Brighton 7th, late morning. The desk faces the window. The screens face away from it, on purpose.
zipper
noun/ˈzɪp.ər/
Two sides, joined one tooth at a time. Skip one and the whole thing opens on the way up.
In a string file, the two sides are en.json and es.json. Every key on the left gets exactly one key on the right. No orphans, no duplicates, and no {firstName} that comes back as {nombre} and breaks the welcome screen for everyone named anything.
In the work: key parity, variables, plural forms, truncation.
thread
noun/θrɛd/
One continuous line through everything it holds together. Mostly invisible when it’s done right.
In a product, the thread is the voice. The welcome screen, the third tooltip, the trial-ending email on day 12 and the 404 page should sound like one person wrote them — because in each language, one person did, and a second person checked.
In the work: the tone memo, tú or usted, você, です・ます, the glossary.
On the address
The studio is at 3130 Brighton 7th, a block from the boardwalk. Walk to the corner for coffee and you will hear more languages than we offer, which keeps us modest about the three we do.
Three is not a starting point we plan to grow out of. It is the plan. Spanish, Brazilian Portuguese and Japanese are where most of the products that write to us want to go next, and keeping the list short is the only way each language gets a translator, a separate reviewer, a staging pass and a glossary meant to outlive the project.
We bill per project, per language, once. The number on the quote is the number on the invoice, unless your source file changes by more than 5% — and then you hear about it before anyone touches the new strings.