Most content strategists I know did not set out to have a career in content strategy. That’s because the job title didn’t exist when we were in college—or even when we entered the working world in the ‘00s. The job path was matter of a coalescing of our skills and interests— usually writing and editing—with a booming market need—the proliferation of digital content. A few forward-thinking souls led the movement—Kristina Halvorson, Ann Rockley, for me one of my mentors Bob Atkinson—and the rest of us followed, finding in the discipline a mix of creativity, analytical thinking, collaboration—and, yes, job opportunity. All of those factors led to our success and happiness. And every content strategist I know—like superheroes—has an origin story. Here’s mine.
It all started on a spring day in Carbondale, Illinois. I was in my first year of the MFA in Fiction program at Southern Illinois University, learning to write novels and teaching English Composition. I went to an informal talk with the renowned novelist Robert Coover, who’d grown up in southern Illinois and was back for a visit. And he said something I’d never heard: “The future of novels is digital.”
That statement changed the course of my life. I was a young writer, trying to find a way to create something new and unique with my work. And here this older writer had given me a way. I contemplated the opportunities in this new form, and a few months later I assembled a group of specialists in digital storytelling and pitched a panel to the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) annual conference. AWP rejected the panel. Which did not surprise me. This was 2007, and I think for an organization devoted to the printed page, a panel on interactive storytelling didn’t sit well.
After grad school, I moved to Chicago with my wife and baby daughter—with a hope and a prayer of finding work. I got a job as a Content Developer for Cognitive Arts, a company that made e-Learning courses—getting the job by describing my path and interest in digital content. At Cog Arts, I conducted interviews, wrote video scripts and multiple choice scenarios. (I also did a lot of amateur voice work—and was lead singer of the office band.) The work was creative and fun, and I got to write everyday.
But while I at CogArts, something happened that few anticipated: the Great Recession hit. Print media was already on the decline, and the recession hastened its struggles. I—along with much of the country—spent a good amount of time worrying that my job would get axed. I had just over a year of work experience, a wife and a baby to support, and if I lost my job, I didn’t know how I’d provide for my family.
What I didn’t realize is that companies—particularly corporations—had spent the past decade or so amassing huge amounts of digital content on their websites—with little plan for organizing or removing or improving it. I soon learned I worked in one of the most sought-after specialties in marketing communications: digital content. And in April 2009, in the depths of the great recession—with minimal work experience—I transitioned from the small e-Learning company where I worked to my first agency job, as a Content Manager for the 2010 Harley-Davidson international website redesign.
In truth, I didn’t really know what I was doing. The project team gave me a laptop, a bunch of spreadsheets showing motorcycle variation in 26 global markets, and horror stories of a all-nighters the summer before on the Harley-Davidson redesign, editing content in XML files (I didn’t know what XML was). My job was to make sure the website the creative team was designing (I didn’t know what a creative team was) would be functional across all these websites based on technology functionality and content variation.
I became the person on the team who connected the dots on, understanding how content worked and was associated in the back-end database (which the tech team built from scratch) so it would look right on the front end website. I worked with the development and creative teams, often rushing between the desks of each. I made kick-ass spreadsheets that the project team, clients and agency colleagues who knew little about the project used to QA the site. It was the most intense, complex and fun project I ever worked on. I enjoyed it, and I did my best. And the agency said I was “the best freelancer we’ve ever had.”
And on that project I learned that I had a valuable skill. A passion for storytelling, an inherent desire for collaboration, strong analytical skills, and the patience to solve complex (and often frustrating) content and communication problems. After the Harley project came another one, doing a Content Audit for a Chicago hospital. After that, I picked up small projects—writing copy, doing gap analyses and content audits. But I still didn’t have a firm foothold on my career.
And then came my break: a freelance job with Razorfish. I’d been referred by someone I’d worked on the Harley project with, and my first project was a simple Content Audit for the website redesign of Tassimo.com, one of those pre-packaged one-cup coffee makers. I soon transitioned to a full-time job on Razorfish’s State Farm account, which had an annual margin so high I’m probably still not at liberty to state it publicly. The RF State Farm team was the epitome of an ideal agency team: organized, collaborative, creative, innovative. We were as comfortable cracking lewd jokes as we were debating the placement of a button in a quote application. It was the best account team I’ve ever worked with.
This was the beginning of 2010—when everything was changing in terms of content and digital interaction. The iPhone had been out for two and half years, and now that device—and its apps—was changing the way people interacted with content. (I still remember standing on street corners in freezing cold Chicago winters, checking bus arrival times on the CTA app.) At the beginning of 2010, Apple launched the iPad—which presented a whole new way to engage with content. Facebook was taking over. Twitter was growing. LinkedIn, too. Journalism was faltering, but video and online streaming was booming.
The economy was growing, too. When I started at Razorfish in December 2009, the company was coming out of a hiring freeze. By early 2010, the office was so crammed with employees that maintenance men were bolting desks into walls to give people a place to work.
And I had the good fortune of growing into my career at this period of growth. At Razorfish, I found a team of like-minded souls, and content strategy became a real and fun thing to me. It was a matter of thinking analytically—often down to minute detail—while keeping the big picture in mind. We were always close to—and welcomed by—the creative and UX teams. We could see the impact of our work on the final deliverable and product. Though we spent most of our time pouring over and checking and formatting spreadsheets, we were doing it in the service of an exciting and engaging project.
My time at Razorfish made me love the work I do. It was a time when so many factors—technological advancement, growth in use and engagement with content, job opportunity, and a team of great people—came together to give birth to my career path. In four years I went from hearing a novelist talk about novels becoming digital to working everyday with digital content.
And 12 years later, I run my own content business, navigating the always-evolving world of digital content, working everyday with brands to create and execute content engagement plans that engage, inspire and activate people.