I’m a writer.
A proper, human one.

I write simply, but I don’t simply write

To the human brain, easy = true. We’re psychologically wired to instinctively trust simple things.

But simple things are hard to create. If it takes you seconds to read and no effort to process, you can be sure it took hours to write. Maybe even days.

Simple is built on understanding, research, planning, thinking, discussion, trial-and-error, experience and practice. Years and years of practice.

I know what to say, not just how to say it

When you write about something, yourself, it’s natural to just write about its details. To blurt out all the facts and figures, and assume the reader will come to the right conclusions on their own.

But that’s not how things work. Readers want to read about the stuff that matters to them, not the stuff that matters to you. Benefits, past outcomes, key specs, critical differences, history, social proof, that sort of thing.

So the first step for a writer is understanding the customer, not understanding the offering.

I consider context

Your reader’s on a journey. Whether it’s a buyer’s journey or journey of understanding, it’s the lens through which they view your words.

It determines the style, structure, level of detail, types of claims, reading level and formatting of your piece.

Every story is part of a bigger story, and I write it that way.

(In fact, I’ll often provide your writing in a wireframe — a sketch that shows how the whole thing fits together. The logical layout of images, calls to action, contact details, headings, paragraphs, text callouts, bulleted lists and so on. Buttons, menus, links and site structure, too, if it’s for a website.)

I write until it’s right

A single word can make all the difference. So my writing process is painstaking and laborious.

I write, think, read, write, research, think, re-write, read aloud in a radio DJ voice, delete entire passages, re-write, think, read, get grumpy, go for a walk, come back to it with a clear head, and repeat the entire process. Again, and again, and again, until it’s perfect.

In most of life, being a clinically diagnosed perfectionist is a pain in the butt; in writing it’s the key.