Writing They Will Remember

If you read my last post, it might not come as a surprise that I have recently decided to take the bull by the horns and jump ship. (Wow, those metaphors don’t really work together, for several reasons. All the same, I’m going to leave that sentence alone, because the imagery makes me chuckle. And if I can’t keep myself entertained, what’s the point?) I thought about my options: of staying with a company whose goals and passions didn’t really match my own, or striking out on my own to do what I love and am good at. But I was afraid, too: entrepreneurship has its costs. Was I ready to make the change? Was I willing to do everything it was gonna take to be successful?

I told a friend my plan, to venture into a career as a web content strategist and developer. It’s work I love. It’s work I was made for. Writing, web, and information design? That’s the recipe for the blood in my veins, I tell you what. And what does my friend reply? “Oh, cool, can you help me with some SEO for my website?”

I closed my eyes. I breathed. I counted to five. (Ten would have been too obvious. He might have started freaking out, thinking I’d gone into heat stroke or something. After all, we were outside, and this is Texas.) When I came back, I just shook my head. “No, that’s not really the heart of it. I don’t work for machines; I work for people.”

It isn’t that I have a problem with search engine optimization. I recognize that is has value; I even recognize that is has a valuable role in my own work. But the words that craft a page aren’t merely valuable for what they offer to Google–the words on a page should be valuable because of what they offer to humans. When I visit a website, I expect to be treated as an honored guest. I want you to use words I identify with, structure I relate to, a considered rhythm and a careful harmony that engages my brain and touches my soul. I want you to show me some respect, to give me the information I require as elegantly, thoughtfully, and seamlessly as you can.

So many websites fail at that one, simple thing. And it is that experience I want to help build. I find it appalling that so many of us have come to accept content on the web as half-assed, choppy, bungling, or otherwise inept. I love the fact that the web lowers the barrier to entry, allowing people the freedom and ability to express themselves. But these same people, especially the ones who loom large in the public eye, have an obligation to polish what they say, and how they say it. What we bring to the pages of the internet should matter. The words should have heart. The images should have soul. The experiences we create for our readers and visitors shouldn’t be slipshod and ramshackle. They should be moving. Memorable.

You don’t have to be Shakespeare or even Jeffrey Zeldman to craft an engaging experience via the words you use. But it’s not something everyone is good at. It’s not something everyone cares about. And what I hope to do in this new venture is care on other people’s behalf–to add the deftness, the precision, and the warmth to the language that fills their websites, not so search engines will find them, but so people will remember them after they’ve found them.