I wanted to write for them, but I couldn’t read their site
A cautionary tale about what happens when you bury your content within a bad experience
Hey, friend.
I hope all is well in your world.
This morning, I was scrolling through a list of writing opportunities when I came across one that sounded especially intriguing.
The opportunity I was interested in had to do with vintage paper:
Memwa is looking for personal essays and interviews grounded in memory and tied to a physical artifact. That artifact (a piece of ephemera) should be something you can scan and send to appear alongside your piece. Think: a receipt, a broken object, a note passed in class, a photograph you ripped in half and taped back together.
I was immediately all in!
For about a year, between my accounting and writing careers, I ran an eBay store called Vintage Papers (vintagepapers is still my username on the site). I had so much fun digging through estate sales, yard sales, and auctions for old books, postcards, letters, and other paper gems. Then I’d resell them through the store.
So, when I saw Memwa’s call for submissions, I figured I could whip something up pretty quickly. Of course, I clicked the link and headed straight to the website.
Friend, I wasn’t on the site for more than ten seconds before I bounced—fast. The screen was so distracting, I literally couldn’t read a word of text. It felt like I was about to have a seizure!
Seriously, it was that bad. Have a look for yourself at me clicking through from the email with the writing opportunity to the Memwa website:
I’m sorry, but there’s no way anyone’s reading anything on that page. Why not add a pause button if you’re going to assault our retinas like that?
I’m not here just to rant. There is a takeaway:
Think about your reader. Think about the experience you want them to have.
Do you want readers to feel calm and curious? Or annoyed, distracted, overwhelmed?
Do you want them to read your words? Do you want them to act on them?
Sadly, the blinking screen is still burned into my retinas. And even sadder, I won’t be reading—or writing—for Memwa. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I literally couldn’t.
I’d hate for that to happen to your readers.
Having a website is not just about blinking screens or flashing lights. It’s about how every design choice either invites your reader in or pushes them away.
Typography, layout, motion, spacing, color—it all matters.
You don’t have to get it perfect, but you do have to be mindful, because a great piece of writing can still get lost in a bad experience.
So the next time you create something, whether it's a landing page, an email, a sales deck, or even a humble Substack post, ask yourself:
Can they read it?
Can they focus?
Can they stay?
Your words deserve to be read. Don’t let the container get in the way of the contents.
I hope this gave you a chuckle, at least. A helpful nudge, at most.
Until next time—
May your copy read easy,
May your experiences feel kind,
—Renae
P.S. If you're ever stuck on what to create, what to write, what to say, or how to say it—I'm here. Sometimes a fresh perspective is all it takes to move the words (and the work) forward. Reach out anytime.
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