Phillip Kemp The Human Paper RADAR The Human Paper

RADAR · 12 July 2026 · 4 min read

Building Your Own Software, Then Building a Business Around It

Let’s talk about people building their own software, and then building a business around it.


By Phillip Kemp · Founder of WE ARE STILL HUMAN

All writing

Two women hold each other in a long, eyes-closed embrace in warm evening light beside a lake.
Photograph — Mental Health America (MHA) / Pexels. Documentary image; no person pictured is a WASH signatory.

Let’s talk about people building their own software, and then building a business around it.

This is going to become normal.

A person runs a boring operation. A clinic. A farm office. A recruitment desk. A school admin process. A contractor payroll mess. A logistics spreadsheet. A customer support queue. They get tired of waiting for software vendors to understand the problem. They open an AI coding tool, a no-code builder, a spreadsheet, a database, a WhatsApp automation, whatever. They build the thing they needed.

For the first time, the operator can make software without asking permission from a software team. That is a big deal. It is also where people start lying to themselves.

A tool that works for you is not automatically a product. A product is a promise that works for someone else, under pressure, without you explaining every little weird thing in your head.

That gap is where most small software businesses die.

The first version is usually a miracle because it replaces your pain. You know the workflow. You know the field names. You know why the exception matters. You know when to ignore the warning. You know which button to press because you built the button. The software feels obvious because it is carrying your memory.

Then a second person uses it.

Suddenly the obvious thing is not obvious. They name the same object differently. They click in the wrong order. They do not understand your shortcut. They expect a report. They need onboarding. They ask what happens if someone leaves. They want permissions. They want backups. They want invoices. They want support. They want it to integrate with the old system they hate but cannot remove.

Congratulations. You do not have a tool anymore. You have responsibility.

This is the part the AI-code hype ignores. Building has become easier. Owning has not.

If you want to build software from your own pain and turn it into a business, there are a few things you need to know.

First: keep the original pain close. Do not run toward features. Run toward the one ugly workflow people already pay for with time, mistakes, staff, and frustration. If you cannot describe the pain in the buyer’s words, you are building decoration.

Second: your first market is not everyone like me. It is people with the same pain, the same urgency, the same budget shape, and the same willingness to change. A GP practice and a hospital may both have admin problems. They are not the same customer. A farmer and a co-op may both use grain data. They are not buying the same promise.

Third: a business is not just software. It is onboarding, support, trust, sales, pricing, legal, data handling, reliability, documentation, backups, billing, and a clear answer when something goes wrong on a Thursday afternoon.

Most operator-builders underprice this because the software feels like the main thing. It is not. The main thing is the customer’s confidence that the workflow will not embarrass them.

Fourth: do not build a company around private chaos. Sometimes your tool works because it encodes a messy internal workaround that should never be sold. Before turning it into a product, ask: is this workflow actually good, or did I just automate a bad habit? If you sell a bad habit at scale, you do not have a startup. You have industrialized confusion.

Fifth: use AI as leverage, not as a mask. AI can help you code, document, test, design, write support replies, generate reports, summarize user calls, and build prototypes fast. Good. Use it.

But if you cannot explain the product without saying AI-powered in the first sentence, the product is weak.

The buyer does not want AI. The buyer wants fewer missed appointments, cleaner claims, faster quoting, less admin, better visibility, fewer mistakes, fewer phone calls, less waiting, less rework, more trust. Sell that.

Sixth: decide what kind of company you are building. There is a huge difference between a tool, a service, a productized service, and SaaS. Many people should not jump straight to SaaS. They should start as a managed workflow. Do the thing manually plus software. Learn where the customer panics. Learn what they refuse to do. Learn what they will pay for. Then productize the repeated parts.

This is less sexy. It works better.

Seventh: protect yourself from becoming the entire support department forever. If every customer needs you personally to make the software useful, you do not have scale. You have a job with a login screen. Write the docs. Record the onboarding. Build the default templates. Make errors understandable. Price support properly. Fire customers who need custom work but pay starter money.

That last sentence matters. Bad customers can kill a young product faster than bad code.

The opportunity here is real. We are entering a period where accountants, doctors, teachers, farmers, recruiters, consultants, mechanics, and small operators can build useful software from inside the work. That is more interesting than another generic app built by people who have never touched the mess.

But the winners will not be the people who build the fastest prototype. The winners will be the people who understand the customer’s workflow deeply, sell a narrow promise, support it properly, and resist the vanity of turning every idea into a platform.

Build from pain. Sell the promise. Own the responsibility. That is the difference between a clever internal tool and a business.

THE WASH TIMES · Speculative fiction · 2044

She Built It. It Is Theirs.

THE WASH TIMES

DHAKA · 6 DECEMBER 2044

Nasrin Akter worked the front desk at a small clinic. She built a booking program on the clinic computer. Fourteen other clinics paid her 3,000 taka a month to use it.

On Tuesday a labour board said the program belongs to the clinic. She built it on their computer, in work hours. So the rule is simple, and no one had reason to stop it.

Now she owes the clinic all the money she took. That comes to 504,000 taka. The clinic still has the program. It sells it to the other fourteen at double her price.

This is fiction. It is a warning, not a report. No person, place or institution in it is real. Derived from “0020 — building your own software business around it”.

The manifesto

Technology should disappear. Humanity should flourish.

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