If you’ve been working as a “creative” for long, you already know where this post is heading. If you’re just a curious onlooker, then let me explain.
When I was growing up, I dreaded working on projects with my dad. He and I are a lot alike, which has its benefits … and curses. Dad didn’t get the sons he may have wanted, but that didn’t stop him from raising his daughters to be independent and self-sufficient. He valued the intellectual, and encouraged us to think and explore and challenge the status quo. He also loved any opportunity to break out the band saw, or load up the snowmobiles, or go hunting, or whatever other spontaneous project struck his fancy.
In those moments of discussion and debate at the round table in our living room, questions and suggestions were encouraged and expected. However, once we left the intellectual realm, it was a whole new ballgame. A usually patient and congenial man, my father transformed into a focused project-driven machine who had only one way of getting from point A to point B — his way. No other approach would work, and the process was as important as the end product.
The problem came when I became part of the project team. Dad didn’t have time for lengthy explanations, nor did he want to hear other points of view. I was supposed to dive in with a happy face to work as hard as he was with the same determination to finish the project. And while that was challenging enough, he expected me to understand not only his end goal, but the specific approach he had in mind to get there. He assumed I could recognize the various tools by name, that I knew how much throttle I needed to land the snowmobile back on the trailer in the perfect spot, and that I would be that extra pair of hands that would function in tandem with his master plan.
I can say that I learned a lot by trial and error, and that my dad and I had to walk away from one another more than once before frustration resulted in aneurysm. My need for clarification of project directions or goals confounded him, because the answers apparently should have been obvious.
I find myself flashing back to those days when I work with some of my clients. I worry a little when I begin asking my barrage of questions whether they’ll feel as frustrated as my dad felt. Some of them know what they want and can’t understand why I don’t immediately see their vision. Some of them struggle to describe the end product, but are certain they’ll know it when they see it. Some of them want to order a letter or a page of web copy and don’t want to know or worry about how the end result is achieved.
Sometimes I wonder if, by asking my list of questions, they doubt my skills, because if I was really good, I’d just know, right?
So here’s the way I try to frame it for them. Most people wouldn’t ask a travel agent to plan a vacation without telling her where they wanted to go. Few would expect an architect to design a house with no input from its future residents. And how many brides expect the wedding of their dreams to happen when they hire a wedding planner and then don’t check back in until they’re walking down the aisle?
These examples may be extreme, but they help my clients see that as a professional, I’m here to bring their ideas to life, but the process is a collaboration. Their input is necessary to ensure that the end product meets their needs, and so the questions I ask are essential for me to understand their goals, approach, and style.
You know, as frustrated as my dad often became with my questions, he realized he didn’t like the result when I proceeded without a clear understanding of what he wanted. I hope my clients come to the same realization.