I'm scanning the greeting card racks for the perfect message, the one that will acknowledge your growing accumulation of birthdays with a unique combination of wit, charm and quiet good taste. Instead, I see grade-school "humor" and saccharine sentiments.
So I turn to cards featuring attractive, contemporary cover artwork, only to read a stupefyingly dull message inside.
It's your day, so enjoy your cake! It's your day, so live it up! It's your day, so here's to you! It's as if the upscale card companies spend all their creative energy on professional design and let their IT people write the copy.
Maybe the problem is that a birthday is so generic (comes every year, everyone has one) that it inherently lacks personality. To mark the occasion, adults tend to do the same sort of things -- eat cake, drink (too much), get presents, feel regretful.
But greeting-card writers need to take this dreary reality and infuse it with fantasy and fun. One of the best cards I've seen lately (and sent to two people) features a grinning little boy prancing in his birthday suit on the cover. Inside, the copy reads, "Birthdays make me feel good all over!"
Wednesday
Stuck in Twitter's echo chamber
OK, I admit it. I've yet to join the Twitterati.
One reason is the echo-chamber effect. You know, the one that appears at the end of any popular article posted on the Web. The usual array of misspelled, angry comments is bad enough, but the tweets are inherently annoying. Who wants to read a long list of almost identical summaries of the post you just read? The effect is like watching a row of those novelty dolls that constantly nod their heads.
I guess the reader is supposed to be impressed that so many tweets have traveled the ether, to be re-tweeted ad infinitum. Maybe this show of Mass Tweetery is intended to function like a town parade. We are powerful, say the Twitterati. Look how we march in unison! Don't you want to join us?
Or maybe those repetitive website tweets are simply the waste products of tweeting — like spent bullet casings or carbon dioxide and water in aerobic respiration.
I say contemporary life is crazy enough without the ya-ya-ya-ya's of the 140-character birdcall.
One reason is the echo-chamber effect. You know, the one that appears at the end of any popular article posted on the Web. The usual array of misspelled, angry comments is bad enough, but the tweets are inherently annoying. Who wants to read a long list of almost identical summaries of the post you just read? The effect is like watching a row of those novelty dolls that constantly nod their heads.
I guess the reader is supposed to be impressed that so many tweets have traveled the ether, to be re-tweeted ad infinitum. Maybe this show of Mass Tweetery is intended to function like a town parade. We are powerful, say the Twitterati. Look how we march in unison! Don't you want to join us?
Or maybe those repetitive website tweets are simply the waste products of tweeting — like spent bullet casings or carbon dioxide and water in aerobic respiration.
I say contemporary life is crazy enough without the ya-ya-ya-ya's of the 140-character birdcall.
Tuesday
Standing up for self-deprecation
It always amuses me when a cultured and accomplished English person is interviewed by the American press. Inevitably, the writer marvels at the person's self-effacing remarks. "So-and-so is incredibly modest, despite having written three world-famous plays and won the Man Booker Prize for his most recent novel," the writer burbles. "He claims it was all beginner's luck."
In fact, self-deprecation is an English trait. You are never supposed to brag about your accomplishments, and when they are mentioned, you must pretend that, really, anyone could have done the same thing.
Americans of a certain age may remember that we also were schooled to act like this. It was considered rude to "put yourself forward." Let your deeds speak for themselves, we were told. It is not necessary to remind people of your achievements.
But in today's more hard-edged social realm, the self-deprecator is liable to be taken at her word. If you smile and explain that you were able to deliver a certain lecture because you were the conference organizer's "thirty-ninth choice," your listener will frown. Obviously, you are a hopeless failure, chosen out of sheer desperation. Never mind the improbability of having thirty-eight other potential speakers turn this person down.
Surely no one likes a braggart. But the sensibility attuned to the nuance of self-deprecation appears to be as antiquated as a Henry James heroine. It seems that you now need to state your qualifications in all-caps bold, or risk being entirely misunderstood.
In fact, self-deprecation is an English trait. You are never supposed to brag about your accomplishments, and when they are mentioned, you must pretend that, really, anyone could have done the same thing.
Americans of a certain age may remember that we also were schooled to act like this. It was considered rude to "put yourself forward." Let your deeds speak for themselves, we were told. It is not necessary to remind people of your achievements.
But in today's more hard-edged social realm, the self-deprecator is liable to be taken at her word. If you smile and explain that you were able to deliver a certain lecture because you were the conference organizer's "thirty-ninth choice," your listener will frown. Obviously, you are a hopeless failure, chosen out of sheer desperation. Never mind the improbability of having thirty-eight other potential speakers turn this person down.
Surely no one likes a braggart. But the sensibility attuned to the nuance of self-deprecation appears to be as antiquated as a Henry James heroine. It seems that you now need to state your qualifications in all-caps bold, or risk being entirely misunderstood.
Wednesday
Hello? Paging a client.
I just e-mailed you the project you hired me to write. I even managed to finish it a few days before the deadline we set.
A day goes by, and I don't hear from you. Sure, you're probably too busy to sit down and read all the copy just now, even if you said you were desperate to get it. But couldn't you at least send me a quick "Got it, thanks" message? Because when I don't hear from you, I think, uh-oh.
As in, uh-oh, my e-mail got snagged by your ever-vigilant spam detector. Or as in, uh-oh, you're out sick or taking a vacation, and by the time you get back my e-mail will be buried under bushels of Very Important Messages from Colleagues.
So now I feel I must call you to follow up, even if you are one of those people who always lets the phone ring to voicemail unless your boss is on the line. Maybe you are one of those people who don't even listen to your voicemail. (Why do people have voicemail if they don't listen to it? Surely there's a Zen koan in there somewhere.)
Admittedly, there is more to this than the simple reassurance that my words are reaching your eyes. I've enclosed my initial invoice along with your copy, and I'm naturally keen to know that this little document is on its way to Accounts Payable.*
In larger terms, client communication is the glue that can hold a project together over the weeks and months it takes to obtain sign-offs, do user testing or deal with Legal.
Yes, yes, everyone's busy. But if a project is worth doing in the first place, it's worth putting on your calendar for regular base-touching by e-mail or conference call. Have an agenda, move briskly through it, clarify current impediments and (if necessary) reconfigure the deadlines. Keep us informed, and you keep us on your side.
----------
*If you've only ever had the sort of position that comes with a paycheck at regular intervals, the concept of Waiting for Payment from Clients to Pay Your Bills might seem rather alien. I once had to explain to a foot-dragging nonprofit client that the check I hadn't received was not some sort of fun extra for me but (embarrassing to have to be so dramatic) "the money I live on."
A day goes by, and I don't hear from you. Sure, you're probably too busy to sit down and read all the copy just now, even if you said you were desperate to get it. But couldn't you at least send me a quick "Got it, thanks" message? Because when I don't hear from you, I think, uh-oh.
As in, uh-oh, my e-mail got snagged by your ever-vigilant spam detector. Or as in, uh-oh, you're out sick or taking a vacation, and by the time you get back my e-mail will be buried under bushels of Very Important Messages from Colleagues.
So now I feel I must call you to follow up, even if you are one of those people who always lets the phone ring to voicemail unless your boss is on the line. Maybe you are one of those people who don't even listen to your voicemail. (Why do people have voicemail if they don't listen to it? Surely there's a Zen koan in there somewhere.)
Admittedly, there is more to this than the simple reassurance that my words are reaching your eyes. I've enclosed my initial invoice along with your copy, and I'm naturally keen to know that this little document is on its way to Accounts Payable.*
In larger terms, client communication is the glue that can hold a project together over the weeks and months it takes to obtain sign-offs, do user testing or deal with Legal.
Yes, yes, everyone's busy. But if a project is worth doing in the first place, it's worth putting on your calendar for regular base-touching by e-mail or conference call. Have an agenda, move briskly through it, clarify current impediments and (if necessary) reconfigure the deadlines. Keep us informed, and you keep us on your side.
----------
*If you've only ever had the sort of position that comes with a paycheck at regular intervals, the concept of Waiting for Payment from Clients to Pay Your Bills might seem rather alien. I once had to explain to a foot-dragging nonprofit client that the check I hadn't received was not some sort of fun extra for me but (embarrassing to have to be so dramatic) "the money I live on."
Friday
Want to Survey Your Customers? Don't Do This.
How are we doing? We're dying to know. So we'd like to take just 15 minutes of your time (until you give up in disgust) to ask you a whole bunch of questions we haven't thought through very well.
From the U.S. Post Office (which recently sent a four-page, 29-question survey to its business customers) to membership organizations and consumer call centers, everybody is increasingly eager to find out if you're happy with their service.
But they don't make it easy. Here's what's wrong with these questionnaires:
> Too time-consuming. OK, you have a lot on your mind. But what are the top three to five issues? If you want a decent-sized sample, your initial survey should not take longer than five minutes to complete. (You could always return to the responders with more detailed questions, or ask for their e-mail addresses to continue the conversation.)
> Too complicated. Don't make me think too hard! And don't give me too many choices. Do we really need to differentiate between Strongly Agree and Somewhat Agree?
> Not enough options. No place for the user to indicate that s/he has no experience with the service item in question ("Have not used"). This is not the same as "Don't Know," which strikes me as an unwise option. ("Yeah, I'm just a know-nothing.) How about "No Opinion" instead?
> No place for user input. What if there's something I'm dying to tell you about your service, but none of your questions deals with it? Always leave space at the end for this if your format allows.
> Format glitches. If you're using Survey Monkey or a similar application, do a thorough dry run of the completed questionnaire to catch any problems. I recently gave up on a survey that left a space for "Other" that could be filled in but refused to let me proceed unless I checked one of the other boxes. And don't ask a question that obliges the user to keep clicking back to the previous page for vital information.
> 'Creative' questions. I'm a member of an online small-business panel for a web host. They recently asked us to imagine an electronic device for businesses that would be created in the year 2040. People who are not in creative professions tend to clutch when asked to imagine something. What you get is a hazy description of whatever gadget these folks saw in the last sci-fi movie they watched.
> Self-serving questions. Did we deliver world-class service today? Is the sky blue?
From the U.S. Post Office (which recently sent a four-page, 29-question survey to its business customers) to membership organizations and consumer call centers, everybody is increasingly eager to find out if you're happy with their service.
But they don't make it easy. Here's what's wrong with these questionnaires:
> Too time-consuming. OK, you have a lot on your mind. But what are the top three to five issues? If you want a decent-sized sample, your initial survey should not take longer than five minutes to complete. (You could always return to the responders with more detailed questions, or ask for their e-mail addresses to continue the conversation.)
> Too complicated. Don't make me think too hard! And don't give me too many choices. Do we really need to differentiate between Strongly Agree and Somewhat Agree?
> Not enough options. No place for the user to indicate that s/he has no experience with the service item in question ("Have not used"). This is not the same as "Don't Know," which strikes me as an unwise option. ("Yeah, I'm just a know-nothing.) How about "No Opinion" instead?
> No place for user input. What if there's something I'm dying to tell you about your service, but none of your questions deals with it? Always leave space at the end for this if your format allows.
> Format glitches. If you're using Survey Monkey or a similar application, do a thorough dry run of the completed questionnaire to catch any problems. I recently gave up on a survey that left a space for "Other" that could be filled in but refused to let me proceed unless I checked one of the other boxes. And don't ask a question that obliges the user to keep clicking back to the previous page for vital information.
> 'Creative' questions. I'm a member of an online small-business panel for a web host. They recently asked us to imagine an electronic device for businesses that would be created in the year 2040. People who are not in creative professions tend to clutch when asked to imagine something. What you get is a hazy description of whatever gadget these folks saw in the last sci-fi movie they watched.
> Self-serving questions. Did we deliver world-class service today? Is the sky blue?
Wednesday
Websites Need QC
The other day, I typed the URL of a website for a high-tech company that I wrote a year ago, with the idea of showing it to a potential client. The site’s launch was delayed for various reasons, and by that time I was immersed in other projects. So I had never taken the time to look at it in its public (live) state.
When I finally checked it out, my heart sank. Somebody had awkwardly rewritten the Home page. Other pages were rife with grammatical mistakes and clumsy, extraneous verbiage I’d never seen before.
Actually, this was far from the first time website copy I wrote that was approved by the client had appeared online in sadly altered form. We’ve probably all seen surprisingly stupid mistakes everywhere online, even on the sites of major corporations.
Why and how does this happen? I think there are three key reasons:
Impatience. It takes so long to design and program a sizeable site that companies tend not to want to wait even a few days longer for someone to proofread all the content and then make needed corrections.
Cost-cutting. Websites are so expensive to create that proofreading probably strikes most companies as a dispensable “extra.”
Ignorance. Many people don’t understand the “domino theory” of writing. Careful writers assemble sentences and paragraphs to introduce concepts in a clear and logical way. Eliminate or rewrite as little as one word or one sentence, and the entire structure falls down.
So what can be done to improve this situation?
> Site designers and web producers: Build in time for the writer/content provider to take a careful look at the site before it goes live. Realize that this helps ensure a polished finished product . . . surely worthwhile after all the effort you put into it!
>Writers/content providers: Include in your estimate a line item for site review. Even if you don’t consider yourself a proofreader (as I do not), this is the only way you can try to preserve the approved copy, minus last-minute client add-ons, line-break glitches, inadvertently repeated copy chunks and other website plagues.
>Clients: Please keep your hands off the copy you approved! If something comes up that requires a factual change, ask your writer to make the fix.
© Cathy Curtis 2010
When I finally checked it out, my heart sank. Somebody had awkwardly rewritten the Home page. Other pages were rife with grammatical mistakes and clumsy, extraneous verbiage I’d never seen before.
Actually, this was far from the first time website copy I wrote that was approved by the client had appeared online in sadly altered form. We’ve probably all seen surprisingly stupid mistakes everywhere online, even on the sites of major corporations.
Why and how does this happen? I think there are three key reasons:
Impatience. It takes so long to design and program a sizeable site that companies tend not to want to wait even a few days longer for someone to proofread all the content and then make needed corrections.
Cost-cutting. Websites are so expensive to create that proofreading probably strikes most companies as a dispensable “extra.”
Ignorance. Many people don’t understand the “domino theory” of writing. Careful writers assemble sentences and paragraphs to introduce concepts in a clear and logical way. Eliminate or rewrite as little as one word or one sentence, and the entire structure falls down.
So what can be done to improve this situation?
> Site designers and web producers: Build in time for the writer/content provider to take a careful look at the site before it goes live. Realize that this helps ensure a polished finished product . . . surely worthwhile after all the effort you put into it!
>Writers/content providers: Include in your estimate a line item for site review. Even if you don’t consider yourself a proofreader (as I do not), this is the only way you can try to preserve the approved copy, minus last-minute client add-ons, line-break glitches, inadvertently repeated copy chunks and other website plagues.
>Clients: Please keep your hands off the copy you approved! If something comes up that requires a factual change, ask your writer to make the fix.
© Cathy Curtis 2010
Monday
The 'Sample of One' Problem
In my newspaper days, it usually happened on Mondays. Bursting with enthusiasm, an editor would announce a major feature story to be assigned ASAP. This groundbreaking piece would inevitably be based on something that gave him an "aha" moment over the weekend.
Such as Lawns.
“Uh, lawns?” we said. (What next? Flypaper?) “What about them?”
The editor sighed. (Jeez. These reporters must all be city kids.) “I was tossing a Frisbee with my kids on Sunday, and it hit me. Lawns are the center of the suburban experience. There’s so much to say about them. But I leave the digging (heh heh) to you.”
The Lawns story was written (thankfully, not by me). And rewritten. And heavily edited. And rewritten. And re-edited. It seemed that no approach to this topic could give life to the springy, bright green Unformed Thought in that editor’s mind.
When a rather dull story about lawns and their care was finally published, the editor disowned it. Not what he wanted. (Whatever that was.)
Most of us tend to think that just because we were bowled over by something, everyone else will be equally smitten. Even when we can’t seem to explain what was so great about it.
The opposite holds true, too: If I don’t like it, no one will like it. (Even if I can't really tell you what's wrong with it.)
A good friend of mine calls this the “sample of one” problem. It has a way of dominating the conversation and stomping on reason and practicality.
>If the target audience of a website is 11-year-olds, should it matter if the 40-year-old who is designing the site doesn’t find it compelling?
>If a client keeps rejecting prototypes for a new project simply because they don't "feel right," does this demonstrate a discriminating mind at work or the actions of an insecure person overly worried about keeping her job?
>If a copywriter who hates jargon removes all the technical words from a project description, will it be appropriate for its target audience of specialists?
The moral of this story is twofold:
1) If we feel strongly about something (pro or con), we need to be able to articulate clear-cut reasons.
2) These reasons need to make sense within the context of this specific project and its intended users.
Such as Lawns.
“Uh, lawns?” we said. (What next? Flypaper?) “What about them?”
The editor sighed. (Jeez. These reporters must all be city kids.) “I was tossing a Frisbee with my kids on Sunday, and it hit me. Lawns are the center of the suburban experience. There’s so much to say about them. But I leave the digging (heh heh) to you.”
The Lawns story was written (thankfully, not by me). And rewritten. And heavily edited. And rewritten. And re-edited. It seemed that no approach to this topic could give life to the springy, bright green Unformed Thought in that editor’s mind.
When a rather dull story about lawns and their care was finally published, the editor disowned it. Not what he wanted. (Whatever that was.)
Most of us tend to think that just because we were bowled over by something, everyone else will be equally smitten. Even when we can’t seem to explain what was so great about it.
The opposite holds true, too: If I don’t like it, no one will like it. (Even if I can't really tell you what's wrong with it.)
A good friend of mine calls this the “sample of one” problem. It has a way of dominating the conversation and stomping on reason and practicality.
>If the target audience of a website is 11-year-olds, should it matter if the 40-year-old who is designing the site doesn’t find it compelling?
>If a client keeps rejecting prototypes for a new project simply because they don't "feel right," does this demonstrate a discriminating mind at work or the actions of an insecure person overly worried about keeping her job?
>If a copywriter who hates jargon removes all the technical words from a project description, will it be appropriate for its target audience of specialists?
The moral of this story is twofold:
1) If we feel strongly about something (pro or con), we need to be able to articulate clear-cut reasons.
2) These reasons need to make sense within the context of this specific project and its intended users.
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