The recent Nova series “Becoming Human” on PBS showed that the species Homo sapiens is well adapted to environments that require change. This adaptability is a defining characteristic—it’s one reason we were able to out-compete other species of humans (such as Neanderthals) and drive them to extinction.
Given our evolutionary history, why do we find workplace change so difficult? Margaret Wheatley explains it this way: “People do not resist change – people change all the time. What people resist is having others impose change on them.”
You may have seen the video this week of CNN reporter Ivan Watson covering UN aid workers distributing food in Haiti. Some people in the crowd started shouting that the biscuits were no good because the packaging had a 2008 date on it. Turns out, 2008 was when the biscuits were manufactured. The expiration date was November 2010.
When your users are starving people in desperate need of food, and they’re afraid to eat the food because they’re confusing the manufacturing date with the expiration date, you’ve got a serious usability problem. The packaging is customer-facing information—it should contain only information that customers need.
This is one of the most important ways that technical communicators can contribute to the documentation process. Subject matter experts (SMEs) are often too close to the material to recognize what’s critical information for the customer and what’s extraneous. If you’re documenting a task, and the procedure contains information that seems unrelated, question it. Maybe you’ll learn why the material is pertinent (which will make you a more valuable member of the team, due to your increased knowledge) or maybe the SMEs will realize that the material can be cut (which will make you a more valuable member of the team, because you’ve helped streamline the documentation).
One of the roles of a technical communicator is that of user advocate. Lean documentation is good for the customer and good for the company. Yes, some SMEs may have trouble letting go of material they’ve put time into developing. Others may fall back on the standby argument, “But we’ve always done it this way!” The technical communicator’s job is to gently explain why the old way of doing things served its purpose at the time, but now, we have other considerations (like costly translation) that force us to include only material that our customers need at the moment they’re performing the task.
Providing the right information at the right time is especially important when writing for customers in a potentially high-risk situation. We can’t expect people under stress to read carefully. We must strip down the message to its essentials. What do customers need to know to avert disaster? In a critical moment, that’s the only information they want. Everything else is noise.
Self-publishing has made it easier than ever for authors to get their words into print. However, many authors of self-published books have little or no training in page layout. The design principles of desktop publishing can help you improve readability and customer satisfaction. Help build a loyal following with these six techniques:
1. Use white space.
When you’re paying to publish a book, every square millimeter is precious real estate. But white space isn’t wasted space. White space gives the readers’ eyes a place to rest. More importantly, it gives their mind a place to rest, so they can reflect on what they’ve read. This enhances the learning process so that readers will retain more.
I hate to contradict Rodgers and Hammerstein, but the beginning is not a very good place to start. Whether you’re writing a biography or describing a bird, the best place to start is with the most interesting features.
Before naturalist Roger Tory Peterson came along, a typical description of a robin started at the tip of the beak and ended at the tip of the tail. It wasn’t until you were halfway through the description that you learned a robin has a red breast. Peterson changed that. As the inventor of the modern field guide, he used descriptions that focused on distinguishing characteristics, so birders could accurately identify different species.
Likewise in a biography, start out with what makes the individual unique. Here’s an example of a rather uninspiring biographical note from a portrait at the San Diego Air and Space Museum:
Wernher Von Braun
Born Wirsitz, Germany, 23 March 1912. As chief scientist at the Peenemunde
Rocket Center in Germany, developed the first long range ballistic missile, the V-2.
Before I even get to the interesting part (that he invented the first long-range ballistic missile), I’ve already stopped caring. Impatient readers might stop reading. I’d rewrite this note as follows:
Wernher Von Braun
Developed the first long range ballistic missile, the V-2, while chief scientist at the
Peenemunde Rocket Center in Germany. Born Wirsitz, Germany, 23 March 1912.
In the very first sentence, give readers something to care about. Capture their imagination. Propel them into the second sentence, then into the third. Today’s readers filter the mass of material that confronts them. You have a few seconds to convince readers that your story, article, or paper is worth their time. Don’t waste a sentence. Don’t waste a word. Compel them to read.
While traveling recently through RDU Airport’s new Terminal 2 (that’s the one with the “C” gates—go figure), I noticed that the usual terms “Baggage Claim” and “Ground Transportation” were supplanted by “Bag Claim” and “Ground Transport.” I can only imagine the tens of dollars the airport must have saved by eliminating nine letters from each of those signs; but is this good usage?
The style guides I consulted—Fowler’s Modern English Usage, Garner’s Modern American Usage, The Chicago Manual of Style, and The AP Stylebook—had nothing to say regarding the use of bag vs. baggage or transport vs. transportation. So I turned to the most modest of all reference books, the dictionary, for guidance. Both bag and baggage are defined as “luggage,” and both transport and transportation are defined as “a system for conveying people or goods.” It appears that in this sense, the word pairs can function as synonyms.
But another question remains: is there a reason to prefer baggage when it’s used as a modifier? Neither bag nor baggage is defined as an adjective, so grammatically, there’s no reason to use baggage claim rather than bag claim. That’s just what we’re accustomed to. The English language is constantly evolving, and Americans in particular prefer simplicity. So bag claim and ground transport it is, at least here in Raleigh-Durham. We’ll see if other airports go along.
A few years ago, my husband decided to install a gate across our tree-lined driveway to discourage teenagers from using our yard as a turnaround. I imagined the gate would be the height of a picket fence, to keep out cars but not deter pedestrians. Hubby had different ideas. The gate is massive. It inspired our neighbors to come pay it homage. I admit, the iron posts and brick columns are beautiful. The lions’ heads on either side give it character. But the message it sends is Do Not Enter Here.
This is exacerbated by the fact that the gate has no call button. If someone has a legitimate reason for coming to our home, we either have to give them the code, or we have to open the gate for them in advance. The gate is also quite finicky. If you type the wrong code, it won’t open—even if you try again and enter the right code.
So people who can’t open the gate will sit in their cars, using their Blackberries to search the internet for our (unlisted) phone number. Or they’ll call anyone they know who might have our number, trying to figure out how to get us to come outside and open the gate. They’ll do this for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. Sometimes, they’ll give up and drive away.
But here’s the thing: you can walk around the gate. That’s right: you can get out of your car, take the two foot detour through the pine straw, tromp the thirty yards to our front door, and ring the bell. It does not occur to some people to do this.
I’m not a psychologist, so I can’t explain this tunnel vision. But as a professional communicator, I’m tasked with anticipating how people may become so stymied by the unexpected that they overlook the obvious. People under stress don’t always make good decisions, so my job is to point them toward the path I want them to travel.
Next on my husband’s to-do list: put up a sign telling people what to do if the gate doesn’t open. I’ll do the writing.