So you need a website?

You’ve cruised around the great wide internet, wind in your hair, and decided that ErikaWorks is the studio for you [excellent choice, by the way]. You find the handy dandy contact form at the bottom of the page and send off a message hopefully containing the following: Your name, a way to reach you and the basic concept for the site [if it's new] or a link to the existing site. If you have budget constraints, a summary of what you’re looking for or a cute picture of a duck, you can throw that in too.

Do you want fries with that?

After reviewing your e-mail and any links or material enclosed, I’ll get in touch with you [phone is best, but Skype and e-mail work as well] and have a discussion about the nature of your business, the directions you’d like to grow the site in, how large the project might be, etc. I’ll make some possible suggestions or, if more research is needed, I’ll get back to you. Either way, this stage will conclude with a pretty good idea of project scope and a design proposal, which will be sent to you [after a week or two] detailing the services you wish to employ me for, any specific requests you may have had and how long all of it will take.

There will be a number on this page. It’s not set in stone and if you have any questions or concerns regarding said number or anything in the proposal, you can drop me a line or give me a ring to discuss it. If everything’s in order, this proposal is signed and returned to me along with 50% of the project total. Why 50%? It’s an industry standard and shows that you’re just as serious as I am about making your site an excellent one. Also, I’m sorry, but I can’t yet accept credit cards.

When do we get to the showgirls?

At this point, all the initial, tedious paperwork has been dealt with, payment’s been received and after you’ve sent me your logos, your pictures, your copy, I start to work my magic. Over a period of time set forth in the design proposal, I’ll lovingly craft your design comp, using extensive market research, testing and years of experience to deliver a polished [if non-functional] simulacrum of your new site. You’ll review the design at your leisure and any tweaks/adjustments will be made in one or two meetings. An approval form will arrive with the finished design and after signing it, development begins!

You’re doing what with the what?

Things get even more technical here. I take the approved design and turn it into a fully fleshed-out and functional web site, complete with your copy. The amount of time this will take is also covered by the design proposal and deadlines are strict around the home office. You’ll be updated as the process continues with links provided for your perusal. At the end of the development phase, there will be a full review and, as during the design stage, any required tweaks/adjustments will be made. Afterward, you’ll receive a final approval form and your beautiful new website will be pushed live.

Is the honeymoon over?

At this point, the remaining 50% of the balance will be due and all relevant materials will be turned over to your capable hands. Should the unexpected occur and updates or changes need to be made, these will be handled per the agreement laid out in the design proposal.

Easy, yes?

If I had to do it all over again, I would’ve painted the entire apartment that colour.

There is, in every one of us, a bit that is marvelously irrational. It slaps stickers on your laptop, doodles epic battles between Vikings and space lions on your meeting briefs, paints your bedroom red. It’s why we get into design, to take those formulaic interfaces and grid-based layouts and turn them into something *ours*.

It’s also a terrible master. It has no concerns for usability, deadlines, client requests and will leave you poor and bitter wondering why the world just can’t seem to understand your genius. Take a deep breath there, butch, you just forgot the most important part about your profession:

Design is achieved when we learn how to translate our creative impulses to suit a purpose. Good design is when that translation needs no explanation.

2] Take learning one program/language at a time.

3] Don’t specialize right away.

4] Don’t quit your day job.

5] Other fields [typography, art theory, video] are more important than you’d think for your job.

6] Be able to motivate yourself.

7] Know when to listen.

8] Develop thick skin.

9] Make friends with like-minded people.

10] Set yourself little goals and constantly update them.

11] Don’t hang out your shingle right away.

12] Don’t be afraid to emulate in private.

13] Don’t be afraid to ask.

2] Get a legal pad and a pen. Sketch out designs without thinking about project goals or constraints. Ignore results, but save paper for later projects.

3] Write down the site’s mission statement as well as the site map requirements, like so: Website for actor, featuring resume, shows he’s been in and how to get in touch with him. He likes Shakespeare. Should be minimal and elegant.

4] Realize I try to make everything minimal and elegant. Jazz that shit up.

5] Realize I’m no good at jazzing shit up. Go back to minimal.

6] Keep sketching thumbnail layouts. Eventually hit upon one that does vaguely what I want. Sketch four or five more times in increasing detail.

7] Open up photoshop. 2000*1200. Realize I haven’t a clue about the colour scheme. Cuss and go looking for inspiration.

8] Create three-four failed layouts. Realize none of them are what I want. Cuss more. Have long rant to sympathetic friend. Have solution to problem smack me in the face during.

9] Whip out layout with few problems.

10] Code website. Feel guilty for not supporting IE6. Ponder what I’d have to do to insure compatibility. No longer feel guilty.

11] Grit my teeth and doggedly plow through the static content once all the fun layout work is done.

12] Test, validate, fiddle with code eight thousand times. Cuss.

13] Put live.

14] Fix unexpected issue that wasn’t broken before. Cuss more.

15] Threaten to destroy the birds outside my window unto the seventh generation for twirping so loudly in the morning.

16] Realize it is the morning.

17] Fix final issue. Vow never to stay up like that again. Crash harder than a steel-plated albatross in a jet engine intake.

18] Be eventually satisfied with website.

I turned to my fellow freelancer and said, “Don’t you worry we might be building a website for the next Thalidomide?”

“If we did, we can just stop updating it.”

There must be nothing superfluous, nothing built and ignored. Throw away what you don’t use. Trust that you can alter the user’s expectations in your experience. Welcome questions and delight in change.