Here's what I fixed.

The bug box. Flag what broke and how bad it was, add as many as you want, hit send, and the whole batch comes straight to me. It's in the app, and it's on this website too — for the day the app won't even open.

A paperclip. Drop a file into the conversation and Forge actually reads it — PDFs included.

Drop in a voice memo and it listens to it.

The tool shelf inside the app got a real storefront — you can browse everything available, see what it does, and install it, without leaving Forge.

Six new tools landed on the shelf: a garden log, a property book, a family calendar, a business analyzer, a packing-list maker, and a shelf for your books and games.

Six more work tools landed: a meeting organizer, a contract redline reader, a reply drafter, a proposal builder, an SOP builder, and a website builder.

Every tool on the shelf now shows you a live demo before you install it, so you can see exactly what you're getting.

Every tool now carries its own hand-drawn illustration instead of a generic icon. All nineteen of them.

Some demos opened a link that dumped you into a folder full of files instead of showing you the tool. Demos don't carry links anymore.

Two tools on the shelf had no demo at all and showed you an empty page. They have real ones now.

Your kids' schedule can now hand its calendar file straight to whatever calendar app you already use.

The book and game shelves now open a real page for each item, not just a list.

The property tool grew a supplies board and a queue of what needs doing next.

Forge updates itself. No downloading anything, no reinstalling. It tells you an update is coming, then it's just there.

A welcome screen the first time you open it, so you're not staring at a blank room wondering what to do.

You can now pick a tool from the shelf and have it installed for you, instead of describing it from scratch.

A money dashboard joined the shelf.

Opening Forge twice gave you two copies of the app fighting over the same window. Now it just brings the one you have to the front.

The capture inbox board had buttons that looked clickable but weren't, and buttons that were clickable but didn't look it.

When Forge upgrades one of your tools, it now notices the changes you made to it and works around them instead of flattening your work.

Forge takes a snapshot of your world the moment it starts up, so there's always a good state to roll back to.

The app's own look got locked down to one consistent style instead of drifting page to page.

Forge went on sale. Buy it, get a code, install it, and you're running — with nobody in the loop but you.

Pictures stored in your own world showed up as broken boxes. They show up as pictures now.

The app had two scrollbars stacked next to each other. It has one, like a normal program.

When Forge offered to do something and you said yes, sometimes it didn't actually save what it did. It does now. That one bothered me.

Every view a tool builds now shows up as a card on your home board. No more tools quietly making pages you never find.

The whole app got redesigned. No file trees, no folders, no developer furniture — a home board, your tools as tabs, and a place to talk. This is the version you'd recognize.

You can talk to it out loud instead of typing.

When you ask for something, Forge now puts the result on your screen instead of describing it to you in a chat window and leaving you to go find it.

The AI is included and metered on my end, so you don't need your own subscription to anything.

Forge is signed software. Windows can see who made it, and it says my company's name.

A full day of friction fixes — a pile of small annoyances that each made the thing feel a little cheaper than it is.

Forge can run on more than one AI engine underneath, so it isn't hostage to any single company.

The app crashed on startup. That's about as bad as it gets, and it's why I don't promise you perfect.

The home board became real: every tool you own shows up, and clicking one opens it and starts a conversation about it.

Your tools now live in one plain folder instead of being buried in folders inside folders. You can actually find your own stuff.

Tools now tell Forge what pages they have, so the app stops guessing where things are.

Upgrades got rewritten to never overwrite anything you made. They ask first, always.

Tab labels said nothing useful. They say what's actually in the tab now.

Forge now ships with everything it needs to run on a clean computer — proven by installing it on one.

A living status bar at the top of your world — what's going on today, without you asking.

A plain-English cheat sheet of everything you can say to it.

A to-do list and a capture inbox joined the shelf.

Forge notices when files change under it and keeps up, instead of showing you a stale screen.

You choose where your world lives on your own computer, the first time you open it.

Signing in happens inside the app, in one paste. No developer tools, no terminal, no config files.

Highlight anything on a page and talk to Forge about that exact thing.

Pages sometimes drew half-blank and you had to jiggle the window to make them appear.

All the developer-facing machinery got sealed off, so there's nothing in the app you can wander into and break by accident.

Forge would sometimes go looking for files outside your world when it had no business there.

Forge has to actually look at what it built before it tells you it's done. It doesn't get to guess.

The engine. The thing that actually builds your tools when you ask for them, cleanly separated from my own machine so it could belong to someone else.

The first version of the tool shelf, and the first version of upgrades.