The median indie game on Steam makes less than $1,000.
Total. Ever. That’s the entire revenue story.
And before you think “well, those must be the bad games,” let me stop you right there. Because here’s what that number represents in the real world:
Someone spent anywhere from 3 to 8 years building something from nothing. Learned an engine. Drew the art. Fixed ten thousand bugs. Sacrificed weekends, holidays, sleep, and at least one relationship that was probably worth keeping.
And at the end of all that? A thousand bucks.
That wouldn’t even cover their electricity bill. Or therapy. (They’ll need both)
I lived this exact nightmare when I started my first game company. Got so obsessed with building the thing that I completely forgot someone had to actually, you know… sell it. Which, as it turns out, is just a very expensive hobby and a few wasted years.
Most studios are living the same nightmare. VG Insights says the indie sector pulled in $4 billion last year. Sounds incredible, but 53% of that money went to the top 1% of developers. The other 99% are basically splitting the leftovers.
But here’s the part that actually breaks my heart: Most of these games aren’t bad.
I mean it. There are absolute masterpieces out there. Clever mechanics. Gorgeous art. Stories that would make AAA writers jealous.
These games don’t fail because they suck – they fail because they’re invisible.
It’s like opening a Michelin-star restaurant in a basement with no sign, no address, and no phone number. And then sitting inside, alone, staring at your beautifully plated risotto, wondering why nobody showed up.
That’s what uploading a game to Steam and hoping for the best looks like.
And I’m about to tell you exactly why this happens. And then – and this is the good part – I’m going to tell you how to fix it. Because it’s not quality. It’s not talent. It’s not “the market’s too crowded.”
It’s that nobody showed up on launch day. That’s it. That’s the whole disease.
And you know what’s wild? That’s actually a solvable problem. A shockingly straightforward one, even.
But before I show you the fix, you need to see where the bleeding starts. Because it’s happening right now, in real time, and most developers can’t feel it until it’s way too late.
Table of Contents
How to waste 50,000 likes in one click
Every single day – and I do mean every single day – devs post their GIFs on Reddit. And Reddit does what Reddit does. The post explodes. 50k upvotes. Comments section becomes a standing ovation. “SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY.” “Wishlisted!” “I NEED THIS IN MY LIFE.”
Where does that developer send all that traffic?
Steam.
They send it to Steam.
Picture what just happened for a second. 50,000 people showed up at your front door with their wallets out. And you said “Great! Go talk to my landlord instead.”
And look – I get it. Steam feels like the obvious move. It’s the store. It’s where games live. Sending people to your Steam page feels as natural as breathing.
But here’s the thing about Steam.
It’s a shelf.
That’s it. A really, really nice shelf – beautiful lighting, great wood finish, the whole deal – but it’s still just a shelf. And a shelf is not a marketing strategy any more than a parking spot is a transportation plan.
You know what Walmart doesn’t do?
Walmart doesn’t chase you through the parking lot screaming “HEY! COME BACK! YOU LOOKED AT THE CHIPS! I SAW YOU PICK UP THE CHIPS AND PUT THEM DOWN! DON’T YOU WANT THE CHIPS?!”
That would be insane.
Steam doesn’t do that either.
Someone lands on your Steam page. They look around for maybe 11 seconds (I’m being generous here – most people give you six.). They look at a screenshot or two. Maybe – maybe – they click “Add to Wishlist.”
And then they’re gone. Forever.
No email. No name. No way to reach them. Nothing.
You can’t message them when the game launches. Can’t tell them about the DLC you just dropped. Can’t say “hey, remember that game you were losing your mind over six months ago? It’s out. Right now. Go buy it.”
Can’t say any of that.
Because that person is now just a wishlist entry. And wishlist entries don’t buy games. People do.
The audition you’ll fail (and never know why)
Here’s what most developers don’t know until it’s too late.
Steam’s algorithm is not your friend. It’s also not your enemy. It’s more like a shark – no feelings, no sympathy, definitely no “aww, this person worked really hard, let’s give them a break.” But it can smell blood in the water from a mile away.
The blood, in this case, is sales velocity.
When your game launches, Steam gives you a tiny window of visibility. Think of it as an audition. A few hours where the algorithm basically goes: “Okay, new game. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
And it watches.
How many people buy. How fast. What the conversion rate looks like.
Numbers spike?
Algorithm goes: “Interesting.” And it starts pushing your game to more people. You get more eyeballs, more traffic, more sales. Which triggers more visibility. Which triggers more traffic. Which triggers more sales.
It’s a beautiful, self-reinforcing flywheel that can turn a tiny indie game into a front-page sensation overnight. (I’ll show you an example a bit later)
Numbers don’t spike?
Well… The algorithm shrugs and moves on.
Your game slides off “New Releases” page, sinks past “Popular Upcoming,” and settles somewhere between a hentai puzzle game and an asset flip about zombies where every zombie has the same face.
And the brutal part? There are no do-overs.
The launch window is THE launch window. There’s no “wait, I wasn’t ready, can we try that again?” There’s no “we’ll build momentum over time” or “slow and steady wins the race.”
Steam doesn’t reward patience – it rewards explosions. Big, loud, unmistakable explosions of buying activity in a compressed window of time.
So to survive launch day, you need three things:
- A crowd of people who already care about your game BEFORE it goes live.
- A way to reach every single one of those people at the exact same moment. At once. On command. Like flipping a switch.
- A message compelling enough to make them buy RIGHT NOW. Not tomorrow. Not “when I get paid Friday.” Not “I’ll add it to my wishlist and circle back in six months when I remember it exists.” Now. Today. This second.
Simple, right?
(Narrator: It was not simple.)
Most studios try to do this with one of three things. And all three have the same fatal flaw.
Three “strategies” that’ll sink your launch (sorry)
Okay. Now we get to the part where I ruin some people’s day. And I genuinely am sorry about that. But I’d rather ruin your day now than let you ruin your entire year later when it’s too late to fix anything. So here we go.
Strategy 1: “I have 100,000 wishlists. I’m ready.”
This is the big one. The comforting lie that thousands of developers tell themselves every single year: “I need to get 100,000 wishlists and I’ll be fine.”
Here’s how wishlists are supposed to work, in the beautiful fairy tale version that everyone believes:
People find your game. They click “Add to Wishlist.” Then on launch day, Steam sends them all a notification. They see it, they click it, they buy it, confetti falls from the sky, you pay off your student loans, and your mom finally understands what you do for a living.
Beautiful.
Here’s how it actually works.
Valve decides when those notifications go out. Valve decides who gets them first. Valve decides how prominently they show up.
And if Hades 3 happens to drop the same Tuesday? Guess whose notifications get prime real estate. (Hint: it’s not the solo dev from Kansas with a cozy farming sim.)
Your notifications won’t disappear – they just get buried.
And the worst part?
You’ll never even know it happened. Because there’s no dashboard. No report. No apologetic email from Valve that says “Hey, sorry, we deprioritized your notifications because Supergiant Games exists and they’re just objectively better than you.”
It just… quietly doesn’t work.
And you’re left staring at a flatlined sales graph wondering what the hell went wrong when you did everything “right.”
Oh, and it gets better.
Steam only sends those release emails to users who have “marketing communications” enabled in their account settings.
If they unchecked that box three years ago because they were sick of getting “SUMMER SALE! WINTER SALE! TUESDAY SALE!” emails (can’t blame them) – they will NEVER hear about your game.
Zero. Zilch. Nothing.
I know that 100k number looks impressive on a screenshot. Makes for a great tweet. Feels like progress. But you want to know what 100,000 wishlists actually is in Steam’s eyes?
It’s the minimum. The floor. The “congratulations, you’re now visible enough for us to even consider showing your game to people” threshold.
That’s not me being dramatic – ask any developer who’s launched with less. Steam’s algorithm basically treats anything below six figures like background noise.
Which means relying on wishlists alone = handing Valve the keys to your entire commercial future and hoping they drive you somewhere nice.
Strategy 2: “I’ll just go viral”
Ah yes. The classic.
Post everywhere. Twitter. TikTok. Facebook. Use every hashtag and every subreddit that won’t immediately ban you for self-promotion.
The idea is volume. If you throw enough spaghetti at enough walls, something’s gotta stick, right?
Sure. Sometimes it works, one post catches fire, and thousands of people see your game.
For about six hours.
Because social media is a river, not a lake – the attention flows through, but doesn’t stay. Tomorrow, your front-page post is gone. Replaced by dancing cat videos and a deepfake Trump riding a golden toilet through the stratosphere. (Or is it a deepfake? At this point, honestly, who can tell.)
That’s how feeds work – they’re designed to make you scroll, not remember.
Strategy 3: “I’ll rally the Discord”
This one’s tricky.
Because Discord is actually good. Like, genuinely, unironically good – for community, feedback, playtests, hanging out with your most dedicated fans.
But there’s a massive difference between “great community tool” and “sales weapon.”
Picture launch morning.
You open Discord. You’re excited. Nervous. Heartfelt. You type up a beautiful announcement, pin it, and hit @everyone: “THE GAME IS LIVE! 🎉 Link below! GO GO GO!”
On the receiving end?
Your player wakes up, grabs their phone, and sees… 47 red notification badges.
Your server. Two gaming servers. A study group. A friend’s meme channel. Three servers they forgot they joined. A crypto server they definitely don’t remember joining and might need to investigate later.
And somewhere between “GIVEAWAY ALERT 🚨” and a guy named DarkWolf_420 arguing about Diablo 3 weapon tier lists – is your launch announcement. One more red dot in an ocean of red dots.
It’s not a signal – it’s noise.
See, Discord is incredible for keeping a community warm. Like a campfire. It’s cozy. People gather around it. They tell stories. They feel connected. It’s wonderful.
I love campfires. Everyone loves campfires.
But on the day you need a synchronized burst of action – hundreds of people clicking “buy” within the same hour – a campfire is not what you need. You need a targeted missile.
See the pattern?
Because I need you to see it. I need you to really see it, not just nod along and think “yeah, that sucks” and then go do the exact same thing anyway.
Three different strategies. One identical flaw – someone else decides whether your message gets through.
That is a terrifyingly thin plan to bet 3-6 years of your life on.
The embarrassingly simple fix (which is why it works)
Okay. I’ve spent the last two thousand words being a downer.
Algorithms that eat games alive. Wishlists that are basically decorative. Discord servers drowning your messages in anime pictures. Terrifying stuff. Real uplifting.
Here’s the good news: all of it is fixable.
And not in a “hire a marketing agency for $50,000” way. More like a “spend ninety minutes doing one thing and then stop worrying about it” way.
But I have to warn you.
The fix is so stupidly, embarrassingly simple that your brain is going to try to reject it.
See, developers love complexity. We think if a solution doesn’t involve custom shaders, procedural levels and intelligent pathfinding – it’s not ‘real’ strategy. We skip the simple thing to chase the complicated thing because complicated feels impressive.
Don’t do that. Not this time.
Because the answer is…
You need a website.
(I know, I know. Hold your applause.)
But wait. Before your eyes glaze over – I don’t mean a website.
I mean ONE page.
A single page. Screenshot. Trailer. Short description. And a “Wishlist on Steam” button.
That’s it.
“Hold on – you just spent several sections telling me Steam is a trap, and now you’re saying put a wishlist button on my site? Are you messing with me?”
I am not messing with you. And this is the part where everything clicks, so I need you to pay very close attention.
Yes, put the wishlist button on your site. Absolutely. Wishlists are free visibility on Steam’s platform and you should take every scrap of it. I’m not anti-wishlist.
I’m anti-wishlist-as-your-only-strategy.
Here’s what changing: the ENTRY POINT is now yours.
When someone Googles your game, they land on YOUR page. Not Valve’s. When you share a link on Reddit, it goes to YOUR URL. You still get wishlists (great, free visibility, take it) – but they came through YOUR front door. Your analytics. Your territory. Your rules.
Now you control your traffic. And when you control it you can make…
The trade nobody makes (until it’s too late)
Your page is up. Traffic is flowing. People visit, click the wishlist button, leave.
And that’s fine.
For now.
But let me ask you something.
Say your site gets 200 visitors a month. Not a lot. Pretty typical for an indie game in dev. Over a year, that’s 2,400 people who were interested enough to click a link and look at your game.
How many of those 2,400 people can you contact?
Zero.
Two thousand four hundred people essentially walked up to your booth at a convention, picked up your game, looked at it, said “nice” – and then put it down and wandered off into the crowd.
And you just stood there.
You didn’t get a name. Didn’t get an email. Didn’t slip them a business card. Didn’t say “hey, can I let you know when this thing is ready?”
You just… watched them walk away.
For a year.
That’s a slow-motion catastrophe happening in plain sight, every single day, and nobody notices because there’s no dashboard that screams “PEOPLE YOU COULD’VE REACHED BUT DIDN’T.”
(There should be. Someone build that. It would save a lot of games.)
So here’s what you do.
Your game is further along. There’s stuff to show.
And I guarantee you have more than you think you do, because I’ve never met an entrepreneur of any kind who didn’t massively underestimate the value of what’s already sitting on their hard drive.
Playable demo? The vertical slice that was built for a publisher pitch? The concept art folder? The soundtrack sketches? The lore doc that started as a paragraph and grew into a 40-page beast that nobody asked for but you couldn’t stop writing?
All of it. Valuable. Every piece.
Pick one.
I’m serious – just one. Don’t overthink it. Whichever one makes people go “oh that’s cool, I want that.”
The bar is “cool enough that someone will trade their email address for it.”
And that bar is much lower than you think, because you’ve been staring at your own work for years and you’ve completely lost the ability to judge what other people find exciting. (This happens to every creator. Every single one.)
Put it behind a simple trade: “Drop your email. Get this thing.”
That’s it.
And this is where I need you to pay very close attention. Because this next part is the difference between a dead launch and a career-making one.
A wishlist is a ‘maybe’.
“Maybe I’ll buy it when it comes out. If I remember. If Steam tells me. If I’m not playing something else that day. If my horoscope says it’s a good day for purchases.”
It’s a soft signal from a stranger with zero commitment.
An email signup is an ACTION.
The person stopped scrolling, typed their actual email address, and said “yes, I want to hear more about this game.”
That’s not passive interest. That’s someone leaning across the table, looking you in the eye, and saying “I’m in. Keep me posted.”
And it comes with something a wishlist will never give you: The ability to follow up.
Directly. Anytime you want. With whatever you want to say.
And here’s the kicker:
You already know what to say
Now here’s the part that makes people nervous: “Wait… I have to write emails now??”
No.
You have to copy-paste.
Think about what you posted on Twitter last week.
A screenshot of a new environment. A GIF of a mechanic you just nailed. A clip of a character doing something hilarious because the physics engine decided to have a personality.
Take that exact same thing. Same words. Same screenshot. Same “our NPC walked through a wall and fell into the void” GIF.
Put it in an email and send.
Every. Single. Subscriber. Gets it.
Not 4% of your followers. Not “people who happened to be scrolling at 2:47 PM on a Thursday.” Not “users the algorithm deemed worthy.”
Everyone.
That’s the difference.
And it’s staggering once you see the actual numbers.
A Twitter post reaches maybe 5-10% of your followers on a good day. An Instagram reel? About the same. A Steam announcement? Valve doesn’t even publish the stats. Which tells you everything you need to know. (When the numbers are good, companies love sharing them.)
Email open rate for engaged lists: 30-50%.
You have 10,000 subscribers and send an email? 3,000 to 5,000 people will read it.
So no – “sending emails” isn’t some extra job on top of everything else. It’s taking the content you’re already creating and putting it somewhere people will actually see it.
Once every week or two. Five minutes of copy-pasting. One click.
That’s not a “marketing strategy.” That’s just… not wasting your own work.
Launch Day: when everyone else fumbles and you don’t
This is usually the part where most developers press “publish” and send tweets like “my game is out, here’s the Steam link, please buy it” – then wonder why nobody’s buying.
That’s not a launch – that’s a cry for help disguised as marketing. (I did that too, so no judgement)
Think about it: When Apple drops a new iPhone, there are people sleeping outside the store. Literally camping in line at 4 AM with folding chairs and thermoses, waiting for the doors to open so they can all rush in at the same moment.
They orchestrate it.
Every teaser, every keynote, every “pre-order now” email – all of it exists to create one thing: a crowd at the door the second it opens. A stampede. All at once. In the same window.
That’s what makes other people go “wait, what are they all buying? I need one too.”
The indie game dev equivalent? Few tweets and a Steam notification.
(And then shocked Pikachu face when it doesn’t work.)
Well. Here’s where having an email list turns from “nice to have” into “unfair advantage.”
9:00 AM – You hit send. Ten thousand inboxes light up.
9:05 – People are clicking through.
10:00 – A few thousand have bought the game.
Noon – You’ve got a spike in sales. A wave of early reviews rolling in. Steam’s algorithm is doing that thing where it goes “huh, interesting” and starts showing your game to more people.
And now the flywheel is spinning. More visibility → more traffic → more sales → more visibility.
Now it’s working for you, not against you.
Not because your game is better (though it might be). But because you showed up on day one with momentum that most games simply don’t have.
Here’s the dirty secret about launches: the bar is comically low.
Most devs launch with zero email list, a handful of wishlists, a prayer, and a Discord server full of people who are currently arguing about whether the new Zelda is overrated.
That’s the competition. That’s what “normal” looks like. What’s why great games make less than $1,000 in their entire lifetime.
So when you show up with even a modest list and run a proper launch sequence (not one sad email, but a campaign that’s been warming people up for weeks), you don’t just perform well. You dominate the curve.
Because everyone else brought a napkin to a knife fight.
And you brought the knife.
I already know what you’re thinking, because everyone thinks it…
“But I don’t have time for this”
Listen.
I get it. I really do.
Nobody got into game dev to set up email forms and mess around with landing pages.
You got into it because you wanted to build worlds and tell stories and make people feel something.
But here’s the time breakdown:
- Setting up a website: 1 hour.
- Adding an email form: 30 minutes.
- Creating a download link for a cool thing that already exists: 10 minutes.
- Writing a short “thanks for signing up, here’s your thing” auto-reply: 20 minutes.
Total: 2 hours.
Once.
That is less time than most developers spend arguing about pixel art styles on Twitter in a single afternoon. And Twitter won’t be there on launch day with a buy link in everyone’s inbox. This will.
The wishlist button stays, by the way. Right there on the page, big and prominent, right next to the email form. Both paths work. Both are valuable.
Wishlists give you free visibility on platforms. Emails give you a direct line on yours. The player can do both – and most will, because it costs them nothing and they were already on the page.
So set up the form. Make the trade. And stop letting two thousand four hundred people a year walk out the door empty-handed.
Actually – let me show you exactly how bad that number really is. Because I don’t think you’ve fully felt it yet.
Snowballing math
Okay. Let’s talk numbers.
Meet two indie devs – Jake and Sara.
Both have 100,000 wishlists. Same game quality. Same genre. Same trailer. Same price point. Same Tuesday in October. If you put their Steam pages side by side, you couldn’t tell the difference. They’re basically twins.
Except for one thing.
Jake has wishlists and a prayer.
Sara has wishlists and a 10,000-person email list she spent two hours setting up eight months ago.
Let’s watch what happens.
Jake clicks ‘Publish’ and… waits. Because that’s all he can do.
- Week 1: 15,000 sales (15% wishlist conversion – right on the median)
- Day 1 gets the lion’s share – roughly half. So ~7,500 sales on launch day.
- But those aren’t concentrated. Notifications trickle out over the day as Valve’s system processes them. In the critical first 4 hours? Maybe 25-30% of day-1 sales land there.
- First 4 hours: ~1,900-2,250 sales.
That’s a slope, not a spike. A gentle downward curve that makes the algorithm go “meh” and move on to something more interesting.
Now watch Sara.
Sara also clicks “publish.”
But then Sara does something Jake literally cannot do. She opens her email tool. Looks at the launch email she wrote two weeks ago (took her 45 minutes). And presses send.
10,000 inboxes light up at the exact. Same. Time.
- 10,000 emails × 45% open rate × 25% click-to-buy = ~1,125 purchases from email alone.
- Plus the same wishlist trickle Jake is getting: ~1,900-2,250.
- First 4 hours: ~3,000-3,375 sales.
That’s already 50-60% more than Jake. In the window that matters most.
Next, Steam sees this spike (that’s 50-60% stronger than “normal” ) and it wakes up.
It pushes Sara’s game higher on New Releases. Features it in Trending. Shoves it into Discovery Queues. Which triggers more wishlist notifications to go out faster (Steam prioritizes games that are already performing well).
More notifications → more reviews pouring in → strangers who never wishlisted start noticing → they buy → they leave reviews → more strangers notice.
All compounding on top of each other like the world’s most satisfying snowball rolling downhill.
(Funny how that works, isn’t it? Success begets success)
By end of day one:
- Jake has around 7,500 sales. Respectable. Nothing to be ashamed of.
- Sara? Somewhere between 10,000 and 13,000 sales. And I’m being conservative here.
That’s 40-65% more revenue.
On the single most important day of the game’s entire commercial life. From one channel. That took two hours to set up. Months ago.
And tomorrow morning? Sara’s game is on the front page. Featured. Trending. Snowballing. While Jake’s game is on page 3 of New Releases, quietly sinking.
And here’s what makes this truly disgusting – and I need you to really feel this part:
This gap doesn’t close.
It widens.
Because the long tail of game sales decays at roughly the same rate for everyone. Same curve. Same slope downward. That’s just how the market works.
But Sara started higher.
And everything that follows – week 2, month 3, month 8, the whole beautiful decay curve – is proportional to where you started. Sara isn’t just outselling Jake on day one. She’s outselling him by the same margin every single week for the rest of the game’s life. Week after week after week.
Run the numbers over a full year – same $20 price, same decay rate, same 30% Steam cut – and Sara makes roughly $350,000 to $400,000 more in revenue. From a two-hour setup. Months ago.
$378,000 difference.
I’ll let you sit with that for a second.
The email list didn’t just add sales – it changed the entire trajectory of the game’s commercial life. It was the difference between “maybe we can make another game someday” and “holy shit, we’re on the front page.”
And if you think this is just theoretical math – let me demonstrate you…
How tiny castles beat Warhammer
Tiny Glade.
A cozy castle-builder about making tiny castles. Just two developers with zero marketing budget.
They launched the same week as Warhammer 40K: Space Marine 2. You know – the one with the massive franchise, the AAA budget, the marketing machine, the fan base that would kill for the Emperor without hesitation.
Tiny Glade outsold it.
Hit #1 on Steam. Over 600,000 copies in under a month. Two people and some tiny castles beat Games Workshop.
Know what they did differently?
Every viral post (and they had a lot of them, because their game is genuinely gorgeous) drove traffic to their own site. Not to Steam. To their site. Where there was an email signup form front and center.
For two years, they quietly turned viral attention into a direct line to their audience. Every Reddit post. Every Twitter explosion. Every “oh how adorable, I want to play this game” moment. They captured it.
So when launch day came, they didn’t just have 1.3 million wishlists and a prayer – they had their spike exactly when they needed it. On command.
Viral content was the fuel. The site was the engine. The email list was the ignition.
That’s not “they just made a better game” – that’s Sara’s playbook, executed in the real world. By two people and a big dream about cute tiny castles. While everyone else was sending traffic to Steam and hoping Valve would be generous.
So yeah. That’s the math.
And if you’re still thinking “I don’t have time for this” – well, I can’t help you.
But I can tell you that Jake is thinking the exact same thing right now, staring at his sales dashboard, wondering what the hell went wrong when he did everything “right.”
Don’t be Jake.
It’s not that simple (but it’s much simpler than development)
Now – before you start mentally spending that extra $378k – let me be straight with you about one thing.
That single launch email doesn’t work by itself.
It works because of everything that came before it.
The welcome sequence that introduced you and your game. The dev logs that made them feel like an insider. The teasers that planted the seed. The build-up that watered it. The countdown week that had them checking their inbox every morning like a kid before Christmas.
That’s a system.
But here’s what makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time:
This system is WAY simpler than literally anything inside your game.
I say this as someone who’s been on both sides. I’ve shipped games. I’ve built email systems. And to this day I cannot wrap my head around the ROI gap.
It’s absurd. Genuinely absurd.
You could spend months debugging a pathfinding algorithm that maybe – and I’m being generous here – 5% of players will consciously notice. Meanwhile, a welcome sequence that took a few days to writes will directly put money in your bank account every single week. For years.
It’s the most lopsided trade in all of game development.
And almost nobody takes it.
I don’t know if that’s tragic or hilarious. Probably both.
That’s why I broke down every phase, every email, every shift in frequency from “once every two weeks” to “three emails during launch week” in the article below:
>>> Read the full video game email system breakdown here
Look. I know how impossibly hard it is to make games.
I’ve been there. I lived it.
It’s painful, expensive, lonely, and takes so much longer than anyone who hasn’t done it could ever understand.
Years of your life go into this thing. Years of “it’s almost done” that somehow stretch into more years. Years of wondering if anyone will even care when it’s finished.
Don’t let a stupidly simple, completely solvable problem be the reason nobody shows up on the day it all finally comes together.
Make that landing page. Set up the form. Talk to your people. And when the moment comes – launch like you actually mean it.
Your game deserves at least that much.
Cheers,
Andrey
P.S. If at any point during this article you thought “can I just hire someone to do all of this?” – yes. Yes you can. That’s literally my job. It’s not cheap, but it’s cheaper than launching to 14 sales.
And yes, I wrote this entire article partly so you’d trust me enough to [click this link].