COMMUNICATING IS THE PRINCIPAL ACTIVITY ............................................................. 17
PREVENTION IS (USUALLY) CHEAPER THAN CURE ........................................................ 21
SOFTWARE THAT CAN’T BE PUT TO USE HAS NO VALUE ............................................. 25
INTERFACES ARE FOR COMMUNICATING ....................................................................... 28
AUTOMATE THE DONKEY WORK ................................................................................... 33
GROW COMPLEX SOFTWARE USING THE SIMPLEST PARTS ............................................ 37
TO LEARN, WE MUST BE OPEN TO CHANGE ................................................................. 40
ABOUT CODEMANSHIP ................................................. ERROR! BOOKMARK NOT DEFINED.

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INTRODUCTION

W hile the media often refers to the start of the “digital age” when
multimedia applications and hypertext took off in the late
1980’s, it’s worth remembering that people have been
programming digital electronic computers since they were invented during
the Second World War.

Software development’s not quite the lawless and anarchic wild frontier
people make it out to be. Developers today have seven decades of
practical experience of writing software under commercial pressures to
draw on, and there are many insights that have been built up over that time
that an aspiring young programmer needs to know.

Changes in our economy, big rises in university fees and high youth
unemployment are leading more and more of us to the conclusion that
apprenticeships may be the best route into software development careers.

Looking at the apprenticeship schemes on offer at the moment, though,

presents us with a problem. They tend to be closely aligned to specific
movements in software development, like Agile Software Development or
the Software Engineering movement, and even within those movements
there can be wide variation of what young developers are learning.

An “Agile apprenticeship” with one company can lead to a remarkably

different understanding of software development to an “Agile
apprenticeship” with another company. One apprentice might be learning
all about the Dynamic Systems Development Method (DSDM) while the
other is learning about Extreme Programming (XP). One apprentice might
learn all about Scrum for managing projects, another might learn about
Lean, and another about Kanban. One might learn to do Test-driven
Development; another might learn to do Behaviour-driven Development.
And so it goes on.

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When I started writing software for a living, I was confused by the scores
of different ways of apparently doing the same thing. Since then, the Agile
movement has added scores more to this cornucopia.

I had to read dozens and dozens of books and try a whole range of
approaches to see through all that smoke and begin to make out the shapes
of real insights into software development.

As I read more, I discovered that many of these insights went back to

before I was born. It seemed to me as if what we’d mostly been doing
these last forty years or more was coming up with new names for software
development principles and practices that those in the know were already
doing.

That was a journey of over a decade. The mist really didn’t clear until
about 2002 for me. I felt I wasted a lot of time wading through what
turned out to be marketing hype – just a whole sea of buzzwords and
brand names – to get at those few important insights and tie it all together
in my own head into a coherent whole.

The last decade has been a process of reapplying those insights and
projecting them on to the hype, so that when I coach someone in what
we’re calling “Test-driven Development” these days, for example, I know
what it is we’re really doing. More importantly, I know why.

Don’t get me wrong; there’s nothing inherently bad about DSDM, XP,
Scrum, Lean, Kanban, RUP, Cleanroom or many of the other
methodologies on offer. The problem is that when we master development
in such specific terms, we can miss the underlying principles that all
software development is built on. And when our favourite method falls out
of favour with employers, we risk becoming obsolete along with it if we
can’t adapt these foundational principles to a new fashionable
methodology.

We can also very easily end up missing the point. The goal is not to be
“Agile”, the goal is to be open and responsive to change. The goal is not to
be “test-driven”, but to drive out a simple, decoupled design and to be able
to re-test our software quickly and cheaply.

Why do we do the things we think are good to do?

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For the sake of Codemanship’s young apprentices, my aim is to strip away
the hype and the brand names and point them directly at the underlying
principles, based on seven decades of insights, and in some cases, an
impressive and growing body of hard data to support their efficacy in real-
world software development.

I do this because I’ve hacked through this dense undergrowth of

gobbledygook and carved a path for others to follow. My sincerest hope is
that these are insights that, once internalized, may last new software
developers for their entire careers, regardless of what the “soup du jour”
just happens to be.

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SUMMARY OF PRINCIPLES

1. Software Should Have Testable Goals

2. Close Customer Involvement Is Key
3. Software Development Is A Learning Process
4. Do The Important Stuff First
5. Communicating Is The Principal Activity
6. Prevention Is (Usually) Cheaper Than Cure
7. Software That Can't Be Put To Use Has No Value
8. Interfaces Are For Communicating
9. Automate The Donkey Work
10. Grow Complex Software Using The Simplest Parts
11. To Learn, We Must Be Open To Change

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SOFTWARE SHOULD HAVE TESTABLE GOALS

W
hy?

No, seriously, though. Why?

Whenever I ask this question to a software team, the

response is usually a lot of hand-waving and management-
speak and magic beans.

Most teams don't know why they're building the software they're building.
Most customers don't know why they're asking them to either.

If I could fix only one thing in software development - as opposed to no

things, which is my current best score - it would be that teams should
write software for a purpose.

By all means, if it's your time and your money at stake, play to your heart's
content. Go on, fill your boots.

But if someone else is picking up the cheque, then I feel we have

responsibility to try and give them something genuinely worthwhile for
their money.

Failing to understand the problem we're trying to solve is the number one
failure in software development. It stands to reason: how can we hope to
succeed if we don't even know what the aim of the game is?

It will always be the first thing I test when I'm asked to help a team. What
are your goals, and how will you know when you've achieved them (or are
getting closer to achieving them)? How will you know you're heading in
the right direction? How can one measure progress on a journey to
"wherever"?

Teams should not only know what the goals of their software are, but
those goals need to be articulated in a way that makes it possible to know
unambiguously if those goals are being achieved.

As far as I'm concerned, this is the most important specification, since it

describes the customer's actual requirements. Everything else is a decision
about how to satisfy those requirements. As such, far too many teams have

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no idea what their actual requirements are. They just have proposed
solutions.

Yes, a use case specification is not a business requirement. Ditto user

stories. It's a system design. A wireframe outline of a web application is
very obviously a design. Acceptance tests of the Behaviour-driven
Development variety are also design details. Anything expressed against
system features is a design.

Accepted wisdom when presented with a feature request we don't

understand the need for is to ask "why?" In my experience, asking "why?"
is a symptom that we've been putting the cart before the horse, and doing
things arse-backwards.

We should have started with the why and figured out what features or
properties or qualities our software will need to achieve those goals.

Not having the goals clearly articulated has a knock-on effect. Many other
ills reported in failed projects seem to stem from the lack of testable goals;
most notably, poor reporting of progress.

How can we measure progress if we don't know where we're supposed to

be heading? "Hey, Dave, how's that piece of string coming?" "Yep, good.
It's getting longer."

But also, when the goals are not really understood, people can have
unrealistic expectations about what the software will do for them. Or
rather, what they'll be able to do with the software.

There's also the key problem of knowing when we're "done". I absolutely
insist that teams measure progress against tested outcomes. If it doesn't
pass the tests, it's 0% done. Measuring progress against tasks or effort
leads to the Hell of 90% Done, where developers take a year to deliver
90% of the product, and then another 2 years to deliver the remaining
90%. We've all been there.

But even enlightened teams, who measure progress entirely against tested
deliverables, are failing to take into account that their testable outcomes
are not the actual end goals of the software. We may have delivered 90%
of the community video library's features, but will the community who use

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it actually make the savings on DVD purchases and rentals they're hoping
for when the system goes live? Will the newest titles be available soon
enough to satisfy our film buffs? Will the users donate the most popular
titles, or will it all just be the rubbish they don't want to keep anymore?
Will our community video library just be 100 copies of "The Green
Lantern"?

It's all too easy for us to get wrapped up in delivering a solution and lose
sight of the original problem. Information systems have a life outside of
the software we shoehorn into them, and it's a life we need to really get to
grips with if we're to have a hope of creating software that "delights".

In the case of our community video library, if there's a worry that users
could be unwilling to donate popular titles, we could perhaps redesign the
system to allow users to lend their favourite titles for a fixed period, and
offer a guarantee that if it's damaged, we'll buy them a new copy. We
could also offer them inducements, like priority reservations for new titles.
All of this might mean our software will have to work differently.

So, Software Development Principle #1 is that software should have

testable goals that clearly articulate why we're creating it and how we'll
know if those goals are being achieved (or not).

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CLOSE CUSTOMER INVOLVEMENT IS KEY

I n my humble opinion, when a customer does not make sufficient time

to give input or feedback on a software product or system, it's pretty
much the worse thing for your whole endeavor.

By "customer", I mean your actual customer; the person with ultimate

decision-making responsibility. Not someone delegated to act as a sort of
proxy to the decision maker.

The customer is someone who holds the power - the ultimate power - to
decide what the money gets spent on, and whether or not they're happy
with what the money got spent on.

They shouldn't need to check with a higher authority. If they do, then
they're not the customer.

We need to distinguish between customers and people who can often get
confused with customers.

A user isn't necessarily a customer, for example. They may be the

customer's customer, but they're not our customer.

A business expert isn't necessarily a customer, either. They may have a

more in-depth understanding of the problem than the person making the
ultimate decisions - that in itself is a red flag for the customer's business,
but that's a different story - but if they have to refer back to someone with
more authority for decisions to be made, then they're not our customer.
They're an adviser to our customer.

Lack of customer involvement is often cited in studies like the CHAOS

report 1as the most common cause of project failure. (Although they, too,
confuse customers and users in their report - and they have some pretty
backward ideas about what constitutes "success", but by the bye.)

As we'll discuss in the next post, feedback cycles are critical to software
development. Arguably the most important feedback cycle is the one that
exists between you - the developers - and the customer.

1
CHAOS report - http://www.projectsmart.co.uk/docs/chaos-report.pdf

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If you have just completed a feature and require customer feedback on it
before moving on, the sooner you can get that feedback, the sooner you
can move on.

If you don't get the feedback quickly, it can be a blocker to development.

What teams tend to do is move on anyway. But they're now building on an
assumption. Some teams have to wait weeks or months to get that
feedback, and that's weeks and months where they're merrily wiring all
manner of gubbins into a foundation made of "maybe". If that "maybe"
turns out to be a "no, that's not what I meant", or a "it's what I wanted, but
now that I see it made flesh, I realise it's not what I need" then - oh, dear...

Software development is a learning process, and feedback's the key to

making it work.

What can often happen is that the real customer's far too busy and
important to spend any time with you, so they delegate that responsibility
to someone who works for them. This is often signified by months or
years of things appearing to go very well, as their proxy gives you
immediate feedback throughout the process.

It usually hits the rocks when the time finally comes for your software to
be put in front of the real customer. That's when we find out that software
can't be left to someone else to decide how it should be. It's like paying
someone to tell you if you like your new hair style.

Teams can waste a lot of time and a lot of money chasing the pot of gold
at the end of the wrong rainbow.

You need to find out who your customer really is, and then strap them to a
chair and don't let them go until they've given you meaningful answers.

Here's the thing. Most customers are actually paying for the software with
other people's money - shareholders, the public, a community etc. They
have a professional responsibility to be a good customer. A good customer
takes an active interest in how the money's spent and what they get for that
money.

If you're a movie studio executive with ultimate decision-making

responsibility for a production, you would ask to see frequent evidence of

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how the production's going and how the final movie is going to turn out.
You may ask to read drafts of the screenplay. You may ask to see videos
of casting sessions. You may ask to see daily rushes while it's being shot.
And so on. Basically, with other people's money at stake, you'd take
nobody's word for it.

It doesn't mean you need to take creative control away from writers,
directors, actors, designers and others involved in making the movie. It
just means that you are aware of how it's going, aware of what the money's
being spent on, and in an informed position to take the ultimate decisions
about how the money's spent.

If you want to really improve your chances of succeeding with software,

then you need to keep your customers close.

If the customer is unable or unwilling to make that commitment and give

you timely feedback and be there when decisions need to be made, then
it's probably not going to work, and they're probably going to waste their
money. Do yourself and them a favour and can the project. It's obviously
not important enough to warrant the risk.

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SOFTWARE DEVELOPMENT IS A LEARNING PROCESS

E
verything in life is, to some degree, an experiment.

Every song a composer writes is both an object to be enjoyed in

itself, and also a step towards writing a better song. And every
omelette I cook is both dinner and a step towards cooking a
better omelette. But we'll talk about breaking eggs a little later.

With each attempt, we learn and we're able to do it better the next time.
This is a fundamental component of our intelligence. We're able to train
ourselves to do extraordinary - sometimes seemingly impossible things -
by doing them over and over and feeding back in the lessons from each
attempt so we can improve on it in the next.

Software's no different. Our first attempt at solving the customer's problem

is usually pretty crappy; maybe even as crappy as my first omelette.

When we create and innovate, we're doing things we haven't done before.
And when we're doing something for the first time, we're not likely to do it
well as we would on the second attempt, or the third, fourth of fifth.

Software development is a process of innovation. By definition, we're

doing things we haven't done before on every new product or system. So
we must expect our first omelettes to be a bit crappy, no matter how
experienced we are as programmers.

Now, I don't know about you, but personally I've got a bit more pride than
to make my customer pay for a crappy omelette.

In software development, the way we get to good omelettes is by iterating

our designs until they're as good as we can make them with the time and
resources available.

Sticking with the culinary metaphor, we cook an omelette. If it tastes good

to us (we'll get on to tasting our own dog food soon enough), we get the
customer to try a bit. If they love it, then great. We can move on to the
next dish they've ordered. But if they don't think it's just right, we seek
feedback on how we can improve it. And then we act on that feedback and
cook them another omelette.

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Rinse and repeat until the customer's happy.

Other books and articles on software development principles often linger

on "how to get the design right" and will fixate on all sorts of hifalutin
ideas about "user experience" and "modularity" and being "domain-
driven".

But of all the design principles I've applied in 3 decades of programming,

the most powerful by a country mile is do it again until you get it right (or
until you run out of road).

It is nature's way of solving complicated problems, and - to the best of

humanity's knowledge - it's the only way that really works.

In practice (let's debase ourselves momentarily to consider the real world),

we iterate our designs until they're good enough and we can move on to
the next problem. Our customer has some rough idea of what this solution
is worth to them, and therefore how much time and resources are worth
investing in solving it. We could chase perfection until the end of time, but
in reality we find a compromise where the solution we end up is good
enough.

And we don't really start from scratch with every iteration, like we would
with omelettes. Typically, we take the program code from one iteration
and make the necessary changes and tweaks to produce a new, improved
version. Unless the first attempt was so off-the-mark that we'd be better
off throwing it away and starting again. Which does happen, and why it's
highly advisable not to use all your eggs in that first omelette (so to
speak).

Many among us believe we should create the simplest software possible

initially to start getting that all-important feedback as soon as we can.

The one thing we should never do is assume we can get it right first time.
We won't. Nobody ever does.

An important thing to remember is that the shorter the feedback cycles are
when we iterate our designs, the faster we tend to learn and the sooner we
converge on a good solution.

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The problem with complicated things like software, music and omelettes
is that it can be very hard to isolate one part of the problem from all the
other densely interconnected parts. It may sound like the kick drum is too
boomy in the mix, but that could be because the bass guitar is actually too
quiet. It may taste like the omelette needs more salt, but that might be
because it really needs less strawberries.

As we iterate our designs, when we change too many variables between

each new generation it can become very hard to separate the wood from
the trees in identifying which of those changes doesn't really work. If we
change just one variable and make the omelette worse, we know which
variable we shouldn't have messed with and can easily revert back and try
something different.

Therefore, another important thing to remember is that this works best

when we learn one lesson at a time.

So we learn faster and we learn better when we rapidly iterate and change
less things in each iteration.

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DO THE IMPORTANT STUFF FIRST

F
ire!

Not really. But if there actually was a fire, and you had just
seconds to grab a handful of items from your home before
running into the winter night in your underpants, would you just
grab things randomly?

There's a risk you'll end up in the freezing night air having managed to
save only the TV remote and a box of Sugar Puffs. Not quite as useful in
that situation as, say, your wallet and your car keys. You'd feel pretty
stupid.

So just think how stupid you'd feel if you only had 3 months to create a
piece of working software and, when the time and the money ran out, you
hadn't got around to incorporating the handful of key features that would
make the whole effort worthwhile.

Some features will be of more use and more value to your customer and
the end users than others.

Studies like a recent one on menu item usage in Mozilla's Firefox web
browser 2 show that some software features are used much more than
others. We see this kind of distribution of feature usage on many different
kinds of application.

If I was leading a team building a web browser like Firefox, I would want
to have "Bookmark this page" working before I worried about "Firefox
Help".

When you have a close working relationship with the customer, and
unfettered access to representatively typical end users to ask these kinds of
questions, it becomes possible to more effectively prioritise and tackle the
more important problems sooner and leave the less important problems for
later.

2
http://blog.mozilla.org/metrics/2010/04/23/menu-item-usage-study-the-
80-20-rule/

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COMMUNICATING IS THE PRINCIPAL ACTIVITY

H
ello there.

Yes, I'm talking to you.

You and I are communicating. Communication turns out to be

pretty fundamental to software development. In fact, if we sit
down and think it through (you are sitting down, right?), communication is
actually what software development is all about.

It's possible to explain every activity in software development in terms of

languages and communication.

The act of programming is itself a form of communication. As a

programmer, you explain things to the computer in a language the
computer can understand. Well, more accurately, you explain things to a
compiler or an interpreter in a language you can understand - for example,
C - and it in turn explains it to the computer in the machine's language.

But when you write a program, the compiler isn't the only target of your
communication. Programs have to be read and understood by
programmers, too. So, as well as learning how to write programs that
make sense to machines, we have to write them so that they make sense to
humans, too.

Writing programs that make sense to programmers turns out to be even

more challenging than writing programs that make sense to computers.
But there is a very good reason why we should make the effort to do so.

Various studies, like one conducted by Bell Labs3, estimate the amount of
time developers spend reading and understanding code at anywhere
between 50-80%. Understanding code is actually where we spend most of
our time.

We need to understand code so that we can change it, and change it will.
When code fails to communicate clearly to programmers, that code

3
http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/bltj.2221/abstract

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becomes difficult to change. And, as we'll see, accommodating change is
absolutely vital in software.

Apart from writing code that is easy to understand - and therefore to

change - there are many other instances where our ability to communicate
effectively has an impact on our ability to create good software and deliver
value to our customers.

I'm going to focus on two examples that I believe are particularly

important: communicating the design within the team, and communicating
with our customers.

When developers work together on the same piece of software - or

different pieces of connected software - there's a great deal of
communication that needs to happen so that teams can coordinate their
work into a coherent whole.

Collaborative design requires that developers don't just understand how

their piece of the jigsaw works, but how it fits into a larger picture made
up of everybody else's pieces. Teams tend to underestimate how much
communication is needed to make this possible. Inexperienced teams (as
well as experienced teams made up of people who should know better, of
course) have a tendency to take their bit and then go off into their own
little corner of the room and work in isolation.

This can lead to evils such as unnecessary duplication and software having
multiple design styles, making it harder to understand. It's also entirely
possible - and I've been unlucky enough to witness this a few times - to
find out, when all the pieces are wired together, that the thing, as a whole,
doesn't work. (Yet another example of how the high "interconnectedness"
of software can bite us if we're not careful.)

It's therefore very important to try to ensure this doesn't happen. Over the
years, we've found that various things help in this respect.

Most notably, we've found that it can be a very powerful aid to

collaborative design to use pictures to describe our designs, because
pictures are well-suited to explaining complicated things succinctly ( a
picture speaks a thousand words) and can be displayed prominently and

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drawn on whiteboards, making it easier for the team to build a shared
understanding.

It's also a very good idea for teams to integrate their various different
pieces very frequently, so we can catch misunderstandings much earlier
when they're easier to fix.

Building a shared understanding with our customer is of critical

importance. Especially as there's a yawning gap between the hand-wavy,
wishy-washy, "it's sort of kind of" language human beings use day-to-day
and the precise, computable language of machines that we must ultimately
express our customer's requirements in.

Bridging this divide requires us to lead our customers on a journey from

hand-wavy to precise. It's not easy. There's a reason why our customers
aren't writing the code themselves.

Non-programmers have a problem understanding computable statements,

because they lack the ability to think like a computer, on account of
having had no experience as programmers. So we can't use the same kinds
of computable specifications we'd tend to use among ourselves.

But there is a form of precision that we've discovered programmers and

non-programmers are both comfortable with and can both readily
understand - examples.

I might give you a vague statement like "a want a tall horse", and to firm
up our shared understanding of what we mean by "tall", you could show
me some horses and ask "Is this tall enough? Too tall? Too short?"

We can use specific examples to pin down a precise meaning, exploring

the boundaries of things like "too tall", "tall enough" and "too short" and
building a general model of "tallness" that could be expressed in a precise
programming language.

It's also often the case that our customer doesn't know precisely what they
mean, either, and so examples can be a powerful tool in their learning
process. They might not know exactly what they want, but they might
know it when they see it.

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There are many other examples of the underlying role communication
plays in software development. See how many others you can think of.

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PREVENTION IS (USUALLY) CHEAPER THAN CURE

L
ife is full of examples of how it can pay dividends later when we
take more care up front to avoid problems.

Taking a moment to check we've got our keys tends to work out
cheaper than paying a locksmith to let us back into our house. Taking a
moment to taste the soup before we send it out of the kitchen tends to
work out cheaper than refunding the customer who complained about it.
Taking a moment to check the tyres on our car before we set off tends to
work out much, much cheaper than the potential consequences of not
doing so.

In software development, we often find the same thing applies. If we

misunderstand a customer's requirement, finding that out and fixing it
there and then tends to work out much, much cheaper than discovering the
problem in a released product and fixing it then.

We can grossly underestimate how much time - and therefore, how much
of the customer's money - we spend fixing avoidable problems.

Decades of studies 4 have shown beyond any reasonable doubt that the
effort required to fix errors in software grows exponentially larger the
longer they go undiscovered.

A simple misunderstanding about the customer's requirements might cost

100 times as much to fix if it only comes to light after the software has
been released to the end users as it would have done had it been spotted
while we were pinning down that requirement.

A basic programming error might cost 10-20 times as much to fix after the
software's released as it would had the programmer caught it as soon as
they'd written that code.

http://www.research.ibm.com/haifa/projects/verification/gtcb/gtcb_v3_0_
2_presentation/index4.htm

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The upshot of all this is that we've discovered that the best way for most
teams to write good working software economically is to take more care
while they're writing it (see McConnell, Software Quality At Top Speed5)

Or, to put it more bluntly, teams that take more care tend to go faster.

This is one of life's rare instances of allowing us to have our cake and eat
it. We can produce more reliable software (to a point), and it can actually
cost us less to produce it.

The trick to this is to look for mistakes sooner. Indeed, to look for them as
soon as we possibly can after making the mistakes.

For example, if we think there may be misunderstandings about the

customer's requirements, we should test our understanding of those
requirements while we're discussing them with the customer.

We looked in a previous post at the potential power of using examples to

pin down a shared understanding between us and our customers. When we
use examples effectively, we can test that we've really understood what
they've asked for.

By beating out a precise, unambiguous and testable understanding of what

the customer wants from the software, we not only significantly reduce the
potential for requirements misunderstandings, but we also arm ourselves
with a powerful tool for checking that we built the thing right.

Those examples can become tests for the software that we can use as we're
writing it to make sure it conforms to what the customer expects.

Similar checking can be done by developers at the code level to spot

programming errors in functions and modules as the code's being written.
You can test a function or a module by itself, or in concert with other
functions and modules, to better ensure that every line of code you write is
error-free and to catch problems there and then.

A similar effect occurs when teams are working on different - but

connected - parts of the software. I may indeed write my part of the

5
http://www.stevemcconnell.com/articles/art04.htm

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software so that it has very few errors in it, but when I wire it up to
seemingly error-free code written by someone else, we may discover that
the two pieces, when they "speak" to each other, have different
expectations about how to work together.

In order for software to be correct, not only have all the individual pieces
got to be correct by themselves, but all those pieces need to work together
correctly.

This is why good teams tend to integrate their individual pieces very
frequently, so any slip-ups on the way different pieces interact with each
other are caught as early as possible.

This principle of testing throughout development to catch problems as

early as possible is entirely compatible with the other principles. (Phew!)

When we treat software development as a learning process, and use short

feedback cycles associated with more effective learning, these short cycles
give us ample opportunities to test what we're creating (be it software or
specifications) sooner. The shorter the feedback cycles, the sooner we can
test things.

If we're using examples to pin down customer requirements, these

examples can be used to test not only our shared understanding but also
the test the software as it's being created to assure ourselves that what
we're writing conforms to this shared understanding.

If we test as we code, and break our code down into the smallest, simplest
pieces, it becomes possible to work in very short code-and-test cycles of
just a few minutes each. This level of focus on the reliability of potentially
every individual function (or even every line of code) can lead to software
that has very few errors in it by the time it's ready to be put into use.

And studies have shown that such a focus throughout development can
allow us to create better software at no extra cost. Hurray for our side!

Finally, to the "(usually)" in the title: we find there are limits to this
principle. Yes, it pays to check the tyres on your car before you set off. It
can significantly reduce the risk of an accident. But it cannot remove the

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risk completely. Kicking the tyres to check the air pressure and using a
coin to measure the depth of the tread is good enough in most cases.

But if the dangers presented by potential tyre failures are much higher -
for example, if that car is about to race in the Grand Prix - you may need
to go further in ensuring the safety of those tyres. And in going further, the
costs may start to escalate rapidly.

It makes little sense economically to apply the same kinds of checks to

your car's tyres before, say, popping to the supermarket that they use on
McLaren F1 tyres.

So, yes, you can take too much care...

But here's a warning. Too many teams misjudge where they lie in the
grand scheme of care vs. cost. Too many teams mistakenly believe that if
they took more care, the cost would go up. (Too many teams think they're
McLaren, when, in reality, they are Skoda.)

But, even if we're Skoda, reliability is still almost as important as it is to

teams like Mclaren, we may not need to go all of the way, but we probably
need to go most of the way. "Perfect" and "good enough" are closer than
you think in software.

It's very unlikely that your team is already doing enough to catch mistakes
earlier, and that you wouldn't benefit from taking a bit more care. Most of
us would benefit from doing more.

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SOFTWARE THAT CAN’T BE PUT TO USE HAS NO VALUE

H
ere's a little ditty that tends to get left out when we discuss the
principles of software development.

Arguably, it seems so obvious that we shouldn't need to include

it. But an experienced developer will tell you that it all too often gets
overlooked.

You cannot eat a meal that's still in the restaurant's kitchen in pots and
pans. You cannot listen to a pop song that's sitting on the producer's hard
drive in a hodge-podge of audio files and MIDI. You cannot drive a car
that's still on the assembly line.

And you cannot use software that's still just a bunch of source code files
sitting on different people's computers.

Software, like food, music and cars, costs money to make. In the majority
of cases where teams are doing it commercially, that's someone else's
money. If our ultimate goal is to give them their money's-worth when we
write software, we really need to bear in mind that the value locked in the
code we've written cannot be realised until we can give them a working
piece of software that they can then put to good use.

Typically, the sooner the customer can get their hands on working
software that solves at least part of their problem, the better for them and
therefore for us, since we all share that goal.

This has a number of implications for the way we develop software.

Firstly, in order for software to be released to the customer, it needs to

work.

Teams that have put insufficient care into checking that the software
works - that is, it does what the customer needs it to do, and does it
reliably enough - will likely as not find that before their software can be
released, they have to go through a time-consuming process of testing it
and fixing any problems that stand in the way of making it fit for its
purpose.

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It's not uncommon for this process of "stabilising" the software to take
months of extra intense work. It's also not unheard of for software to fail
to stabilise, and for releases to be abandoned. Because problems can take
many times longer to fix when we look for them at this late stage, this
turns out to be a very expensive way of making the software good enough
for use in the real world.

It makes more sense economically to take reasonable steps to ensure that

the software is working while we're writing it. We write a little bit, and we
test it, and then we write a bit more and test that, and so on. If we're
working in teams, we also integrate as we go, to make sure that the whole
thing works when we incorporate our parts.

Secondly, it's entirely possible that, if we effectively prioritise the

customer's requirements and tackle the most important things first, we
may create software that would be of real value if it were put to use before
we've built the whole thing.

But who is best placed to decide if that's the case?

It's the customer's problem we're trying solve, and the customer's money
we're spending to solve it. Common sense dictates that the customer
should decide when to release the software to the end users.

Our job, as developers, is to be ready when they make that call.

We have a responsibility to ensure the software is always working, and

that we integrate our work into the whole as often as we can so the risk of
important code being left out of the finished product is as small as
possible.

In a learning process, for us and our customers, releases are likely to be

frequent and the amount of change in each new version of the software is
likely to be small. It's therefore of paramount importance that we can
release as frequently as the customer requires so that they can more
quickly learn about what works and what doesn't in the real world. Failing
to do this very significantly reduces our chances of hitting the nail on the
head eventually.

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INTERFACES ARE FOR COMMUNICATING

B
asic Principle #5 states that the principal activity in software
development is communicating.

The interfaces we design to allow people - and other software - to

use our programs fall under that banner, but I feel they're important
enough to warrant their own principle.

An interface provides a means for users to communicate with our

software, and through our software, with the computer.

There are different kinds of interface.

Most computer users are familiar with Graphical User Interfaces. These
present users with friendly and easy-to-understand visual representations
of concepts embodied by the software (like "file", "document", "friend"
and so on) and ways to perform actions on these objects that have a well-
defined meaning (like "file... open", "document... save" and "friend... send
message").

Other kinds of interface include command line interfaces, which allow us

to invoke actions by typing in commands, web services which make it
possible for one program to issue commands to another over the World
Wide Web, and application-specific input/output devices like cash
registers used by shops and ATMs used by bank customers.

When we view interfaces as "things users communicate with the software

through", it can help us to understand what might distinguish a good
interface design from a not-so-good one, if we contemplate some basic
rules for effective communication.

Interface design is a wide topic, but let's just cover a few key examples to
help illustrate the point.

Firstly, effective communication requires that the parties talking to each

other both speak the same language. A Graphical User Interface, for
example, defines a visual language made of icons/symbols and gestures
that need to mean the same thing to the user and the software. What does

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that picture of a piece of paper with writing on it mean, and what does it
mean when I double-click on it?

An important question when designing interfaces is "whose language

should we be speaking?" Should the user be required to learn a language
in order to use the software? Or should the software speak the user's
language?

Ideally, it's the latter, since the whole point of our software is to enable the
user to communicate with the computer. So an interface needs to make
sense to the user. We need to strive to understand the user's way of
looking at the problem and, wherever possible, reflect that understanding
back in the design of our interface.

Interfaces that users find easy to understand and use are said to be
intuitive.

In reality, some compromise is needed, because it's not really possible yet
to construct computer interfaces that behave exactly like the real world.
But we can get close enough, usually, and seek to minimise the amount of
learning the end users have to do.

Another basic rule is that interfaces need to make it clear what effect a
user's actions have had. Expressed in terms of effective communication,
interfaces should give the user meaningful feedback on their actions.

It really bugs me, as someone who runs a small business, when I have to
deal with people who give misleading feedback or who give no feedback
at all when we communicate. I might send someone an important
document, and it would be very useful to know that the document's been
received and that they're acting on it. Silence is not helpful to me in
planning what I should do next. Even less helpful is misleading feedback,
like being told "I'll get right on it" when they are, in fact, about to go on
holiday for two weeks.

If I delete a file, I like to see that it's been deleted and is no longer in that
folder. If I add a friend on a social network, I like to see that they're now
in my friends list and that we can see each other's posts and images and
wotnot and send private messages. When I don't get this feedback, I
worry. I worry my action may not have worked. I worry that the effect it

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had might be something I didn't intend. Most annoyingly, because I can't
see what effect my actions have had, I struggle to learn how to use an
interface which is perhaps not entirely intuitive to me.

An interface that gives good immediate feedback is said to be responsive.

Value responsive interfaces as much as you value responsive people.

Which leads me on to a third basic rule for interface design. Because it's
not always possible to make interfaces completely intuitive, and because
the effect of an action is not always clear up front, users are likely to make
the occasional boo-boo and doing something to their data that they didn't
mean to do.

I remember years ago, a team I joined had designed a toolbar for a

Windows application where the "Delete" button had a picture of a rabbit
on it. Quite naturally, I clicked on the rabbit, thinking "I wonder what this
does..."

Oops. Important file gone. In the days before the Recycle Bin, too. The
one button they didn't have was the one I really, really needed at that point
- Undo!

Interfaces that allow users to undo mistakes are said to be forgiving, and
making them so can be of enormous benefit to users.

There will be times, of course, when an action can't be undone. Once an

email is sent, it's sent. Once a bank payment is made, it's made. Once
you've threatened to blow up an airport on a public forum, and so on and
etc.

When actions can't be undone, the kindest thing we can do is warn users
before they commit to them.

Another way we can protect users is by presenting them only with valid
choices. How annoying is it when an ATM prompts you to withdraw £10,
£30, and £50, and when you select one of those options you get a message
saying "Only multiples of £20 available". Like it's your fault, somehow!

Interface design should clearly communicate what users can do, and
whenever possible should not give them the opportunity to try to do things

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that they shouldn't. For example, a file that's in use can't be deleted. So
disable that option in the File menu if a file that's in use is selected.

Similarly, when users input data, we should protect them from inputting
data that would cause problems in the software. If the candidate's email
address in a job application is going to be used throughout the application
process, it had better be a valid email address. If you let them enter
"wibble" in that text box, the process is going to fall over at some point.

Interfaces that protect the user from performing invalid actions or

inputting invalid data are said to be strict. It may sound like a
contradiction in terms to suggest that interfaces need to be strict AND
forgiving, but it's all a question of context.

If, according to the rules of our software, there's no way of knowing that
the user didn't intend to do that, then we need to be forgiving. If the rules
say "that's not allowed in these circumstances", then we should be strict.

One final example, going back to this amazingly well-designed GUI with
the rabbit Delete button. On the main toolbar, it was a rabbit. But there
was also a Delete button on the individual File dialogue, which sported a
picture of an exclamation mark. So having figured out once that "rabbit =
delete", I had to figure it out again for "exclamation mark = delete". Boo!
Hiss! Bad interface doggy - in your basket!

My point is this; in order for us to communicate effectively we must not

just be clear, but also consistent in our use of language. When we're
inconsistent (e.g., "rabbit = exclamation mark = delete"), we significantly
increase the amount of learning the user has to do.

When designing interfaces, we should also remember Basic Principle #3 -

Software Development Is A Learning Process. It's vanishingly rare to find
teams who get it right first time. We should iterate our interface designs
frequently, seeking meaningful feedback from end users and the customer
and allowing the design to evolve to become as intuitive, responsive,
forgiving, strict and consistent as it needs to be to allow users to get the
best from our software.

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There is, as I said, a whole lot more to interface design than this, but
hopefully this gives you some flavour. In particular, we need to remember
that good interface design is about effective communication.

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AUTOMATE THE DONKEY WORK

I
don't know about you, but I'm not a big fan of mindless, repetitive
tasks.

In software development, we find that there are some activities we

end up repeating many times.

Take testing, for example. An averagely complicated piece of software Photo: AARDMAN

might require us to perform thousands of tests to properly ensure that

every line of code is doing what it's supposed to. That can spell weeks of
clicking the same buttons, typing in the same data etc., over and over
again.

If we only had to test the software once, then it wouldn't be such a

problem. Yeah, it'll be a few dull weeks, but when it's over, the
champagne corks are popping.

Chances are, though, that it won't be the only time we need to perform
those tests. If we make any changes to the software, there's a real chance
that features that we tested once and found to be working might have been
broken. So when we make changes after the software's been tested once, it
will need testing again. Now we're breaking a real sweat!

Some inexperienced teams (and, of course, those experienced teams who

should know better) try to solve this problem by preventing changes after
the software's been tested.

This is sheer folly, though. By preventing change, we prevent learning.

And when we prevent learning, we usually end up preventing ourselves
from solving the customer's problems, since software development is a
learning process.

The other major drawback to relying on repeated manual testing is that it

can take much longer to find out if a mistake has been made. The longer a
mistake goes undetected, the more it costs to fix (by orders of magnitude).

A better solution to repeated testing is to write computer programs that

execute those tests for us. These could be programs that click buttons and
input data like a user would, or programs that call functions inside the

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software to check the internal logic is correct or that the communication
between different pieces of the software is working as we'd expect.

How much testing you should automate depends on a range of factors.

Writing automated test programs that perform user actions tends to be

expensive and time-consuming, so you may decide to automate some key
user interface tests, and then rely more on automating internal ("unit")
tests - which can be cheaper to write and often run much faster - to really
put the program through its paces.

If time's tight, you may choose to write more automated tests for parts of
the software that present the greatest risk, or have the greatest value to the
customer.

Automating tests can require a big investment, but can pay significant
dividends throughout the lifetime of the software. Testing that might take
days by hand might only take a few minutes if done by a computer
program. You could go from testing once every few weeks to testing
several times an hour. This can be immensely valuable in a learning
process that aims to catch mistakes as early as possible.

Basic Principle #7 states that software that can't be put to use has no value.
Here's another obvious truism for you: while software's being tested, we
can't be confident that it's fit for use.

Or, to use more colourful language, anyone who releases software before
it's been adequately tested is bats**t crazy.

If it takes a long time to test your software, then there'll be long periods
when you don't know if the software can be put to use, and if your
customer asked you to release it, you'd either have to tell them to wait or
you'd release it under protest. (Or just don't tell them it might not work and
brace yourself for the fireworks - yep, it happens.)

If we want to put the customer in the driving seat on decisions about when
to release the software - and we should - then we need to be able to test the
software quickly and cheaply so we can do it very frequently.

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Repeating tests isn't the only kind of donkey work we do. Modern
software is pretty complicated. Even a "simple" web application can
involve multiple parts, written in multiple programming languages, that
must be installed in multiple technology environments that each has their
own way of doing things.

Imagine, say, a Java web application. To put it into use, we might have to
compile a bunch of Java program source files, package up the executable
files created by compilation into an archive (like a ZIP file) for deploying
to a Java-enabled web server like the Apache Foundation's Tomcat. Along
with the machine-ready (well, Java Virtual Machine-ready) executable
files, a bunch of other source files need to be deployed, such as HTML
templates for web pages, and files that contain important configuration
information that the web application needs. It's quite likely that the
application will store data in some kind of structured database, too.
Making our application ready for use might involve running scripts to set
up this database, and if necessary to migrate old data to a new database
structure.

This typical set-up would involve a whole sequence of steps when doing it
by hand. We'd need to get the latest tested (i.e. working) version of the
source files from the team's source code repository. We'd need to compile
the code. Then package up all the executable and supporting files and
copy them across to the web server (which we might need to stop and
restart afterwards.) Then run the database scripts. And then, just to be sure,
run some smoke tests - a handful of simple tests just to "kick the tyres", so
to speak - to make sure that what we've just deployed actually works.

And if it doesn't work, we need to be able to put everything back just the
way it was (and smoke test again to be certain) as quickly as possible.

When we're working in teams, with each developer working on different

pieces of the software simultaneously, we would also follow a similar
procedure (but without releasing the software to the end users) every time
we integrated our work into the shared source code repository, so we
could be sure that all the individual pieces work correctly together and that
any changes we've made haven't inadvertently impacted on changes
someone else has been making.

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So we could be repeating this sequence of steps many, many times. This is
therefore another great candidate for automation. Experienced teams write
what we call "build scripts" and "deployment scripts" to do all this
laborious and repetitive work for us.

There are many other examples of boring, repetitive and potentially time-
consuming tasks that developers should think about automating - like
writing programs that automatically generate the repetitive "plumbing"
code that we often have to write in many kinds of applications these days
(for example, code that reads and writes data to databases can often end up
looking pretty similar, and can usually be inferred automatically from the
data structures involved).

We need to be vigilant for repetition and duplication in our work as

software developers, and shrewdly weigh up the pros and cons of
automating the work to save us time and money in the future.

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GROW COMPLEX SOFTWARE USING THE SIMPLEST PARTS

O
ne thing I learned years ago is that when life is simpler, I tend to
get more done. Other people make themselves busy, filling up
their diaries, filling out forms, taking on more and more
responsibilities and generally cluttering up their days.

Like a lot of software developers, I'm inherently lazy. So when I need to

get something done, my first thought is usually "what's the least I can do
to achieve this?" (My second thought, of course, is "what time does the
pub open?")

Somehow, though, I do manage to get things done. And, after examining

why someone as lazy as me manages to achieve anything, I've realised that
it's because I'm an ideal combination of lazy and focused. I tend to know
exactly what it is I'm setting out to achieve, and I have a knack for finding
the lowest energy route to getting there.

When life gets more complicated, we not only open ourselves up to a lot
of unnecessary effort, but we also end up in a situation where there are a
lot more things that can go wrong.

Although I'm lazy, I actually have to work quite hard to keep my life
simple. But it's worth it. By keeping things simple and uncluttered, it
leaves much potential to actually do things. In particular, it leaves time to
seize opportunities and deal with problems that suddenly come up.

Keeping things simple reduces the risk of disasters, and increases my

capacity to adapt to changing circumstances. I've got time to learn and
adapt. Busy people don't.

And waddayaknow? It turns out that much of the joy and fulfillment that
life has to offer comes through learning and adapting, not through
doggedly sticking to plans.

Software is similar. When we make our programs more complicated than

they need to be, we increase the risk of the program being wrong - simply
because there's more that can go wrong.

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And the more complex a program is, the harder it is to understand, and
therefore the harder it can be to change without breaking it. Teams who
overcomplicate their software can often be so busy fixing bugs and
wrestling to get their heads around the code that they have little time for
adding new features and adapting the software to changing circumstances.

When we write code, we need to be lazy and focused. We need to work

hard at writing the simplest code possible that will satisfy the customer's
requirements.

And hard work it is. Simplicity doesn't come easy. We need to be

constantly vigilant to unnecessary complexity, always asking ourselves
"what's the least we can do here?"

And we need to be continually reshaping and "cleaning" the code to

maintain that simplicity. Uncluttered code will no more stay magically
uncluttered as it grows than an uncluttered house will magically stay
uncluttered with no tidying.

But doesn't software necessarily get complicated? Is it possible to write a

"simple" Computer-Aided Design program, or a "simple" Digital Audio
Workstation, or a "simple" Nuclear Missile Defence System?

While we must strive for the simplest software, many problems are just
darn complicated. There's no avoiding it.

Cities are also necessarily very complicated. But my house isn't. I don't
need to understand how a city works to deal with living in my house. I just
need to know how my house works and how it interacts with the parts of
the city it's connected to (through the street, through the sewers, through
the fibre-optic cable that brings the Interweb and TV and telephone, etc.)

Cities are inescapably complex - beyond the capability of any person to

completely grasp - but living and working in a big city is something
millions do every day quite happily. We can build fantastically
complicated cities out of amazingly simple parts.

The overall design of a city emerges through the interactions of all the
different parts. We cannot hope to plan how a city grows in detail at the
level of the entire city. It simply won't fit inside our heads.

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But we can apply some simple organising principles to the parts - houses,
streets, communities, roads, waterways, power supplies and all the rest -
and in particular to how the parts interact, so that what emerges is a
working city.

And we can gently influence the overall shape by applying external

constraints (e.g., you can't build here, but build affordable houses over
there and we'll give you a generous tax break.)

When it comes to organising software in the large, a great deal of the

action needs to happen in the small. We can allow complicated software to
grow by wiring together lots of very simple pieces, and applying a few
basic organising principles to how those individual pieces are designed
and how they interact with each other.

We can focus on getting it right at that atomic level of functions, modules

and their interactions, working to maintain the ultimate simplicity.

And then we can constrain the overall design by applying the customer's
tests from the outside. So, regardless of what internal design emerges, as a
whole it must do what the customer requires it to do, while remaining
simple enough in its component parts to accommodate change.

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TO LEARN, WE MUST BE OPEN TO CHANGE

I
f there's one thing we can be certain of in this crazy, mixed up world,
it's that we can be certain of nothing.

In previous posts, I've alluded often to change, and how important it is

in software development.

This final post - putting aside my feeble joke - seeks to reify change to a Lily Strugnell (108), World's Oldest
first-order component of successful software development. It deserves its Facebook User

own principle.

As software development is a learning process, and since we learn by

incorporating feedback in an iterative sort of fashion, it stands to reason
that our software must remain open to the necessary changes this feedback
demands.

If we're not able to accommodate change, then we're unable to learn, and
therefore less likely to succeed at solving the customer's problems.

But, although we call it "software" (and, admittedly it is easier to change

than things made out of, say, concrete) changes to software don't come at
no cost.

In fact, changing software can be quite expensive; more expensive than

writing it in the first place, if we're not careful.

What happens when software is too expensive to change? Well, what

happens when anything becomes too expensive? That's right - nobody's
willing to pay for it; except fools and madmen, of course.

Software becomes too expensive to change when the cost of changing it

outweighs the benefits of making those changes.

A surprisingly large number of software products out there have reached

this sorry point. All over the world, there are businesses who rely on
software they can't afford to change, and therefore can't change the way
their business works.

When a business can't change the way they work, they struggle to adapt to
changing circumstances, and become less competitive.

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The same goes for the software we use in our daily lives. We may see
many improvements that could be made that would add a lot of value, and
we may have come to rely on the version of the software we're using. But
if the people who make that software are unable to incorporate our
feedback, we end up stuck with a duff product, and they end up stuck with
a duff business.

Meanwhile, competitors can take those same lessons and come up with a
much better product. There are thousands of new businesses out there
ready, willing and able to learn from your mistakes.

To accommodate change in our software, we need to minimise those

factors that can be barriers to change.

Some of these factors have already been touched upon in previous

principles. For example, if we strive to keep our software simple and
readable, that can make a big difference. It will make our code easier to
understand, and understanding code makes up the lion's share of the work
in changing it, as studies have revealed.

If we automate our repeated tests, this can also make a big difference. One
of the risks of making a change to a piece of working software is that we
might break it. The earlier we can find out if we've broken the software,
the cheaper it might be to fix it.

Automating builds and release/deployment of software can also help us to

accommodate change. Teams that frequently integrate their individual
work find that they minimise the impact of integration problems. And
teams that can quickly and cheaply release or deploy their software (and
safely undo that deployment if something goes wrong) are in a much
better position to release software updates more frequently, so they can
learn more and learn faster.

There are other important factors in our ability to accommodate change,

but I'm going to end by considering two more.

As well as making our code simple and easy to understand, we also need
to be vigilant for duplication and dependencies in our code.

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Duplicate code has a nasty tendency to duplicate the effort required to
make changes to the common logic in that duplicated code. We also risk
duplicating errors in the code.

We must also be careful to minimise the "ripple effect" when we make

changes in our software. Ask any experienced developer, and they'll be
able to tell you about times when they made what they thought would be a
tiny change to one part of the software, but found that small change broke
several other parts that were depending on it. And when they fixed those
dependent parts, they broke even more parts of the software that were in
turn depending on them. And so on.

When the dependencies in our software aren't carefully managed, we risk

the equivalent of "forest fires" spreading throughout it. A seemingly small
change can end up turning into a major piece of work, costing far more
than that change is worth to our customer.

Finally, in order to accommodate change, we must be open to change. The

way we work, the way we communicate with each other, the way we plan
what we do, all has to make change - and therefore learning - easier.

Too many professional software developers have a fear of change, and too
many teams organise themselves around the principle of avoiding it if they
can.

For example, many teams do everything humanly possible to avoid

customer or end user feedback. They can become very defensive when
someone points out a flaw in their software or makes suggestions for
improvements. This is often because they fear they cannot act on that
feedback, so they employ the coping mechanism of hiding, or getting
angry with the person offering the feedback.

Many teams employ complex, bureaucratic procedures for "change

management" (which is software-speak for "discouraging change") which
can only be designed to put customers off asking for new things.

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The language of software development has evolved to be anti-change:
commonly used terms like "code freeze" and "scope creep" are aimed at
encouraging a culture where change is bad, and no change is good.

When we approach software development as a learning process, and

accept that much of the real value in what we create will come from
feedback and not from what we originally planned, then we must not just
tolerate or allow change, but actively embrace it.

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 To find out more Codemanship training workshops, visit
www.codemanship.com

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