A few years ago, I spent several months working with an organization to help improve the structure and content of its site. I worked with many stakeholders in the organization, and most of them were excited about our goal to structure information so people could better understand and use it.

Ugh. A Challenge
I did, however, encounter some pushback. Within the organization was a lead writer who felt confident in her writing. Her confidence was warranted when she wrote for “traditional” media. But she defiantly resisted the challenge to reduce the number of words and allow visual structure to support people.

As a new product emerged, it was easy to tell where the lead writer’s ideas held sway. Instead of short, directive text such as “find a topic by the first letter,” the site incorporated sentences such as, “We are pleased to provide an A-Z Topics page to connect you quickly with the wealth of information on our website.”

I revisited the site today. “I’m happy you’re pleased to provide a topics page,” I think, as I scroll down the page through five sentences, 113 words-worth of superfluous information. “Give me some structure and get out of my way.”

I feel a pain – a kick in the gut when I look at this content. “It had so much possibility.”

Facing A New Contextual Challenge

Recently, I’ve been working as a volunteer helping to improve structure on a site. Once again, content matters. Our early testing revealed challenges in shaping content to help people. And the testing revealed how frequently architectural suggestions were abandoned.

Ouch.

Wanting More

I suspect I’m more empathetic than some hard-boiled veterans of organizations. Maybe I take structure more personally because I rely on perceptual cues and inherent structure to navigate information space. As a human whose brain isn’t wired for easy sorting, I also need wayfinding cues to help me navigate public space. I rely on consistent, coherent architecture to know where I am, where I’ve been, and where I’m going. I need online text to be clustered and accessible.

So when I see a disregard for some essential ways to help others in online space, I end up feeling great disappointment. I feel personally wounded when I see products that could come so close to helping people – but fail because of disregard for clear structure.

So I’ve been questioning where that disappointment comes from.  Am I just prone to whining? Or do others share my belief that we have the obligation to help confused humans in an information-overloaded world?

Responding to a Vision

I believe we all hold the capacity to make the world a better place. I believe the better place begins by respecting others, and, in a business setting, working as hard as we can to support others.

For me, that vision manifests itself in the “aha moments” that result from my teaching and the learning time my students and I share. But this hopeful vision also manifests itself in developing products that work. I feel excitement and energy when we identify strategies to improve users’ experiences. And I work hard to help others see the possibilities inherent in clear organization and structure.

Reacting to Roadblocks

Then what happens when the products don’t work?

Sometimes I ask, “What the hell am I doing?” Then I spend a period of time spiraling out of control until I remind myself what I do. Because I am primarily a teacher, I try to create a context in which we all share and learn. My goal is to remain present and deepen others’ capacities for learning.

And when I’m faced with results I don’t prefer? That’s the challenge for everyone who works with people and politics. It’s another opportunity to learn. “Fail more often,” the pundits tell us. “Become more mindful. Be compassionate.”

I try to balance my disappointments with my vision. I know what it’s like to get lost in information and know strategies for improving the quality of print and electronic documents. If I want my work to result in a better place, my goal is to remain present and deepen others’ capacities for seeing this too.

It reminds me of a fortune cookie message I place on class syllabi: “Never consider yourself a failure, you can always serve as a bad example.”

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About this content:  I work as the Associate Editor for Information Architecture for the ASIS&T Bulletin.  This blog post provides the final draft for an upcoming issue.  Check out the current column.

Thanks volunteers for your help with this request.

Question #1. Do you want to help us improve clear writing in Government?

Background:
I am a longtime volunteer, supporting the Plain Language Action and Information Network (the interagency network supporting the effort to improve the quality of Government content).

In 2006, my students reshaped the site www.plainlanguage.gov.  Our purpose at that time was to introduce "plain language" to the Federal audience.  The tool became central in the work to make Government content more understandable.  During the next several years, federal writers applied the tips on the site and built documents that helped people get their jobs done. 

In 2010 the U.S. Congress passed the "Clear Writing in Government Act" and President Obama signed it into law.  With the new legislation, came new requirements.  Agencies had new responsibilities.

The volunteers who supported the website tried to fit new guidance into the architecture.   But it didn't fit.

In February, I saw users trying to get their jobs done. (Not a pretty site.)  Story about that testing here:  http://bit.ly/dQCBAX

Current research:
Since that time, I "volunteered" my students and formed a content strategy workgroup.  Instead of just reshaping an architecture with current content (as we did in 2006), we are reshaping the entire site (content and structure) to support Federal writers and other human beings.

Question:
So, do you want to help with our research?  Yes or No.  

• If Yes, move to question 2. 

Question #2.  Can you support us with our research for improving www.plainlanguage.gov?

We need your help.  

We are working to bridge the gap between what users need and the resources/content we provide.   I need volunteers to identify priority tasks and content for completing this task.  Could you complete four steps on a research matrix?   This task will take you one half hour to one hour. 

Go here:  https://sites.google.com/site/plainlangresearch/task-content-matrix

This is what you will need to do (SUMMARY)

1. Select a Persona from those assembled. 

2. Find your persona on the task/content matrix provided.

3. Identify a numerical value (as directed in the instructions)

4.Identify your top task.  

5. List the content you want for primary tasks (to support our gap analysis)

6. Email your completed form to our research team, care of:  thom@thomhaller.com

.

DETAILS HERE:   https://sites.google.com/site/plainlangresearch/task-content-matrix

THANKS FOR SUPPORTING PLAIN LANGUAGE RESEARCH.

Thom-

Final conference keynotes are interesting affairs. Unlike an opening keynote, where you rub against fellow sardines, you miss your colleague who had to catch a plane, but you appreciate the opportunity to stretch out and synthesize final remarks.

The IA Summit, an annual event that concluded yesterday, incorporates another opportunity for synthesis – a chunk of time called “Five Minute Madness.” During this madness, anyone can say anything related to the conference experience. So you’ll often hear thanks. You’ll hear gushing. You’ll hear opportunities for volunteering. And you’ll hear thoughts on what we can do next. It’s not uncommon to hear personal stories, thoughtful reflection, and controversial thoughts.

Fewer Controversies, More Action

For the IA Summit, controversy has often surrounded the labels “information architect” and “information architecture.” Since we are an adolescent profession (moving from tween to teen), we have historically spent an inordinate amount of time defining who we are and what we do.

But, you know what? This time we didn’t spend as much time defining ourselves. Sure, we continued to talk about how labels collide, and influence our work.  But this year each attendee seemed to share a passion in structuring information and supporting human beings.  And we seemed to universally agree that we work as part of the greater UX  community.  

Which returns me to “Five- Minute Madness.” At this year’s conclusion, we heard a collective delight in the quality of the presentations and the conversations. Several speakers commented that the IA Summit is unique because we seem to have less interest in self-promotion and more interest in sharing ideas and experiences. Personally, I felt a sense of “hooray.” I felt everyone attending was celebrating the value we provide and the possibilities we offer. We seemed to accept our historical label and we rejoiced in our phenomenal community of people who care about information structure and human results.

When Madness Returns

Then came the voice of the past. A successful practitioner and respected thought leader took the microphone. He offered some personal grievances, explained to us (or so it seemed to me) that the only reason he had attended the event was for some financial gain, and returned us to a focus on how we label ourselves.  “Let’s change the label from IA Summit,” he stated. “Maybe we should just call it the Summit.”

Perhaps the speaker felt concern that the initials “IA” would drive attendees away. But the summit this year welcomed a horde of newcomers (who apparently didn’t seem bothered by the label IA Summit).  This year, for example, I met someone who said, “I’ve watched the IA community since the first Summit in Boston. I’ve always wanted to attend, and this year I had the opportunity.” I met several people who said, “I never knew there was a community of people who do the work I do and carry the passion I feel. I’m so happy to be here.” And I chatted with many old-timers like me who said, “This conference has been among the best yet.”

I celebrate our IA-ocity

As I listened to this seasoned practitioner express his madness, I wondered, “Who says IA always has to stand for Information Architecture?

Certainly, the conference is an intrinsically accessible summit. It’s the summit where I get to visit with intelligent acquaintances and share passion with informed activists. Our community of practioners certainly creates an impressively articulate summit and an irresistibly amusing summit. And since I value action, I’ll borrow from Dan Klyn’s belief in our integrated skillset and celebrate integrated achievement. But most of all, I register for this event year-after-year because it is an intoxicatingly authentic summit.

So if you live in the past and worry that a conference label will thwart any chance of personal or professional accomplishment, look around you. Information professionals do care about structure. We are passionate about applying the ideas we learn and continuing the relationships we've built.

Thanks IAs and admirers.  Thanks IA Summit volunteers and staffers.  I look forward to IA Summit 2012 and the inspired action it will generate.

I recently spent the morning watching a cursor move across a wall-sized screen. I listened to disembodied voices, broadcast from an adjoining room, describe their challenges with a website. The voices harbored dissatisfaction with the navigation. “I’m not sure how deep I am in this site,” one cried. “I have an action focus, I just want to do stuff,” wailed another. A third voice sighed, “I’m losing trust in your site.”

OUCH. That one hurt. I feel like he’s losing trust in MY site.

It's not my site (really)

It’s not my site, really, but I feel a sense of ownership because the site and I share a past. Like many people associated with site development – especially folks involved in site architecture – we work to build a foundation that supports users; then, at some point, we pass the communication product on to clients. Before it launched, I helped out with the site I’m now viewing on the wall – plainlanguage.gov.

I shouldn’t feel any “ouch” in this. It wasn’t actually my architecture. I facilitate architectures (or so I’d like to believe). And as a teacher, I direct students. The students actually delve into user research and develop usable site structures.

Besides, (harrumph) it hasn’t been my architecture since 2006 when the site was handed off to the client. But I’ve been nearby. And at the moment, while I’m participating in this site review, the client is sitting right next to me – valiantly taking notes, quickly indentifying how she should move forward. As a volunteer.

Like many of us in the room, she volunteers time because we’re passionate about clear government communication. We’ve come together today to listen to users respond to specific task scenarios, such as finding advice on avoiding technical jargon in government writing.

We participate because it matters

We’ re taking notes, watching a cursor, and listening to voices move through www.plainlanguage.gov. We are guests of the General Services Administration, the government agency working to create good customer service in government. Officially, we are participants in the Plain Language Action and Information Network (PLAIN), the interagency working group responsible for developing guidance on clear writing in government.

New guidance brings us together. It also creates an exigency – an event or situation that requires a rhetorical response. In our situation, the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) is saying to federal writers, “go to plainlanguage.gov to learn strategies for drafting documents for citizens.”

Unfortunately, the site no longer works.

Architectural questions

I think about my history with the site. In 2006, my information architecture students encountered an early website that had been developed with little thought to architecture. My class explored its challenges. To envision a new structure, they asked focusing questions: “Who are the audiences of the site?” “What is the context that brings these people here? “What is our context for developing the site?” “What is the purpose for users?” “What do they want to accomplish?”

The resulting website was built around the need for understanding. Its category labels highlight this need: “What is plain language?” “Why plain language?” The site was used as a framework for an argument – “clear writing in government matters.” It supported people who wanted to make that argument – typically, people who shared our passion for clear communication.

It’s now five years later and the site must support new legislation designed to improve federal agencies’ effectiveness and their accountability to the public. OMB identified the site as the “go to location” for federal guidance on writing to support citizens.  

With the arrival of new legislation, audiences are shifting from information gatherers who appreciate crisp text to federal managers responding to legislative mandate. Now, the site’s purpose has shifted as well. www.plainlanguge.gov must provide counsel and direction to federal workers. To do that, it requires a new architecture.

My surprise = Next steps

Frankly, I’m surprised. I did not expect to go into one morning of user testing and leave with the assurance that a site’s structure no longer works. I had not considered how the Clear Writing Act of 2010 would create a need to alter the site. I have never seen a site that worked one day but then, following legislative change, worked no more.

Will the new architecture appear overnight? No. In the short term, volunteers from PLAIN will work to integrate new user demands into the current architecture. In the longterm … well, this much is for certain: the site needs to evolve, and I’m happy to help.

Plainlanguage.gov needs to respond to its new “rhetorical” challenge, and this is where information architects help. If you want good user experience, your product must support audience, context, and purpose – even when the users or their needs don’t stay the same.

For www.plainlanguage.gov, it’s time for change.

Washington Post writers recently structured a story of a young woman's passing -- developing the story primarily from her Facebook messages.  The narrative structurally immediately makes you feel as though you are best friends with everyone, so you truly lose a friend at the end.

But I like conversations about struture.  You may want to follow along.

1. Washington Post writers place the story online.  http://ow.ly/3utx4

2. Nieman Storyboard - A project of the Nieman Foundation for Journalism at Harvard - explores  structural choices:  http://ow.ly/3utAt

3. Writers at the Pointer Institute summarize the tale:  http://ow.ly/3utCk

Note:  I write an information architecture column for the ASIST Bulletin.  I'm submitting this content for the next issue.  Let me know what you think...

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As a Washington DC resident, I often begin my morning reading the Washington Post.  Today, I spotted a quote from a disenfranchised citizen. “Government seems disconnected,” the paper reported. “It doesn’t seem to address the people.”

Here’s some good news. News about hope. And change.  

President Signs Plain Writing Act

 In late September, the 111th Congress passed The Plain Writing Act of 2010. The purpose of this Act is to improve the effectiveness of federal agencies and their accountability to the public by promoting clear communication that we can all understand and use. The President signed this Act into law on October 13.

 The Act does not provide for enforcement, so perhaps we can only hope the government promotes clear communication. But I envision more. I suggest that hope is inherent in how the legislation defines plain writing. It says, “The term ‘plain writing’ means writing that is clear, concise, well-organized, and follows other best practices appropriate to the subject or field and intended audience.“  I see hope for users of government documents.

Why this Matters to Us

 This focus on crafting writing so it is appropriate to the subject, field, and intended audience is central to our work as information architects, content strategists, and writers. We consider the material that best meets the needs of our audience. We analyze the language of the field and how different audiences respond to labels. We offer hope for users of government documents who want to understand choices, do what they want to do, and get on with the rest of their lives.

What this Means for Citizens

 The Act creates change because it encourages government writers to think differently about their content and direct information toward their readers. It’s a shift – a major shift.

 In my 15 years of teaching government writers how to shape content, I am always delighted by the “aha” moment – that shift when writers recognize the “someone” they are writing for.

“I get it,” they say to me. “The doctor really won’t want to sit and read the fraud manual from front to back.” I’ll tell you what I understand now ,” they tell me.  “I now envision someone wanting to get a job done. I now see my job as helping them.”

Helping others – that’s the work we do. With the Plain Writing Act of 2010, Government writers now have a legally recommended structure for addressing citizens and asking, “How can I help you see connections?”

We have a vehicle for creating change.

As an instructor, I've learned to rely on Google Groups.  For the past three years, I've used that environment to upload student files and provide an environment for developing pages -- in process writing in writing classes, resources and commentary in our  IA/UX class.

The CHANGE

I just learned that Google will no longer support file uploads and pages -- the two features we use in class.

http://groups-announcements.blogspot.com/2010/09/notice-about-pages-and-files...

They casually suggest I use their other products: Google Docs (an architectural wasteland ... ) and Google Sites (overblown features that I've found does not work in a collaborative environment).

A Teaching Moment

Notice the "exigency"  (reason why we need to create a communication product) -- human beings rely on online features.  Suddenly these features are no longer available.  What communication content and structures can help the humans make the change?

Good directions on making the transition?  Yes.. that would help.  But does the content we receive help us make this change?   In this case (http://groups-announcements.blogspot.com/2010/09/notice-about-pages-and-files...), I would say "no."

Here's What I Wonder...

I wonder if Google did any testing or exploration into how people used their groups function.  I wonder about the uneven balance of user needs and corporate needs.  I wonder if I am going to stop frowning.

Next Steps

I have asked my current students to help us make this transition.  Perhaps you  know a collaborative environment that works well for groups who work together for only a short time.

(Or perhaps you know someone at Google who actually believes their products are interchangable....rather than hiding behind this excuse while they make an annoying business decision.)

Note:  I write an information architecture column for the ASIST Bulletin.  I'm submitting this content for the next issue.  Let me know what you think...

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This past spring, I invited a landscape architect over to my home. We had met online when he presented landscaping ideas to the board of directors for the condo building where I operate my studio. I liked the way he had presented ideas to our board and how quickly we moved from design notes to a completed garden.

He dropped by and we took the tour (which, frankly, isn’t much of a tour when you live in a Washington, DC townhouse).  We chatted about problems and visions for the space. I stressed my vision – I needed help improving the soil and reshaping the garden space from its present Addams Family style, to one that was more welcoming.

The process was slow, but so was I. I didn’t rush proposal development — and neither did my landscape architect. By mid-May, new “business factors” had emerged and intensified my need for results. “I’m getting married at home in early August,” I told him. “I need our project complete.” In other words, I was telling my landscape architect, “build me a product.“

As a client, I had a few expectations – a visual rendering, information on cost and price points, and a place where I could see the flowers online.

Weeks passed.  Summer was upon us.

Finally, a grand blueprint arrived. An architecture, right? But I didn’t have information on costs or how I might change the design. “What does this cost?” I asked my architect.

More weeks passed. (Summer has only so many weeks to pass … I was becoming antsy.)

I feared the fancy blueprints would result in a high price, which turned out to be true.  I tried (and failed) to understand his pricing, so we entered into several rounds of e-mail conversation to discuss options for building the product.

Finally I asked, “Will all this be completed by August 5?” 

“No,” responded my architect. “We have a lot to do. I’m thinking …. fall.”  

With some anxiety, I typed an e-mail. “Do you think you could put some flowers in the soil and make it look festive for my events in August?” Then I waited.  

I finally received a reply.

“What do you mean by festive?” 

What Went Wrong?

With a little analysis, you can see why the project failed. I was a client who wanted a product. My contractor focused on the plan.

I was a client who didn’t participate fully. I didn’t work with the contractor to lay out a structure for accomplishing what I we needed to accomplish. I didn’t push for an iterative design cycle. Nor did I specify any dates when I needed planning documents to support our process and final outcome.

“I don’t have time,” I figured. “It’s just a garden.”

Just. I am reminded of all the bosses and business leaders who try to understand the invisible work of information architecture, but think, “It’s just a website”

What Did I Want?

As I reflect on this now, I realize it wasn’t just a garden that I wanted. I wanted guests to come to our door and be welcomed by happy, healthy plants (instead of weeds struggling to stay alive). I wanted the experience of sharing our happiness with neighbors. And I wanted to improve our neighborhood’s curb appeal.

Fortunately, my adventure in gardening turned out OK. I reconnected with a friend of a friend who’s a landscaper. “Use your artistic vision,” I told him. He completed the project within days. I remain delighted at the outcome.

In the end, I discovered that I wanted a product (and that’s what I got). And I wanted the experience that my garden provides (and I love it). But did I need to spend time and money on the architecture? Maybe not.

But when I think about providing information architecture services, maybe I’ll listen better to hear if it’s just a product my client wants.  And maybe now I understand client needs a little better.