1. Get strategic.

Before doing anything else, you need to sit down and figure out what you want out of your website. The more clearly defined your goals are, the easier it will be for your designer, your copywriter, and you to direct the project in order to meet these goals. “I want to promote my company” isn’t a clearly defined goal! You should be thinking instead about who your audience is and what you want them to take away from the website. Do you want them to interact with it? Buy products? Send you a quote request? Come back every week to read your blog? Consider how you want them to react, feel, and interact with your website, and you’ll be closer to having clearly-defined goals.

If you’re having difficulty defining these goals, it may be helpful to work with a strategic consultant, who’ll bring an outside perspective to the project. Anyone outside of your business will see it in a very different light than you do, which will help you to get a better grasp of what your users are thinking.

2. Evaluate what works—and what doesn’t—in your current website

This is the time to be brutally honest. If your CEO designed your website five years ago, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell him it stinks—if I designed your website five years ago, feel free to tell me it stinks! I won’t be offended, it’s probably true. Five years is more like thirty in internet years, and most businesses—and people—will have changed considerably in that span of time. Once you’ve realized it’s time for change, you need to be frank in your assessment of what’s in place now.

Look at design, SEO, content, and ease-of-use (both for you in updating the site, and for your customers in using the site). Ask anyone who’ll tell you what they think. Spend a few hours poring over your Analytics to see how users are interacting with the site. Better still, drag someone in from off the street, sit him down with your site, and hover over his shoulder while he looks through it. You’ll most likely infuriate him, but it’s incredibly useful to actually watch how someone parses your site, and you’ll get an idea of what gets read—and what gets ignored—as well as any elements of the site that are currently causing confusion.

The Alliance for Community Trees website, before and after. The logo was retained, and we used the same basic colour scheme. The end result was that returning users didn’t feel as though they’d landed on some other site accidentally, and they welcomed the change.

3. While you’re at it, seriously consider your branding.

If you’re redesigning your website anyway, it may be a great time to consider redesigning your logo and branding as well. A gorgeous, well-thought-out redesign is going to have limited impact if your logo sucks. When redesigning, you often don’t necessarily want to rebuild everything from the ground up—you’re best off taking what’s there and subtly changing it to make it better. A great way to do this is to change the structure and graphic elements, but retain the same (or similar) colour scheme and typography. This way, it won’t be so jarring to return visitors as it would be if you were to rebuild everything from scratch. Basically, the more established your business is, the more established your branding will (or at least should!) be in your customers’ eyes. This means you’ll need to make more subtle changes to avoid alienating your clientele.  Realign, don’t redesign.

The DVD Edge website, however, had a less established brand and a less strong logo, so we were able to play with the logo a bit. Keeping the overall image means that it’s still not such a dramatic change, but redrawing it to be a little cleaner and more modern made it stronger.

4. Consider a CMS.

I feel like I extoll the virtues of WordPress a lot, but it’s seriously fantastic. If you’re already revamping your website, and you’d like a way to manage your content more easily, I’d recommend getting the whole thing built in WordPress (or another CMS that suits your needs). While you’re at it, you can also add a blog to the site, which is great for bringing in traffic, boosting search engine results, building valuable content, and increasing conversation with your users. Static websites are out. Websites you can update easily and quickly the moment someone sends you a glowing testimonial are in.

5. Work on your content first.

I’m willing to bet that your content could be better. If you can’t write it yourself, hire someone. Great content is every bit as important as great design, and if you’ve already got great content plotted out, a great designer will be able to work with it in order to make the whole thing come together nicely.

Fernwood Publishing went for a complete overhaul and a custom-build CMS, while they were at it. The end result is a sleek, easy-to-use website that allows them to manage their large inventory of titles.

Consider the voice of your website—too many sites read like brochure copy written ten years ago by someone with an MBA. If your audience is other people with MBAs, that’s fine, but chances are, your audience is just put off by buzzwords. If you speak to them in an honest and friendly way, you’ll find your audience is much more receptive, engaged, and more likely to hand over their money to you.

6. Hire great people, and let them do their jobs.

Who you hire for the project is up to you, but I recommend at least a designer—obviously! A copywriter and a strategic consultant, as mentioned earlier, will also be a great help. When you’re looking to hire someone, you obviously want to be sure they’ve got a great website already. Unfortunately, while many people in the website-making industry suffer from pretty severe cases of “carpenter’s house”, their websites are the best way for you to determine their abilities. Past projects, of course, are also quite telling, as are client testimonials. Once you’ve found someone that seems like they may be good, send them a few emails. Ask questions. Make sure that they respond within a reasonable timeframe, answer your questions to your satisfaction, and know what they’re talking about.

Then, hire these great people. Send them your strategic plans, your content, everything you’ve already worked on—and let them build you something great. Design is very much a collaborative process, and a good designer should lead you through the process, keeping your goals in mind at all times, making suggestions for improvements. Remember you hired these people for a reason, and you should be able to trust their professional guidance! If you allow the process to play out like a partnership, rather than a dictatorship, you’ll find yourself with a much stronger end result.

And I recommend that you hire Triggers & Sparks.

Usually, I’d determine this Not a Very Good Thing. It’s always dangerous, when you’re running a business, to fall into the trap of spending too much time working on the business, and not enough time working in it, but I suspect I rather tend to err on the other side, and I could do with spending more of my time making my business run a little smoother.

So, I may be crazy busy, but I’ve been investing some time into setting things up so that my projects can run a little more smoothly, which I expect to be well worth it in the long run.

1. I started using Basecamp.

I avoided using Basecamp for ages. I’m a big fan of bootstrapping it, and as a result I avoid anything that entails a monthly fee like the plague. I’m also only a one-man op, at least most of the time, so I don’t usually need a great deal more co-ordination than “sending out emails back and forth”. I once installed a standalone project management system, and found it ineffective: I was spending too much time entering dates and todos and doing administrative tasks, rather than actually achieving anything productive, and my clients were confused by the interface and process. Accordingly, I gave up on the idea of project management.

Then, along came the Nightmare Project. If you know me, you’ve probably heard of the Nightmare Project. (Not to be confused with the Nightmare Nibbler, which was actually a Dream Project, and needs to be added to my website very shortly.) I may still be working on the Nightmare Project on my deathbed. It’s been mismanaged; it’s out-of-control; and every day there are twenty different emails flying round, indiscriminately reply-alled. I have no idea if files I’m sent are final, there’s no repository, no organization, no whatever. It causes me an immense amount of stress and I have very little control over the situation, as the project management isn’t in my hands at all.

I signed up for a Basecamp trial and realized that if I’d insisted on using it to manage the project, I’d be able to avoid most of these problems. The client would also have a clear idea of their responsibilities, and how they impact the overall timeline.

I’m still testing Basecamp, but I’m fairly enamoured with it right now. The monthly fee is low enough that I won’t really notice it, and the benefits that it will yield—better managed projects, projects that are completed faster, and a better grip on timelines—will almost certainly be worth it.

Basecamp in action! It’s going to look a LOT busier for me in there once I get used to scheduling-stuff, but so far I’m finding it’s really wonderful.

2. I set up tests.

As much as I swore never to develop for IE6 again, I still need to test on various versions of IE. Browsershots and its ilk are helpful, but if you’ve ever tried to isolate a CSS bug using their system—well, you’re probably still trying. I’ve always intended to install a test suite for various IE incarnations (6, 7, 8, 9) but have often had troubles making it work. Then I discovered the magical WineBottler, and now everything just magically works. This means that I’m much more likely to test across multiple browsers, rather than just quietly hope they won’t give me any trouble. (Admittedly, not the most effective way of approaching the problem.)

3. I’ve started working on a website framework.

I build a LOT of websites. I’ve always maintained I need something of a “working draft” template—something I can use as a base to get up and started with. My base, of course, is very much a work-in-progress, especially since I have the organizational skills of a monkey on meth, and I need to have two, basically–one for WordPress, and one for non-Wordpress sites, though I don’t build those very much at ALL anymore. What I’ve got right now is something of a mash-up of things I like—half HTML5 Boilerplate, half Wordpress’s default TwentyTen theme, with a hook into 960.gs, and jQuery. I’ve gotMAMP properly set up and am using it again, and I’ve got a blank-slate WordPress installation so I can test out all my themes locally, all at once. I’m building up a library of my favourite fonts, packaged into @font-face folders, all ready to drag-and-drop into place, and I’ve got ready-to-roll folders of my favourite plugins for jQuery and WordPress. I’m working on integrating Lettering.js and Baseline, but I’ll need to properly test both these tools first, to make sure they’ll mesh with my workflow, to ensure that I properly understand how to make use of them, and that they won’t conflict with any other tools used. A work in progress, indeed!

4. Miscellaneous “other stuff”.

I finally redesigned my contract template so that it actually looks like a designer might have made it. (Before, it just looked like an unformatted Word document. Seriously, I don’t know how I let that happen for so long.) I also cut out writing schedules into the contract, since Basecamp is now Officially In Charge Of That. I cleaned up my fonts (sort of. This is a huge, multi-faceted job for me.) I’m itching to redesign (or “realign”, as the case may be) this website, again, and I’d like to eventually start doing some real-live marketing, which I simply don’t seem to do anymore at all.

So, even though I’m not really getting paid for all this work I’m doing, I feel like it will pan out well. With the number of contracts that seem to keep popping up, I think it’s about time I either raised my rates again, or limited the number of contracts I’ll take on at once—ideally both, actually, although it’s hard to limit contracts as I often can’t control the timeline of a project. (Another thing I’m working on, though it does require some client wrangling.)

My next big step is probably accounting—I use Billings for my invoicing/estimating/time-tracking, but it’s flawed and it doesn’t work out my accounting properly, so tax-time ends up being a bit of a nightmare every time it rolls around.

I foresee shoes in my future, if I can ever get that particular hurdle figured out. Maybe next year!

Like these! Maybe if I can figure out my accounting before the end-of-year (so very unlikely), I’ll buy myself intensely expensive shoes. More likely, though, neither of these things will happen.

Sometimes everyone really is happy, and the end result is beautiful and usable and made of design-love. Other times, though, one of us is going to end up miserable, and the design can end up so off-target, messy, awkward, or downright ugly, that your designer won’t put it in his portfolio. That’s a bad scene. In order to make the feedback process as efficient as possible, I’ve rounded up a few tips from years of going through this process with a rather substantial number of clients—of both the dream and the nightmare variety.

1. Don’t micro-manage…

This is, bar none, the fastest way to quash your designer’s spirit. I’ve gotten to the point where, if I suspect someone’s going to micro-manage me, I’ll walk away from the project. It’s one thing to give your opinions; it’s another thing to tell me exactly what to do. Usually when this happens, I’ll argue for a bit, citing rational reasons why the particular edit isn’t a good idea and backing my objections up with stuff I’ve learnt in school or elsewhere about design theory. The micro-manager client generally knows better, and eventually my spirit dies, and I become an unskilled, untrained monkey who happens to own a copy of Photoshop. “You want that font in 60pt lime green Comic Sans for your investment banking brochure? … fine.” If I’m not arguing with you, you’re not getting my best design work.

2. …but don’t macro-manage, either.

The converse of this, of course, is the client who says “just do whatever you feel is right.” In theory, that would be lovely, except that I always feel as though I’m cheating these clients out of really getting what they want from the work. You have an opinion; I’d like to hear it. I want you to be happy with what you get out of the process, and I really can’t read your mind (yet)!

3. Be specific.

Design is highly subjective. You can tell me that you don’t like something, but I oftentimes don’t know how to fix it for you—chances are good that I put it there because I like it, after all! What element don’t you like? Is it the type style, the colour, the juxtaposition of elements, the spacing between those two lines?

Snarkiness courtesy of the charming (and sometimes rather gruesome) the Oatmeal.

It’s true, designers do often need to design from a feeling and other vague, hard to define concepts. While it’s true that it’s our job to translate an immaterial concept into a material(ish), visible entity, the more specific you can be, the easier it’s going to be for us to figure out what you want. Which leads me to my next point:

4. Know what you want.

If you don’t know what you want, there is no way in hell I will ever figure it out.

5. Realize that design is about solving problems.

Not like “world hunger” sort of problems, but visual problems. You’ve got something you want to communicate to your audience, and you need it to be easy to read, and to communicate your brand messages, and to make the audience feel a certain way. You want to be able to lead them into bits of information, guiding them through your information in a very particular manner. While I often trivialize design by saying “I make pretty things” (which is true), I also make stuff that works, and stuff that takes into consideration your goals for the project.

Therefore, when I make suggestions for ways we could make the overall design better, take them into consideration. If I don’t immediately do everything you ask for, this is because I’m keeping your aims and needs in mind, not because I’m obstinate. (I mean, I am, but that’s something altogether different.) To make a design truly great, we need to work together to solve your problems—that means that I need to listen to your feedback, and you need to consider my advice.

6. Never, never, ever use the phrase “you’re the designer.”

In theory, this would mean that you trust my decisions, value my input, and recognize that, since I’m a professional that you’re paying to do this work, I must know what I’m doing. In actuality, it means that you’re going to be the epitome of a Difficult Client: you’ll constantly say the designs I present to you are no good, but you won’t give any concrete explanations of why; you’ll insist that I make every single tiny, micro-managing alteration you request, then complain when the design starts to erode and the whole thing ends up a giant mess; and you’ll ignore all of my advice and opinions.

This makes me crazy.

I’ve never felt the need to hire a designer, what with being one myself, but I’ve certainly been hired by lots of people who are looking, and I’ve also heard all sorts of nightmare-designer stories from my clients. (Yep, for every client from hell, there’s also a designer from hell.)

Here’s what I’d do!

1. Look at his portfolio!

Above and beyond anything else, this will give you an idea of what you might be able to get from a designer. Obviously, your results will vary (you, as the client, are an integral part of the design process), but you’ll be able to get a feel for a designer’s style and abilities from his portfolio. If a designer doesn’t have a portfolio—well, quite frankly, this shouldn’t even be possible. If you’re looking to hire a designer who doesn’t have a portfolio or a website, there’s something amiss.

2. Ask around.

Ask your friends for recommendations. Most good designers subsist almost entirely on word-of-mouth, and with good reason! If you know people who’ve hired a designer, chances are they’ll be happy to refer you so long as they had a good experience. You can also check the bottom of websites whose design you really like—most of the time, there’ll be a link to its designer in its footer, and you can go from there.

3. Ask questions.

And lots of them! Does he write his code by hand? Does he follow W3C standards? How long has he been in business? The more questions you ask, the more comfortable you’ll feel when it’s time to start working. This will also give you the opportunity to see how your designer communicates, so make sure that if you plan on doing most of your communications during the project via email, you are asking questions over email. If you’ve found a great designer who can’t communicate, you will run into problems down the road.

4. Find out about his process.

Every designer follows a slightly different process, but for best results, you’ll want someone who will give you a lot of input into the process. Ideally, a designer should start by asking you some questions about your marketing aims and aesthetic preferences. Then, they’ll provide you with a few different mockup options. You’ll then go through a few stages of back-and-forth feedback-and-revision cycles, until you land on a fine-tuned result that’s exactly what you’re looking for. This process assures you a custom result—which is why you’re hiring a designer instead of buying a template, right?

5. Be prepared for it to cost a lot, or for them to be booked.

Sometimes good designers are cheap, but, for the most part, as with everything, you tend to get what you pay for. Design takes time and expertise. Good designers are in demand, which means they’ll either be booked solid constantly, or they’ll need to charge more. While a cheap quote may seem great in the beginning, it generally means that you’ll get less attention and more corners will be cut. If you don’t care if your website works in all browsers or isn’t search engine friendly, perhaps that’s a good thing, but if you want a quality result, expect to pay more.

6. Do some sleuthing.

Check professional qualifications—memberships in design organizations like the GDC are great, especially when they involve a portfolio review, so you’re guaranteed a certain level of professional quality and ethical service. Google your chosen designer to see what comes up. Try his business name, as well. Search Twitter. Creep his Facebook page. You can learn all sorts of things about someone from the internet, and it’s best to do a little research beforehand. Ideally, you won’t find anything fishy, but if you do—ask.

7. Super bonus tip!

Hire me! I’ve been working like a fiend all week, I’ve got a couple of projects coming to a close, and I think it’s about time for some new, exciting projects. Also, you already know I’m a great designer.

I’m a control freak, so of course I don’t let this happen too often. However, last week, a big project I’ve been working on for some time got away from me. It had been slowly plodding along, months behind deadline and mostly-stagnant, while I worked on other things and waited for the bits and pieces I needed to come in. I figured nothing was wrong, really—sure, we were way behind deadline, but the client knew that, since they missed their deadlines, right? The design process tends to stall if the client isn’t coming up with their end of things (feedback, content, etc), so I’m used to projects that go into a bit of stasis for a while. I figured it wasn’t a big deal.

Kabloo-ey!

Wow, was I ever wrong. Suddenly, something happened with the client—I’m guessing that my contacts got chewed out by their boss—and they started emailing me three times a day, asking where things were. I was working on a team with a writer and a project manager, plus two client contacts, and there was suddenly a massive influx of emails flying around all over the place, each more aggressive and inflammatory than the last. I had been working with an illustrator based out of [somewhere far away], and I started to realize he just wasn’t delivering in a timely manner, he’d go AWOL for days on end, and that I wasn’t able to properly communicate my client’s vague directions to him. My stress levels spiked, and panic set in. I’m going to fail, I told myself. I’m going to fail, the project will tank, and I’ll never work again. It’s over for me. Might as well start handing out resumes to coffeeshops now.

But apparently I’ve now got this big bad logical-calm-adult brain going on. It told the panicky screaming little kid inside my head to shush, and started figuring out how to fix things. Now, a week later, the project is nearly finished (well, sort of), my stress levels are reduced significantly, and I’m working with a new illustrator who’s turning stuff around at light speed and gets my client far better than I do.

So, apparently all projects–except maybe the most dire of cases—can be salvaged. Regardless of who’s at fault or what’s gone wrong, the process of finding a solution is relatively constant. This is how I go about it.

1. Get communicative.

Good communication can fix a whole slew of problems—and in fact, in my experience, bad communication tends to be the cause of most problems. The moment you realize things have gone sour, you need to get in touch with everyone it’ll affect (clients, subcontractors, third parties) and let them know what’s going on. You may not be able to fix the problem right away, but everyone will appreciate feeling as though they’re in the loop. I’ve found it’s also helpful to email people if I won’t be able to tackle a task within 24 hours—a quick message to say I got your email, and I’ll deal with it tomorrow when I have time is often enough that your client doesn’t feel like you’ve abandoned him. This is enough of a danger when a project is running smoothly—when things have gone amuck, it’s doubly so.

2. Own up to your mistakes.

Ideally, you won’t be responsible in any way, shape, or form, for the project’s failure. Realistically, I’ve found that in most cases of project hell, every party involved is at least fractionally to fault. Take responsibility for your own errors or mismanagement—without making an ordeal out of overly profuse or insincere apologies. Identifying your own failings up-front and honestly shows your client that you aren’t afraid to admit to your mistakes. If you can identify and apologize for your failings, it also means that your client can’t blame you for problems that aren’t your fault, and you don’t get sucked into a vicious cycle of accusation. At this point, playing the blame game gets you nowhere; what you need is a solution.

3. Figure out a solution, or two, or three.

Once you’ve admitted fault, it is absolutely necessary to immediately present alternate solutions, so as to avoid focusing attention on the blame portion of the conversation. Ideally, you want everyone to be focused on solving the problem, rather than getting wrapped up in what went wrong and who’s to blame for what. (That’s a conversation for later.) Remind everyone that the primary concern is solving the problem. Then, present as many solutions as you can dream up. By offering up choices, you are giving your client a renewed sense of control, which will reduce his panic while also serving to limit your responsibility, should things go sour again. Remember when presenting solutions to outline all the pros and cons of each option, and don’t hesitate to suggest the “best solution”, if one exists.

4. Be willing to bend, just a tiny little bit.

Your flexibility should be directly proportionate to how much at fault you are. Missed an important deadline? Promise priority turnaround for the remainder of the project, without a rush fee. Sent the wrong file to the printer? Offer to work a few hours extra for free, and swallow the costs. Don’t put yourself in the poorhouse, but do what you can. Sometimes just a gesture of compromise will be enough to make your client realize that you’re doing everything you can to get things back on track.

5. Make it very clear who is responsible for what.

Especially important in a project where deadlines are an issue (I’m thinking that would be all of them?) and you require feedback or content from your client. Send them an updated timeline that outlines each party’s responsibilities, and the deadline for each deliverable. I don’t often tend to use “hard” dates, as I find the moment that one gets shifted, everything else gets thrown out of balance. Instead, I’ll count the days required for turnaround. Want a website done by next week? Give me content tomorrow—I can have it turned around in four days. If you wait ’til next week, your website won’t be done on time. That way, your client can better understand what his responsibilities are in order to meet a deadline.

6. Learn from your mistakes.

It seems like a given, but it’s important to make sure you learn how to avoid the situation in the future. If the client is open to it, consider having a brief post-mortem after the project’s completed—this way, you can get their input both on the disaster itself and on how you handled it.

Follow these steps for disaster recovery, and you’ll be able to minimize the damage to your business and to your reputation. After all, a good client will appreciate your forthrightness, your ability to adapt to a bad situation, and the fact you can learn from your mistakes!

I can’t resist a good fire photo. You know how it is.

We spend so much time complaining about the bad clients that it’s sometimes easy to overlook the good clients. Lately, I’ve been working with a few really great clients, and I’ve been so happy because of it. Where a bad client can make you feel as though you’re losing your soul, a good client reminds you of why you fell in love with design in the first place and makes you feel as though you’re doing a good job. It’s the sort of warm-fuzzy feeling I associate with boys who bring me flowers and strangers complimenting me on my shoes.

Winning your designer’s love, regardless of any other factors, will mean that you will receive a level of service and quality that surpasses that most Troublesome Clients receive. When I love a client and feel that my client respects me as a professional, I invest more of my mental energies into their project. A good client makes you want to do an amazing job, where a bad client experience will often just make you want to finish as fast as possible and get the heck out.

So, how do you go about making sure you’re the greatest client ever, and ensuring your designer feels as passionate about your project as you do? Here, a few tips culled directly from my Dream Clients:

1. Pay your bills as fast as humanly possible.

Nothing says “you’re not worth much to me” like a leisurely bill payment. Freelance designers suffer so much stress about unpaid bills and cash flow—it’s hard when you don’t have a regular stream of income—that late-paid bills are a major problem.

I have one client in particular who sends me a full payment, via electronic means, within 24 hours of receiving an invoice. Every time it happens, I am utterly delighted. The rapid work-reward cycle means that I feel more compelled to finish work rapidly, knowing that I’ll be rewarded immediately upon completion. If, on the other hand, it takes more than a month to put a cheque in the mail (there is a due date on there, you know!), I’m going to feel much less inclined to speed through the project.

Freelance designers are not the power company—if you don’t pay us, we can’t eat (or buy pretty shoes)! Pay your bills promptly, please.

2. Know what you want.

It’s your designer’s job to gently guide you and to help you figure out what you want, then create a visual representation of your needs. If you approach a project without knowing what you want, the whole process goes to hell. Essentially, if you don’t know what you want—and you don’t need to have every detail planned out, but you do need a rough idea—I can’t figure out how to build it for you. It’s like if you were to hire an architect to design you a house; you’d want to figure out how many bathrooms you want before asking for blueprints.

Beware the phrase “you’re the designer”, as in “Well, you’re the designer, you figure it out!”. While I think usually this is used with good intentions, it will make the vast majority of designers cringe. To us, it sounds like you’re saying “you’re the magician!” (See also: “Can’t you just Photoshop that?” Design is not magic; Photoshop is not a magic button. It’s mostly work, training, and lots of patience.)

3. Understand that I probably know what I’m doing (and that’s why you hired me, right?)

This directly contrasts the “well, you’re the designer!” mindset, and clients usually tend towards one extreme or another, where a balance is really preferable. A micromanaging client, however, will almost always be less popular than a hands-off client. This is an almost guaranteed way to make your designer want to throw himself off the nearest bridge, skyscraper, or touristy landmark.

Of course, there’s a fine line between giving feedback and micro-managing. How to tell the difference? If you’re into the sixth round of revisions, and all the revisions read something like so: “Make the logo 40% bigger, and move it 3 inches to the right. Make the text all white, and the background purple. Headings should be right-aligned and in 4pt red Comic Sans. Can we add a few animated gifs throughout the page in order to make it ‘pop’?” (Please note: often these sorts of phrases are then followed by “Well, you’re the designer! Can’t you just make it look better?” and then repeated ad nauseum until all gadgets that receive email or phone calls are smashed into little bitty pieces.)

Remember: you hired your designer (I hope!) because you think they do great work and know what they’re doing. They’ve probably been building websites longer than you. While ultimately the final judgement call is yours, realize that a good designer will work with you to give you a final product that both suits you and your business and looks good. Remember that we have your best interests in mind, and give us enough freedom to create something beautiful for you.

4. Communicate effectively.

The client-designer relationship is much like any other relationship: emotions are involved, everyone’s a little nervous to begin with, you need to make sure everyone’s happy and nobody’s being taken for granted, etc. This is why, of course, good designer-client relationships generate brilliant work, and bad ones leave all parties unhappy. So, like with any other relationship, good communication is vital. Make sure you’re being clear about how you feel and what you want, and treat your designer with respect and consideration. (This means no phone calls at 2am, no matter how dire you think the emergency is, right? In theory, I am sleeping then.) Your designer needs your feedback in order to know that they’re on the right track—make sure that you can give useful, constructive feedback in a timely manner.

And when all else fails, sending presents works, too. I once had a client who mailed me a box of chocolate brownies when my computer died, in order to “aid the recovery process”, and another client who made me a heart-shaped chocolate cake. Chocolate generally engenders love and loyalty, but really, all that’s required is a polite thank you for a wonderful job, and I’ll move mountains for you.

This is me–or was me, originally–done by the fantastic Sally Warren. I was hanging in a gallery (and may well still be)!

No, you (probably) won’t be seeing me in pasties anytime soon—I’m a live model. This means that I take off all my clothes in front of a bunch of strangers and stand (or sit, and lie) around while a circle of artists draws me.

Just to clarify a few things: I model for professional artists and students, not for some random dude with a pack of crayons and black satin sheets. Poses aren’t typically very “sexy”, and if they’re explicit, that’s only incidental. The entire process of modeling, in fact, isn’t nearly as sexy as most people think it is—the most comfortable and natural-looking positions are often those that put the most intense strain on your body, it’s often too cold (or too hot) in the room, various appendages will fall asleep left right and centre, and you need to be constantly thinking of what your next pose will be. There aren’t drop-dead-gorgeous “models” wandering around in the buff all the time; figure drawing is less concerned with physical beauty than it is with the line and shape of the body (and all its varied imperfections). Often the most interesting models are overweight, wrinkly, extremely athletic, or strangely shaped, and models wear robes during breaks. It doesn’t pay particularly well, and it’s definitely not glamorous.

Why do I do it, then? Initially, I tried it because it was something I’d never tried before, and something that scared me, which I count as a decent rationale for doing almost anything. I so wholeheartedly believe that you’ll only grow and become a better person if you’re constantly finding your boundaries and pushing them. I’ve never been terribly self-conscious, but the first time I dropped trou in front of a silent-as-a-tomb room, full of strangers, I was petrified. Not only did I have to get naked, but I also had to come up with a variety of poses, hold my body completely still, and make sure not to giggle, fall over, or fall asleep. (Later, of course, I’ve done all of these things.)

Once the initial terror wore off, though (and it never totally wears off—I’m still shy the first instant I take off my robe in front of a new group of people), I came to love modelling. As a creative person, it allowed me to simultaneously act as muse and as collaborator: I create poses with my body, and the artists turn me into art. It gave me a better sense of myself and my body: what it looks like, what it feels like, how it moves, how flexible it is, and how to stand in the exact same position for an hour without falling over. (The trick is tiny, tiny, imperceptible shifts in your weight, by the by.) I learned not to care as much what other people thought, or saw; there was one man who consistently drew me about thirty pounds heavier than I actually was, and I learned not to take it personally. I became more comfortable in my own skin, and more sure of myself. Modelling made me feel strong, sexy, and self-assured.

People often ask me if there isn’t a power imbalance that happens—don’t I feel degraded somehow, when a whole roomful of (clothed, mostly silent) strangers is sitting around staring at me, naked and posing for them? And actually, I’ve found it’s rather the reverse—typically, the power in the room is all mine. I have an entire room following my lead: they flip pages when I change positions, they talk to me if I’m feeling chatty (usually I’m not), and they draw what I make for them to draw.

I was once modeling for a group in Mahone Bay, and, during a break, one of the artists mentioned that he recognized my logo, tattooed to my shoulder blade—he’d emailed me just the day prior asking about having a website built. We later met up to discuss the project, and I was a touch concerned there might be an odd sort of power imbalance (very few of my clients have seen me naked). As it turned out, I was completely comfortable with the meeting, and there was no perceptible tension whatsoever. Quite often, boys have been hesitant to talk to me or even make eye contact, but I’ve never had anyone treat me with anything less than the utmost respect.

Done by a student at the animation school in Truro–their work is far more gesture-based and often times less “artistic”. (I’m not sure who drew this, as a friend found it in their exhibition and took a photo for me. There are probably images of me all over the province at this point.)

Since I sold my car, I haven’t had much opportunity to do any modelling, as I typically did it in Mahone Bay and Truro, and I’ve come to realize how much I miss it—both for how it made me feel about myself, and for the way it allowed me time out to think about my work. It was a sort of brutal form of meditation, especially the longer poses, and it helped to focus on something other than the searing pain in my third vertebrae from the twist in my back, or the way my leg was spontaneously shaking from the stress. I’d work through design problems in my head as I was holding positions, then scribble sketches on scrap bits of paper whenever I had a break. I can’t tell you the number of designs that rooted from this process.

Sometimes, it really helps to get out of your comfort zone, and your usual workspace (both physically and mentally), in order to generate a solution.

So, if you’re a random dude with a box of crayons and black satin sheets, drop me an email! I need to get naked to jump-start the creative process.

The time-crunch, however, meant that I needed to accept imperfections. Now, anyone who knows me knows well that I’m a tiny bit persnickety: I’ll spend half an hour adjusting the kerning of a font until it feels just right, I’ll go back over a design that’s already been client-approved in order to “finesse” the whole thing, and I typically complain that Photoshop won’t zoom to a level any higher than 1600%.  While I really do believe that this is a valuable tendency in a designer (and, in fact, I suspect that most graphic designers are by nature a touch anal-retentive), it’s also a major hindrance in an industry that is so intensely deadline-driven.

Finished thank you cards, each one screenprinted by hand! I’m not happy with the heart design at all–the lines are simultaneously too thick AND too thin. I think I might prefer this redesigned with more of a skull/vine design in the bottom-right corner.

This is why often my self-driven projects are finished late: while client projects are often do-or-die, if the client is myself, I’m often content to let my expected deadline pass me by in favour of producing work that’s closer to “perfect” (it’s never actually perfect, of course.) This is why it took me three months longer than expected to launch my new website, and why my Valentines were barely even printed and ready to go by the fourteenth. Given that it’s easy to sour on your own work after obsessing over it too long, this delay is a dangerous thing. Wait too long, and the whole thing ends up needing to be scrapped and started all over again!

But with the screenprinting class, I had no option (other than flakiness, which I’m giving up as a lifestyle choice as much as possible). So I showed up for my second class with a design that wasn’t perfect, telling myself that it was just a learning project, and it didn’t matter if it wasn’t right. I’m just learning! It’s okay to screw up!

The thing I started to realize as I got into the printing process is this: everything that looks like a fatal error to me is basically invisible to everyone else.  (Not a major revelation, but something I ought to constantly keep in mind, because I never seem to remember it.) The fundamental flaws in the initial design weren’t nearly as glaring or as apparent to others as they were to me.

Then, as I proceeded with the printing process, I realized that I hadn’t been as precise with the first colour “plate” (the red accents) as I would have liked. (In screenprinting, each colour is printed independently of the others, much like a traditional CMYK plate-printing process that I learned about in school, but never actually had a chance to witness.) Accordingly, when I printed the black “plate” on top of the red, the registration often didn’t line up perfectly, and there was an overlap.

Then something funny happened. I could, in theory, have used an acetate sheet to register and measure the placement of every single print to ensure a perfect output on every single print. I thought about it, briefly, and then threw caution utterly to the wind, and just started printing willy-nilly. Prints came out with white where red should be, and red where white should be, and instead of breaking down into tears or tantrums, I carefully put them on the drying rack with the others. Not only was I not upset, but I actually discovered that I rather liked these mis-fit mis-prints! Whoever knew?

And really, where I’m so gung-ho on the handmade process anyway, it’s about time I learned not only to accept, but to embrace my mistakes. (Are you listening, brain? I’m talking to you.) Mistakes are often the most interesting part of a piece of work, and they so often generate new ideas and concepts that might otherwise forever remain undiscovered (gravity, nylon, penicillin, chocolate-covered bacon). And especially when something is handmade, part of its appeal lies in its imperfections: signs of the inherently flawed human touch. So often the aesthetics of error (cracks in pavement, burned-out buildings, rips in a sheet of paper) are more interesting, alive, and vibrant than the sterility of pixel-perfection.

Can you spot the errors? I bet I can find more than you can!

Now, if only I can apply that sort of thinking to everything else I do, I might finally be able get some sleep!

Thumbnail sketches. This is how things started. I hate showing people my sketchbook because things invariably look like they were drawn by a blind five-year-old. Basically, I’m just trying to get the composition right.

Of course, I forgot to factor in the fact that I’m a crazy workaholic perfectionist with an insomniac streak a mile wide whenever I get really passionate about a project. My little lark of a project kept me up late, made an utter warzone of my apartment, and still took far longer than I’d anticipated.

I made this card last year and still had the sketch in my book. I think that was done in pigment liner and watercolour, and was severely lacking in calligraphy and mass-production capabilities.

However, it did succeed in teaching me to use my digital camera more effectively, so I’m grateful for that. I took a lot of photos along the way, mostly because I became highly paranoid about committing to ink and mucking things up, and I thought it’d be interesting to share a bit of the process that’s involved.

Initial line drawings. I marked off an active “image area” space using my health card as a ruler so as to keep the illustrations roughly the same size.

I started by drawing “proper” versions of each illustration on this lovely smooth square bristol board. I’m anal-retentive, so I tend to prefer mechanical pencils (they’re also easier to find at the grocery store when you run out, although they typically stock a .7 lead and I like a .5 better).

Here’s my roommate modeling her best “hungry arms” for me. I had her do a few different positions. You can tell how impressed she is about it.

I’m always surprised when drawing things by what I don’t know. Like “what an astronaut breathes from”, for example. Or how long the optic nerve is. This was an awesome lesson in anatomy, although I’m still not quite sure I got everything right.

My calligraphy tests for the captions. I can’t do calligraphy without graph paper, so I ended up developing a style of lettering for each phrase, then re-inking it a few times on a clean sheet, scanning the sheet, and selecting the best one.

After developing line drawings I was quite happy with, I became paralyzed with fear that I’d screw them up in the inking process and would need to start all over again. I realized this was insane, but appeased myself temporarily by working on the calligraphy designs instead. My calligraphy’s still a little questionable, but I’m starting to get the hang of it, and it’s more interesting than my (slightly bizarre) handwriting.

No turning back now! Line drawings, all done in ink. I refused to use a ruler and was quite tired, so you can see where I screwed up, especially with the lines of the cage.

That dealt with, it was time to commit to the drawings, and start inking! I like using a proper dip pen, but that’d be too messy, so I used a 0.1 pigment liner instead. These are lovely creatures and I absolutely adore them–it took me a little time to find a good pen that wouldn’t smudge when erasing or inking over top. The inking process took FOREVER and gave me insane hand cramps.

Yep, I’m anal retentive enough to shade first in pencil. I might actually like them best at this stage.

Since I still was suffering a fear of commitment, I sketched out all the shading in pencil prior to inking the lines again. In some cases (the ball-shapes in particular) this actually helped quite a good deal, as cross-hatching in ink isn’t exactly the most forgiving method of shading.

More arduous work that took forever and nearly made me blind. I have strange depth perception issues anyway, so I typically work with my face about two inches from whatever I’m doing.

After that, I inked the lines with a pigment liner slightly smaller than the outline liner. I really wish I could find a liner smaller than .05, although I suspect that they don’t make one, and I should have just made these illustrations larger, then scaled down from a thicker primary pen.

Adding the red accents. I used pure red ink and it gave a lovely hue, especially when laid over the shaded lines. I’d originally planned to use a much lighter wash, and possibly use some other colours, but then I liked the red so much (surprise!) that I decided to keep it.

I think it was at about this point that I started saying “I’m nearly done!”, which probably went on for another two days until I actually WAS done. Even painting in the red was an arduous process, and I tried really hard to ensure that there was a good balance of colour in each. (This is why the little cannibal girl is a redhead, and not because I’m a raging narcissist.)

At this point, I thought I was done. Wrong.

Next, I scanned all the final illustrations and calligraphed captions into Photoshop at gigantic resolutions, in case I ever need to make a gorey billboard, I guess. I cleaned up major messes only, since I had doing tedious Photoshop masking work, pieced everything together, and printed it out. I also made a design for the back of the card involving a little calligraphy and a little handwriting.

Mistakes often create really lovely things, unexpected and impossible to reproduce.

My last step was to create a full set of cards, properly printed on my cardstock. This was, by far, the most arduous and painful task of the entire operation. (My laser printer is a beast. It weighs about as much as I do; people think it’s a high-tech humidifier, and it sounds like a jet plane taking off.) I ended up crying and yelling at my printer for about three hours, surrounded by an utter MESS of half-printed papers and falling-over cards. It wasn’t pretty, but I eventually (sort of) figured it out.

I’m excited to learn to screenprint instead of wrangling with this beast, but my workshop isn’t ’til early February, so the timing wasn’t quite right.

Finally! Finals.

And in the end–was all the effort worth it?

Of course it was! I ended up learning SO much, and, while I genuinely doubt I’ll make ANY money whatsoever selling them (the profit margins seem pretty low) the experience of selling them will give me an opportunity to learn a little about retail business, which I haven’t dealt much with since becoming a designer.

And now I can send out delightful cards to all my friends and enemies!

They come on white or ecru stock, with a blood-red envelope and a hand-painted heart sticker to close the whole she-bang. I am a sucker for pretty packaging.

(PS, if you like them, you can see more on my website here, or purchase them at my new Etsy store. I’ll also be selling them at the Harbourside Market in Dartmouth February 6th and 7th.)

Anyway, back to my jQuery-induced headache: this very helpful thing to the rescue! If I can stop being distracted by the gorgeous site design, I might be able to figure this stuff out, after all, without having to spend all day teaching my brain new methods of programming. I do so love programming tutorials written for designers. Thank you, pretty colourful website!