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list styling
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v1ckych3n committed Nov 26, 2023
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15 changes: 15 additions & 0 deletions common.css
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Original file line number Diff line number Diff line change
Expand Up @@ -269,6 +269,12 @@ main {
margin-top: var(--ul-margin-top);
margin-bottom: var(--ul-margin-bottom);
width: 90vw;

list-style:square;
}

li {
margin-bottom: 1rem;
}

@media (min-width: 768px) {
Expand Down Expand Up @@ -591,4 +597,13 @@ main {
border: var(--border-style);
background-color: var(--accent-color);
}

.ul-li_normal {
width: 30vw;
margin: auto;
}

li {
margin-bottom: 1.5rem;
}
}
214 changes: 113 additions & 101 deletions words-as-materials.html
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Expand Up @@ -125,26 +125,26 @@ <h2>How communication works</h2>
So I’ve been thinking about what communication looks like in the design process. Here’s my take:
</p>

<ul class="ul-li_normal circle-container">
<li><a href= "#self">Self</a></li>
<li><a href="#team">Team</a></li>
<li><a href="#product">Product</a></li>
<li><a href="#public">Public</a></li>
<ul class="circle-container">
<li>Self</li>
<li>Team</li>
<li>Product</li>
<li>Public</li>
</ul>

<div id="self">
<div>
<p><span class="red-pen-mark"><strong>Self:</strong></span> We start by thinking alone. We may be collaborating with friends or colleagues, but we still need space to make sense of what we're making. We have to put it into terms we can relate to.</p>
</div>

<div id="team">
<div>
<p><span class="red-pen-mark"><strong>Team:</strong></span> We also have to talk through it with our team. That’s where extroverted thinking comes in. We may need to sketch, or brainstorm ideas, or summarize what we’ve heard from interviews or user research. We have to get on the same page or find a shared language. Once we have a sense of what we’re doing, we can express those goals as requirements, come up with an approach, and move forward. All of these messy conversations help us gather consensus and work through the details.</p>
</div>

<div id="product">
<div>
<p><span class="red-pen-mark"><strong>Product:</strong></span> After choosing a design direction, we can prototype it, refine it, and try to make it speak for itself. The product needs to reflect the goals and intent we set out to achieve—and in some ways, it needs to stand on its own.</p>
</div>

<div id="public">
<div>
<p><span class="red-pen-mark"><strong>Public:</strong></span> Once we’re clear on what we’re making, we build it. And if we’re lucky, we get to announce it and share it with the world.</p>
</div>

Expand All @@ -154,101 +154,113 @@ <h2>How communication works</h2>
</section>
</article>

<section>
<h2>How writing fits in</h2>

<p>
This outward arc or continuum is the same one that I go through as a writer. I think and sketch and jot down notes; I question my assumptions; I struggle to understand. Later, when I have a sense of what I need to do, I share drafts and take in feedback; I try different variations and keep refining the work until it’s ready for the public.
</p>

<p>
I work on digital products and physical goods, so I’m deeply involved in the design process. But I also want to call out early that my process is the design process. I don’t write fiction or short stories; I use language to solve problems—whether that’s behind the scenes or in the product itself. I use words as material.
</p>

<p>
Earlier this year, Matt Jones gave <a href="https://vimeo.com/121072011">a talk at Interaction15</a> about his experience running BERG and directing interaction design at Google's Creative Lab. He said:
</p>

<blockquote>
<mark>
“[Writers] are the fastest designers in the world. They’re amazing at boiling down incredibly abstract concepts into tiny packets of cognition, or language.”
</mark>
</blockquote>

<p>
Going back to Thich Nhat Hanh, I believe that writing is part of every design. If you can clearly define what you’re making and articulate its value, the steps to bring it out into the world will go much faster. It’s easy to put pixels together when you’ve already made decisions. And since we work across systems and borders, there’s no better way to articulate design than with writing.
</p>
</section>

<section>
<h2>The gap between us</h2>

<p>
I want to focus on writing today, because I’ve noticed a huge gap between writers and designers in the professional world. And I think it contributes to the larger communication problems we face. We’re often on separate teams in separate buildings. We have the same goals and audiences, but we’re rarely seen as partners or equals.
</p>

<p>
I first noticed this gap 10 years ago when I was working at Apple, and I’ve seen it again and again since. Designers are invited to product meetings; writers hear about them afterwards. Designers sit close to the CEO; writers are in the call center or brought in right before the launch. Designers make things; writers support them. You can probably trace this separation back to how we’re taught in grade school or high school. In the U.S. at least, we learn to write in English class, to draw in art class, and to understand shapes and numbers in math class. But I’ve realized this intentional separation weakens our work and limits the contributions we can make to the world.
</p>

<p>
When I’m on a team, I always try to sit with the designers and engineers—whether in person or on IRC. But most product teams don’t even have a writer. And unfortunately, I don’t think I can solve this particular problem myself. So instead of trying to restructure every product team out there, I’ve been thinking about how you can use words as material in your own design practice.
</p>

<p>
These are some of the questions that have come up for me along the way:
</p>

<ul>
<li>What does writing contribute to the design process?</li>
<li>How can designers use words to articulate what they're making?</li>
<li>How can we, as humans, benefit from clear language?</li>
<li>How can writing make products easier to adopt and understand?</li>
<li>How can I broaden the definition of "writing" for designers?</li>
</ul>

<p>
I keep using that phrase “words as material,” so let’s talk about words for a bit.
</p>
</section>

<section>
<h2>What are words for</h2>

<p>
Words shape our ideas, how we see the world, and how we relate to one another. As design teacher and researcher <a href="https://designculturelab.org/2012/03/01/more-thoughts-on-writing-and-making/">Anne Galloway</a> says:
</p>

<blockquote>
<mark>
"Language doesn't just make things–it assembles, cobbles together, entire worlds and all the relations within."
</mark>
</blockquote>

<p>
Language makes it possible for us to navigate places and relationships; to express needs and requirements; to name and categorize things; and to understand our place in the universe.
</p>

<p>
Last year, I had the pleasure of editing Abby Covert’s marvelous book about information architecture, <a href="https://abbycovert.com/make-sense/"><em>How to Make Sense of Any Mess</em></a>. In it, she says:
</p>

<blockquote>
“Language is the material of intent… Language is how we tell other people what we want, what we expect of them, and what we hope to accomplish together. Without language, we can’t collaborate.”
</blockquote>
<article class="container_style-three">
<header>
<h2>How writing fits in</h2>
</header>

<p>
Without words, we wouldn’t be able to plan or effect change.
</p>
<section>
<p>
This outward arc or continuum is the same one that I go through as a writer. I think and sketch and jot down notes; I question my assumptions; I struggle to understand. Later, when I have a sense of what I need to do, I share drafts and take in feedback; I try different variations and keep refining the work until it’s ready for the public.
</p>

<p>
I work on digital products and physical goods, so I’m deeply involved in the design process. But I also want to call out early that my process is the design process. I don’t write fiction or short stories; I use language to solve problems—whether that’s behind the scenes or in the product itself. I use words as material.
</p>

<p>
Earlier this year, Matt Jones gave <a href="https://vimeo.com/121072011">a talk at Interaction15</a> about his experience running BERG and directing interaction design at Google's Creative Lab. He said:
</p>

<blockquote>
<mark>
“[Writers] are the fastest designers in the world. They’re amazing at boiling down incredibly abstract concepts into tiny packets of cognition, or language.”
</mark>
</blockquote>

<p>
Going back to Thich Nhat Hanh, I believe that writing is part of every design. If you can clearly define what you’re making and articulate its value, the steps to bring it out into the world will go much faster. It’s easy to put pixels together when you’ve already made decisions. And since we work across systems and borders, there’s no better way to articulate design than with writing.
</p>
</section>
</article>

<p>
As a technology, writing has many merits. It complements verbal and visual communication. It’s sturdy and can stay put. It’s cheap. It’s easy to change or reproduce. And it moves faster than ships or airplanes. Writing makes it possible to propel knowledge and intent forward through time.
</p>
<article class="container_style-two">
<header>
<h2>The gap <span class="imagery_gap">&nbsp;</span> between us</h2>
</header>

<section>
<p>
I want to focus on writing today, because I’ve noticed a huge gap between writers and designers in the professional world. And I think it contributes to the larger communication problems we face. We’re often on separate teams in separate buildings. We have the same goals and audiences, but we’re rarely seen as partners or equals.
</p>

<p>
I first noticed this gap 10 years ago when I was working at Apple, and I’ve seen it again and again since. Designers are invited to product meetings; writers hear about them afterwards. Designers sit close to the CEO; writers are in the call center or brought in right before the launch. Designers make things; writers support them. You can probably trace this separation back to how we’re taught in grade school or high school. In the U.S. at least, we learn to write in English class, to draw in art class, and to understand shapes and numbers in math class. But I’ve realized this intentional separation weakens our work and limits the contributions we can make to the world.
</p>

<p>
When I’m on a team, I always try to sit with the designers and engineers—whether in person or on IRC. But most product teams don’t even have a writer. And unfortunately, I don’t think I can solve this particular problem myself. So instead of trying to restructure every product team out there, I’ve been thinking about how you can use words as material in your own design practice.
</p>

<p>
These are some of the questions that have come up for me along the way:
</p>

<ul class="ul-li_normal">
<li>What does writing contribute to the design process?</li>
<li>How can designers use words to articulate what they're making?</li>
<li>How can we, as humans, benefit from clear language?</li>
<li>How can writing make products easier to adopt and understand?</li>
<li>How can I broaden the definition of "writing" for designers?</li>
</ul>

<p>
I keep using that phrase “words as material,” so let’s talk about words for a bit.
</p>
</section>
</article>

<p>
Historically, writing has served us as a force of stability. It gave us a way to record history, exchange information, and establish legal systems. We wrote to preserve knowledge, transmit ideas, and pass on traditions. And of course, we still do those things, even with hypertext. We still treat writing as a product of the editorial process.
</p>
</section>
<article class="container_style-two">
<header>
<h2>What are words for</h2>
</header>

<section>
<p>
Words shape our ideas, how we see the world, and how we relate to one another. As design teacher and researcher <a href="https://designculturelab.org/2012/03/01/more-thoughts-on-writing-and-making/">Anne Galloway</a> says:
</p>

<blockquote>
<mark>
"Language doesn't just make things–it assembles, cobbles together, entire worlds and all the relations within."
</mark>
</blockquote>

<p>
Language makes it possible for us to navigate places and relationships; to express needs and requirements; to name and categorize things; and to understand our place in the universe.
</p>

<p>
Last year, I had the pleasure of editing Abby Covert’s marvelous book about information architecture, <a href="https://abbycovert.com/make-sense/"><em>How to Make Sense of Any Mess</em></a>. In it, she says:
</p>

<blockquote>
“Language is the material of intent… Language is how we tell other people what we want, what we expect of them, and what we hope to accomplish together. Without language, we can’t collaborate.”
</blockquote>

<p>
Without words, we wouldn’t be able to plan or effect change.
</p>

<p>
As a technology, writing has many merits. It complements verbal and visual communication. It’s sturdy and can stay put. It’s cheap. It’s easy to change or reproduce. And it moves faster than ships or airplanes. Writing makes it possible to propel knowledge and intent forward through time.
</p>

<p>
Historically, writing has served us as a force of stability. It gave us a way to record history, exchange information, and establish legal systems. We wrote to preserve knowledge, transmit ideas, and pass on traditions. And of course, we still do those things, even with hypertext. We still treat writing as a product of the editorial process.
</p>
</section>
</article>

<section>
<h2>Understand and clarify the problem</h2>
Expand Down

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