But before I share the tool with you, I’d like to share a story. My story.
When strangers ask me what I do for a living, I tell them I’m a writer, which I am.
My first professional gig was at CareerBuilder.com, a big company, where I wrote high-performing job ads. I did that for about 18 months, then accepted a staff writer position at a smaller digital agency, where I continued to cut my copywriting teeth, honing the craft for a little over two and a half years.
Today, I create content for Workplace Systems, a tremendous SaaS company with offices all over the world. I love what I do. I love writing. And I fully acknowledge how lucky I am to create for a living.
That said, it’s been a long road. None of this happened over night.
I had to work at it.
I worked at it is as a kid, writing at my older sister’s computer while she looked over my shoulder, laughing at my grammar.
I worked at it in college, knowing that, eventually, I would have to do something with this English degree my parents scoffed at.
I worked at it on the 19th floor of CareerBuilder’s HQ, while dozens of other hungry writers eyed my job with spit streaming down their chin, sending cover letters to my boss.
That was rough, but the satisfaction I feel today was worth the bare-knuckle initiation. Because now, I’m a writer.
But that’s all that I am…
I’m not a developer. I’m not a designer. I can’t code.
Coming up, all I wanted to do was write sharper, leaner, better sentences. That was my focus. I wanted to be clear and concise and compelling. I wanted to make an impact -- and I wanted to do it with words.
I’ll leave the visuals to someone else, I thought.
That's why designers exist.
It's true. Plenty of digital content marketers are strictly writers. They produce the words for articles and e-books and whitepapers. They sculpt copy for landing pages and home pages and calls-to-action. And when they’re done, they pass their words over to a designer, a highly skilled pro who knows PhotoShop, InDesign, and probably a handful of coding languages (not to mention the fundamentals of design).
It’s an effective collaboration. I recognized and respected that, and I felt honored to be one-half of the creative puzzle. But it also made me anxious because I was, effectively, a dependent.
The content needed a designer. I needed a designer.
And then I found Visme.
As a writer, Visme is my visual content tool of choice.
Not necessarily because it made me a better designer, but because it facilitated my potential as a designer.
In other words, it gave me my independence.
Visme didn’t teach me how to layer images, it just made it easy. Visme didn’t teach me how to design engaging infographics or how to use negative space to create a focal point, it just made it easy.
Great design work, like great writing, is the product of practice and passion.
Unlike writers, however, who need only a word processor to do their job, designers, typically, must master much more involved tools if they're to be successful. Tools with steep learning curves that may keep writers -- who are focused on their own craft -- at bay. Learning curves that perpetuate the divide between art and copy.
Tools like Visme serve to narrow that crevasse, making it easier for writers to frame their words around stunning visual content. Content that’s as simple to create as it is enjoyable to consume.
Is Visme exclusively for writers? No. It’s for anyone that wants to do good design work without all the prerequisite knowledge that goes with it.
If you're ready for that, then you can start here.
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