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Writing error messages and instructional text isn’t exactly a sexy undertaking. Which is part of the reason it often gets left to the last minute.
Here’s an example of why that’s a really bad idea. I recently encountered this screen while reviewing my domain name renewal information (click on the image to enlarge):
I spent about two minutes here (which was about a minute and 45 seconds too long) trying to decipher the phrase “Bad username and/or password.” Because although I definitely had an account with the company, I couldn’t recall whether I’d previously activated my online customer service profile.
So I wasn’t clear on whether A) this was the place to create a username/password for that account and my entry wasn’t strong enough, or B) the username/password I entered simply didn’t match what I’d used to create the account.
Furthermore, I couldn’t tell whether the culprit was my username or my password, thanks to the clear-as-mud “and/or.”
Your users don’t notice your content unless it’s not working.
When you don’t take the time to carefully craft these seemingly dull and insignificant pieces of content, you end up with vague instructions and dead-end words like “bad.” And before long, you’ve got customers like me who are ready to jump ship.
On the other hand, when this kind of supporting copy is carefully planned for and constructed, it disappears completely into the experience. Your users don’t even notice it’s there. And that’s a good thing.
Remember: Your users expect perfection online. Or close to it, anyway. Why? Because nobody’s there in person or on the phone to guide them as questions arise. Which means your content has to anticipate those questions and provide answers at every turn. Make sure you’re always one step ahead with clear, actionable copy.
So, make your content work harder.
If this all sounds like a big job, well, it is. Writers agonize over stuff like error messages, links, and headlines every day. Unfortunately there’s no silver bullet for writing killer instructional copy. Finding the right words depends on factors such as your audience, your business goals, your user needs, and your brand voice.
If you don’t have access to the kinds of metrics or processes that provide concrete insights, you can still cover many of your bases by asking yourself:
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What questions does our current copy raise as users are trying to complete a particular task?
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What are the implications of changing this word or deleting this phrase?
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In how many different ways could this message be interpreted?
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How can we minimize ambiguity?
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How can we simplify or streamline?
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Would a graphic be more helpful here than a word or sentence?
Even without tangible data to back up your changes, you’ll catch many of those careless copy oversights that frustrate your users and undermine business goals.
Posted in Editorial Strategy, User Experience, Web Content, Web Writing
As content strategists and web writers, we frequently face off with the dreaded Welcome copy in project requirements. It seems lots of folks still have difficulty parting ways with this dubious convention.
You know The Welcome. It looks a little something like this:
We get it, we do. It’s important to be friendly and engaging. But here’s a bit about why we consistently recommend against this tactic.
What’s wrong with The Welcome? It’s a waste of your valuable real estate.
The words in this box state the obvious. (And not very compellingly, but that’s not the issue.) Nor do they directly help a user accomplish what she came to do. For example, they don’t actually allow her to print a document. Or help her “take advantage of products”—or whatever. They’re just in the way.
Ironically, The Welcome isn’t even particularly welcoming. It’s kind of awkward, inauthentic, overly formal, and sales-y. It reminds us of the host who overenthusiastically greets you at a party, then proceeds to talk about himself the entire time before abandoning his beleaguered listener go find her own glass of punch.
Gerry McGovern has no love for The Welcome. (And how.)
For some real vitriol on The Welcome, look no further than Gerry McGovern:
“There is nothing worse on the Web than welcoming people, and telling them about how you’re so delighted to announce the launch of, or about how on your website they will be able to find, or about how it’s now even easier, or about how you’re introducing, launching, or already in an orbit of hot air.”
Yowza.
Welcome is a state of mind—not a statement.
So what’s a poor website to do? You still need to make your user feel welcome.
Fear not. You can. If you follow one simple rule: Show—don’t tell.
You’ll notice that nobody’s welcoming anybody here, per se. Rather, the idea permeates every word and image on the page. And I defy anyone to tell me what could be more welcoming than a site that:
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Promises to be the best way of managing my money—for free (They can help me)
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Organizes its navigation to mirror the way I naturally approach information (They understand me)
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Presents high-level benefits (They help me decide whether their service is worth my precious time)
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Offers a fresh, inspiring take on managing finances (They’re approachable and friendly—and different)
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Has won the attention of some important people (They know I’m a comparison shopper)
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Features a bright orange “Get started” button (They clearly show me what I should do next)
Back at the party, Mint.com is the equivalent of the gracious host who waves at you from across the room. He doesn’t waste time telling you how totally welcome you are, or what all you’ll find when you walk through the door. He just smiles warmly, hands you a piece of cake, and asks if you have everything you need.
Posted in Content Strategy, Editorial Strategy, Web Content, Web Writing
Our most important job here at Brain Traffic isn’t information architecture. It isn’t content creation, or even copywriting …
Nope, it’s good old-fashioned listening.
I mean the kind of listening that demands our active attention and participation. The kind that leaves us with the information we need to recommend truly smart, thoughtful web content solutions. The kind that requires we really focus on YOU.
So whether we’re scoping a project, clarifying user goals, or managing rounds of client feedback, we all hold fast to a few rules for active listening around these parts.*
Keep an open mind.
We may have created content for a dozen healthcare websites over the years. But that doesn’t mean we automatically know the unique challenges your healthcare company faces as you fight to get your new site off the ground.
That's why we mindfully avoid assuming we know where the discussion is going before it gets there. We’ll let you speak for yourself. It’s only polite.
Lead with “open” questions.
Open questions start with “who,” “what,” “when,” “where,” “why,” or “how.” It's straight up Journalism 101. If we're getting yes/no answers from you, it means we’re being lazy reporters. And it means our conversation can only scratch the surface in terms of uncovering your needs and goals.
Get comfy with silence.
If our question to you is met with dead air or a frowny face, we're likely squirming in our ergonomic chairs. It's just human nature. So we count to 10 (in our heads, don’t worry) while you organize your thoughts. Because jumping in to fill that void might prevent you from collecting your ideas and articulating a particularly illuminating response.
Ask the “stupid” questions.
We wouldn't be doing anyone any favors by pretending we have all the answers. And we feel very strongly that the success of your project depends in part on us being bold enough to not take anything for granted. So we make a point to ask at least one “stupid” question in each client meeting.
Being not entirely shameless, however, we do practice some super sneaky tactics:
- “I know we’ve been talking about this for a while, but could you just clarify one thing for me?”
- “I’m afraid your users might not understand this fully. Could you take a minute to break it down so I can explain it in very basic terms?”
- “You'll have to excuse me. This is probably a stupid question, but…”
Our willingness to humble ourselves in that regard seems to really resonate with our clients. Because in many cases, voicing our confusion helps them quickly pinpoint gaps in their content universe.
Be curious.
There we are, asking you our thoughtfully stupid, open questions, and waiting patiently for your equally thoughtful answers. Suddenly it hits us: We know precisely how to solve all your website woes. Nice.
But wait! Now is not the time to share our brilliant plan. We may have an inkling about where your main pain points lie. But we need to know more. Where did these issues originate? How long have they been plaguing your company? Whom do they affect? How exactly would your life be easier if we made them go away?
Now we’re finally getting somewhere together. And as it turns out, we suddenly have an even better plan to share.
*Bonus: These techniques have multiple applications outside the work environment. Try them on your friends! Your in-laws! Your pets!
Posted in User Experience
Having recently been dubbed by some of my more outspoken coworkers as the Rose Nylund of Brain Traffic, I feel it’s incumbent upon me to dispel some long-standing myths about White Anglo-Saxon Protestant-raised Midwestern web writers:
- We don’t carry around a copy of Strunk & White and/or a pocket thesaurus in our satchels. (We don’t carry satchels at all—ha!)
- IMHO, we’re perfectly capable of txtng. w00t!
- We’re not a bunch of failed librarians and/or poets and/or designers.
- We don’t speak in bullet points. (But we are working on a top-secret technology that will one day allow us to hyperlink live conversations.)
- We won’t correct your grammar . . . at least not to your face.
I’m totally kidding about number five. Because we
will correct your grammar! But we’ll be super nice about it.
And we’ll absolutely do it to your face. Better yet, we’ll leave a note. Because that’s a super thoughtful thing to do!
For a taste of just how thoughtful we are around here, take a gander at my desk. This homage to
passiveaggressivenotes.com was masterminded by a couple of our particularly “creative” (read: smart-alecky) writers. That was soooooo nice of them!
Posted in Around the Office
I’m certainly not the first—nor will I be the last—to gripe about companies leaping onto the social media bandwagon before they’re good and ready. Before they understand whether blogs, networking applications, or online games actually play nice with their brand and with their audience.
Wells Fargo, I’m talking to you.
I just visited Stagecoach Island, your virtual community. I took my eager avatar snowboarding, then on a quest into outer space. She started saving “shells” to buy her dream home. She even picked up a few real-life financial tips along the way.
I’m all for bringing fiscal responsibility to life for young audiences. These are dubious economic times, and it’s never too early to set a good example. I also get that you’ve probably been told to show a little personality, already.
But.
Stagecoach Island feels to me like the desperate cry of a parent trying to prove he’s still “with it” so his teenager will take him seriously.
News flash: Kids don’t actually want their parents to be cool. They want them to be real. Also, I’m guessing the audience you’re trying to reach isn’t going to be impressed by a video game run by a bank. But what do I know?
I share this example for a reason. In my mind, Stagecoach Island is a major step in the wrong direction.
On the other hand, you hit a home run for me back in November. I was reluctantly logging in to my dwindling savings account one day, when up popped an oversized shot of your distinguished CEO. His photo accompanied a sobering, yet cautiously optimistic, letter. Times are tight, it said, but we’re all in this together. Stick with us—we won’t let you down.
It was the right message at the right time from a company courageous enough to break the fourth wall and let me know they understood my needs and my fears.
Transparency (or illusions thereof) in the corporate world are all the rage these days. But this was something more. It was authenticity. Accountability. I didn’t need a snowboarding avatar—I needed a real person to look me in the eye (as it were) and tell it like it is.
As a champion of candid, no-nonsense content, I have a humble plea: It’s that companies like yours think twice about wooing users with adventures in virtual worlds and focus instead on helping them succeed in this one. Not just with letters from the CEO, but with well-crafted, carefully planned content that educates customers, inspires action, and respects the intelligence of their users.
Posted in User Experience
We all make mistakes. When we make them online or while using technology, the consequences are (usually) fairly unremarkable. Too bad the alarmists who write error messages still haven’t gotten the memo.
As proof, I’d like to share a few recent error message sightings:
PC "formatting" error pop-up
This little gem occasionally rears its ugly head on my laptop.
To be fair, I am the scourge of technology. But this message gives me no clue as to what I might have done (this time) to warrant an on-screen scolding. Or how I might set things right.
In fact, the only choice I have is to click OK and thereby accept my "general failure." (Again.) I do so with a deep sigh and a heavy heart. And then I move on to render useless another electronic device with my mere presence.
Error icon for a brain pacemaker programming device
This startling illustration, accompanied by an impressive string of gibberish, appears when a neurologist makes a "handling error."
Is it just me, or does it seem unwise to subject a brain surgeon to unnecessary distress over vague and melodramatic messaging? (That’s a rhetorical question.)
E-commerce message from a forward-thinking fashion retailer
As you can imagine, I sigh (with relief, this time) when an application or website delivers an error message that helps me quickly understand what went wrong and how to fix it. To wit:
Say you’ve finally decided to get that dreamy Anthropologie cowlneck dress. You’re so excited you move to click "Add to Bag" before selecting your size. It can happen to anyone. But does Anthropologie.com spew a generic and incomprehensible 404* at you?
Heavens, no. Their solution is elegant as an embroidery motif cardigan in citron and coriander. "Please select a size," urges the articulate error message. (That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?)
Here’s why this error message copy (and design) works.
The message:
- Lets you know there’s a problem
- Gets specific about what that problem is (you’ve neglected to choose your dress size)
- Tells you in plain language how you can solve the problem (select a size, already!)
- Respects your intelligence by avoiding words like FAILURE, FATAL or ERROR
- Appears in lovely rust-colored text rather than four-alarm red to prevent grade-school exam flashbacks
- Uses a no-nonsense period rather than an anxiety-inducing exclamation point
- Guides you quickly to the next step in the process (and ultimately to retail bliss)
On top of everything, that message materializes when your cursor lands anywhere near "Add to Bag" territory. You never waste a single click. Brilliant.
Want more? Check out this awesome collection of smartypants 404 messages culled by Italian web designer Francesco Mugnai.
Posted in Web Writing
