By Rob Houser
I don’t know about you, but my family has no idea what I do for a living. Oh, sure, they’re proud of me anyway. They ask me what I do almost every time we’re together, and I try to explain it to them. Here’s sort of how it goes:
"Now, what is it that you do again?", they ask.
"I’m a technical communicator."
[Blank stare]
"It’s like a writer, a trainer, and a designer all in
one."
[Confused look]
"I design and create user assistance--things like user
manuals, online help, computer-based training, Web sites, and
even user interfaces."
[Apparent look of understanding.] "Oh, so you write those
instructions that are impossible to understand--like the ones
that came with my VCR. [Big story follows about how hard it is to
use instructions and program VCRs.]"
"I hope not. [I resist the urge to blame those problems on
engineers.] I try to make technology like VCRs easier for people
to use. Sometimes that means writing an instruction manual. For
some products I create instructions that you can use on the
computer electronically; sometimes I might create a video--it
depends on the situation. I test what we create with real users
to make sure that what I create really helps them do what they
want to do."
[Confused look returns and finally I relent.]
"Yes, I write instructions like the one that came with your
VCR&ldots;but I write the good ones."
My explanations never make what I do any clearer to my family. At
best, they remember my profession as the group of evil, faceless
sadists who write manuals like the ones that come with their VCR,
which still displays the flashing 12:00 on the clock.
I imagine you’re probably thinking, "Well, obviously Rob’s not much of a communicator if he can’t explain to his own family what he does." But think about the dilemma of our profession.
When you tell someone else that you are a fire fighter or a teacher, others readily nod their heads in agreement, as though they are saying: "Yes, I recognize that as an acceptable profession that they taught me about in grade school." Sometimes, people even get excited when they hear what others do for a living, like when my father tells people he works for the FBI. Boy, do the heads nod and the questions start flying. I’m sure that those people still don’t have a good idea of what my father really does at work every day, but I bet they never forget that he works for the FBI.
And, yet, when I tell my relatives that I’m a technical communicator, I have to struggle to keep them interested in my explanation. Saying those words, "technical communicator," seems to kill a conversation faster than any other topic--unless, of course, you’re talking to another technical communicator.
My reflection on our profession was sparked by my mother’s request for a written explanation of my profession so she could read it again when people asked her what I do. Perhaps she thought my writing skills would clear up matters where my talking about it seemed only to make things cloudier.
I’ll start with a paraphrase of my favorite definition by David Dobrin: Technical communication is accommodating technology to the user. Of course, I don’t expect my mother to repeat this to my other relatives and friends, so let me try another way.
I do whatever it takes for our customers to get their jobs done using my company’s products. If I’m successful, the customers spend as little time as possible learning how to use the product and more time doing what they wanted to get done in the first place. Sometimes I’m a teacher, giving them the instructions they need to start using the product. Sometimes I’m a coach, giving them feedback to help them work more efficiently. Sometimes I’m an architect, designing the product so it is easy to use.
Okay, that’s still too abstract. Maybe being a technical communicator is a little like being a Mom. I want my customers to do what they want with as few problems as possible, but I can’t always be there to help them in person. I can teach them the best I know how so they will have a strong foundation to start out on their own. I can advise them on the best way to do something, although I can’t always make sure they do what I told them to do. I can help them get back on the right path when they experience problems. I can try to make their world as safe and as possible before they walk out the door to go it on their own. I can answer their questions when they have them in as clear a manner as possible, keeping in mind that everybody has a unique way of asking for help.
I’m responsible for nurturing, providing, teaching, guiding, helping, answering, protecting, correcting, and explaining. I try to do all of these things at different times without being an obstacle to the people who need my help or without stifling their individuality or free will. In the end, our users have to make their own way through the world, but that doesn’t mean they have to go it completely alone. And, if everything goes well, I might even learn something from them in the process.
That’s what it means to be a technical communicator, whether you work with computers, health care plans, or VCRs.
I hope this explanation will help explain what I do to my relatives. Feel free to try it out on your family. Let me know if you make any progress (rob@userfirst.net). And, Mom, it won’t hurt my feelings if you ask me again the next time I’m home.
Dobrin, David N. New Essays in Technical and Scientific Communication:Research, Theory, Practice. Editors: Anderson, Brockmann, and Miller. Farmingdale: Baywood, 1983.