Without fail, there is one argument I find myself involved in with every site I test: LOGIN is not a verb.
You do not “login” to a website. That’s just not a word. You “LOG IN.” “Login” is a thing. That’s the login, which is where you log in.
Next time, I refuse to have the argument. Next time, thanks to The Lone Gunman, I can simply direct the offending party to this site: loginisnotaverb.com.
Despite what many people –mostly in the computer field– think, “login” is not a verb. It’s simply not. Whether or not “login” is a word at all may spark a debate in some circles, but assuming it is then it may act as many parts of speech, but not as a verb.
I will repeat the important part for clarity: “login” is not a verb. It’s simply not.
Case closed. I hope.
(Originally published at Black Marks on Wood Pulp.)
“…And we’d like to put our mission statement on the home page.”
No.
No, you wouldn’t.
Your mission statement is for you. It’s for your board of directors, your senior vice presidents, your employees, your partners, your backers. It’s for your company, and your company alone.
Your mission is not for your customers. Your mission is not for your customers because your goal IS NOT TO GET YOUR CUSTOMERS TO DO YOUR WORK FOR YOU.
I don’t hate mission statements. I’ve written them. I believe in a few. I understand their place in corporate culture.
A mission statement is a framework for a company’s spirit. It’s a line or two upon which a company can balance new endeavors. Some of those new endeavors won’t stick, and that’s the point – a mission statement helps filter out the ideas that are off-brand and unnecessary. A mission statement rallies your employees and drives internal brainstorming and carves out a niche.
It’s a statement of future work.
For the most part, your audience doesn’t want methods and statements. They want answers. How will this product/service/widget affect them?
Your mission statement is not for your packaging. It’s not for your brochures and it sure as hell isn’t for your Web site.
It’s for you.
Don’t throw it on the backs of your audience.
(Originally posted at Black Marks on Wood Pulp.)
While dorking out and reading Morville & Callender’s Search Patterns, I came across this sentence:
“A few years ago, results were the only reply. Our goal was a subsecond response. Now, with autocomplete and autosuggest, the results may precede the query.”
From Search Patterns - Peter Morville & Jeffery Callender
This is space-aged, mind reading insanity, if you ask me. AWESOME insanity, but insanity all the same.
Think about it. Through the power of logarithms and the invention of autocomplete, computers – unthinking, non-human computers, completely dependent upon input entered by real humans who can think and reason and instinctively make cross-subject associations – are giving us suggestions as to what we might want BEFORE WE EVEN FINISH telling them what we might want.
I’m not going to go into the technology behind logarithmic search results and prediction, because I’m certainly not smart enough to understand it and, let’s face it, we’re so used to this kind of thing that we’re surprised it doesn’t happen more.
I’m just saying we should stand back a few steps and realized what we’ve created: an alternate form of memory that remembers things we often can’t remember on our own. We depend on things like search and autocomplete and autosuggest to fill in the spaces between our mind’s memories and the concepts we are aware of but can’t find time to memorize.
And this dependence upon autocomplete may be leading to a lack of confidence when applying memory to non-autocomplete sectors. Like, you know, MOST OF REGULAR LIFE.
We use autocomplete and autosuggest to get “sort of close” to our targets, accepting that Google will bridge the gap. We no longer need to spell things correctly. (Another auto – “auto spellcheck” – is guilty here.) And when we’re forced to find answers without autocomplete, we find ourselves slowing down. There’s no confidence in our answer. We’re lost without a back-up.
There’s no answer to this problem, either. Autocomplete and autosuggest are saviors in an era of overstimulated information feeds. Our minds are simply too occupied to remember everything, and – thankfully – we don’t have to anymore.
Thankfully. And cautiously.
We don’t really know what we’re forgetting until we’re given a chance to forget it all over again.
(Originally posted at Black Marks on Wood Pulp.)
ate·lier
Pronunciation: \ˌa-təl-ˈyā\
Function: noun
Etymology: French, from Middle French astelier woodpile, from astele splinter, from Late Latin astella, diminutive of Latin astula
Date: 1699
1 : an artist’s or designer’s studio or workroom
2 : workshop
Great word, though this only hints at the way it was used by Jeffrey MacIntire from Predicate, LLC in his editorial strategy presentation “The Day 2 Problem.”
In that presentation, MacIntire set “atelier” against “factory,” comparing both as opposites in editorial production models (in simple terms: how articles are created). Positioned as one of the five arguments of editorial strategy, the message was clear: there’s a major issue on whether your copy is manufactured or alive. You can churn out fluffed up writing with little heart and a high Lowest Common Denominator factor, or you can spend time crafting copy as if it was something worth paying attention to. A work of thought and intelligence. Of (* gasp! *) substance and (* shudder *) art.
As if it was something you conjured up in a small, cozy workshop.
I like that.
(Originally posted at Black Marks on Wood Pulp.)
