A technical author needs humour and patience
Michael Clark Technical Author, Trainer. Plain English
Senior Technical Author @ AtkinsRéalis | Technical Writing | Training | Document Management
Not All Technical Authors Are Equal: A Humorous Look at the Profession
Ah, the life of a technical author. If I had a penny every time someone told me, “I know how to do your job,” I’d have enough to buy all the fancy pens I don’t need because everything’s digital now. Technical writing is more than just writing; it requires diplomacy, creativity, and patience. Spoiler alert: it’s not.
Let me share some insights into why not all technical authors are created equal, peppered with the humour and patience that keep us sane.
Writing Skills: The Myth vs. The Reality
When someone says, “I could write that manual,” they really mean, “I once wrote a shopping list, so I’ve got this.” Sure, Brenda, writing “eggs, milk, wine” is a start, but have you considered the end-user perspective? Should we categorise “eggs” under perishables or protein? What about a flowchart to guide decision-making for lactose-free milk options? Is “wine” clearly labelled for white or red enthusiasts? Welcome to my world.
Technical writing isn’t just about writing; it’s about writing right. We’re translators of the arcane, whisperers of engineers, and interpreters of what the user really meant when they said, “It’s broken.”
Tool Proficiency: The Gladiatorial Arena
“Do you know how to use Word?” they ask. Oh, sweet summer child, Word is the tip of the iceberg. The real fun starts when someone hands you a 400-page document riddled with rogue styles, embedded Excel sheets, and tables that refuse to behave.
We technical authors don’t just use tools; we wrestle them into submission. We tame unruly templates, negotiate with MadCap Flare, and convince Asite to do what it should have done in the first place. It’s not tool proficiency—it’s gladiatorial combat with a keyboard.
Collaboration: Herding Cats While Baking a Cake
Imagine trying to gather ingredients for a cake from a group of cats. Now replace “cats” with “subject matter experts (SMEs),” and “cake” with “accurate documentation.” SMEs are lovely people, but they’ll give you answers like, “It just works,” or, “Well, everyone knows that!”
Cue the technical author’s poker face, paired with questions like:
Collaboration is an art, and we technical authors are the Bob Ross of happy little misunderstandings.
Subject Matter Expertise: The Steep Learning Curve
A technical author walks into a meeting about quantum widgetry. Ten minutes in, we’re Googling terms like “quantum” and “widgetry” because no one explained what they do. But give us an hour and some caffeine, and we’ll confidently nod along like we’ve worked at CERN our whole lives.
The key to being a great technical author is knowing a little about a lot and not being afraid to fake it until you can Google it.
Document Management: The Silent, Thankless Art
Some think document management is just saving files. To those people, I say, “Bless your heart.” True document management is maintaining order in chaos:
It’s an unsung symphony of folder hierarchies and naming conventions, played for an audience of none.
Patience: The True Superpower
Finally, let’s address the unspoken requirement of technical authorship: Zen-level patience. We smile politely when people ask, “But why can’t you just copy and paste it?” We suppress an eye twitch when an engineer tells us they’ve “already written the documentation” (and by that, they mean a bullet-point list on a napkin).
Humor helps. Like the time a colleague sent me a hand-drawn flowchart that looked like spaghetti but insisted it was “perfectly clear.” Or when someone suggested adding emojis to the troubleshooting guide “to make it fun.”
In Conclusion, We’re Not Just Writers
Not all technical authors are equal because the role itself is anything but simple. We’re part writers, detectives, diplomats, and therapists to stressed-out SMEs. The job combines science and art, requiring humour to diffuse frustrations and patience to smooth over the chaos.
So next time someone says, “I could do your job,” invite them to try it. Then, please sit back, smile, and let them try to navigate the labyrinth. Trust me, they’ll return with a newfound respect and maybe even a sheepish apology. And if not? Well, at least you’ve got a story for the next team meeting.