Like software products, models change as we test them, gain experience with them, find bugs in them, realize that features are missing. We see opportunities for improving them, and revise them.
A product coverage outline, in Rapid Testing parlance, is an artifact (a map, or list, or table…) that identifies the dimensions or elements of a product. It’s a kind of inventory of aspects of the product that could be tested. Many years ago, my colleague and co-author James Bach wrote an article on product elements, identifying Structure, Function, Data, Platform, and Operations (SFDPO; think “San Francisco DePOt”, he suggested) as a set of heuristic guidewords for creating or structuring or reviewing the highest levels of a coverage outline.
A few years later, I was working as a tester. While I was on that assignment, I missed a few test ideas and almost missed a few bugs that I might have noticed earlier had I thought of “Time” as another guideword for modeling the product. After some discussion, I persuaded James that Time was a worthy addition to the Product Elements list. I wrote my own article on that, Time for New Test Ideas).
Over the years, it seemed that people were excited by the idea of using SFDPOT as the starting point for a general coverage outline. Many people reported getting a lot of value out of it, so in my classes, I’ve placed more and more emphasis on using and practicing the application of that part of the Heuristic Test Strategy Model. One of the exercises involves creating a mind map for a real software product. I typically offer that one way to get started on creating a coverage outline is to walk through the user interface and enumerate each element of the UI in the mind map.
(Sometimes people ask, “Why bother? Don’t the specifications or the documentation or the Help file provide maps of the UI? What’s the point of making another one?” One answer is that the journey, rather than the map, is the point. We learn one set of things by reading about a product; we learn different things—and we typically learn more deeply—by touring the product, interacting with it, gaining experience with it, and organizing descriptions of what we’ve found. Moreover, at each moment, we may notice, infer, or wonder about things that the documentation doesn’t address. When we recognize something new, we can add it to our coverage model, our risk list, or our test ideas—plus we might recognize and note some bugs or issues along the way. Another answer is that we should treat anything that any documentation says about a product as a rumour until we’ve engaged with the product.)
One issue kept coming up in class: on the product coverage outline, where should the map of the user interface go? Under Functions (what the product does)? Or Operations (how people use the product)? Or Structure (the bits and pieces of the product)? My answer was that it doesn’t matter much where you put things on your coverage outline, as long as it fits for you and the people with whom you might be sharing the map. The idea is to identify things that could be tested, and not to miss important stuff.
After one class, I was on the phone with James, and I happened to mention that day’s discussion. “I prefer to put the UI under Structure,” I noted.
“What? That’s crazy talk! The UI goes under Functions!”
“What?” I replied. “That’s crazy talk. The UI isn’t Functions. Sure, it triggers functions. But it doesn’t perform those functions.”
“So what?” asked James. “If it’s how the user gets at functions, it fits under Functions just fine. What makes you think the UI goes under Structure?”
“Well, the UI has a structure. It’s… structural.”
“Everything has a structure,” said James. “The UI goes under Functions.”
And so we argued on. Then one of us—and I honestly don’t remember who—suggested that maybe the UI was important enough to be its own top-level product element. I do remember James pointing out that if when we think of interfaces, plural, there might be several of them—not just the graphical user interface, but maybe a command-line interface. An application programming interface.
“Hmmm…,” I said. This reminded me of the four-user model mentioned in How to Break Software (human user, API user, operating system user, file system user). “Interfaces,” I said. “Operating system interface, file system interface, network interface, printer interface, debugging interface, other devices…”
“Right,” said James. “Plus there are those other interface-y things—importing and exporting stuff, for instance.”
“Aren’t those covered under ‘Functions’?”
“Sure. Or they might be, depending on how you think about it. But the point of this kind of model isn’t to be a template, or a form you fill out. It’s to help us reduce the chances that we might miss something important. Our models are leaky abstractions; overlaps are okay,” said James. Which, of course, was exactly the same argument I had used on him several years earlier when we had added Time to the model. Then he paused. “Ah! But we don’t want to break the mnemonic, do we? San Francisco DePOT.”
“We can deal with that. Just misspell ‘depot’ San Francisco DIPOT. SFDIPOT.”
And so we updated the model.
I wonder what it will look like five years from now.