[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” _builder_version=”4.16″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.27.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
There are moments in a web designer\u2019s life when you stop breathing. Not from awe or panic \u2014 more like that quiet sixth sense telling you, \u201cBrace yourself, something\u2019s coming that\u2019s about to derail the timeline, the layout, and your will to live.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n And it usually starts so innocently. Someone says, \u201cI\u2019ll write the text myself. It\u2019ll be faster that way.<\/em>\u201d – Because I\u2019ve been here before. It starts with enthusiasm. The kind that spills into emails filled with exclamation marks and bold promises. Then comes silence. And then\u2026 a Word document. Usually named something like Content.docx<\/em> or, more alarmingly, final version (use this one, definitely final).docx<\/em>. Inside: a mix of motivational quotes, philosophical musings, product descriptions of questionable origin, and notes like Add something clever here<\/em>.<\/p>\n I kid you not. I keep these files. Like relics. So that in moments of doubt, I remember why I always, always recommend a copywriter.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t get me wrong \u2014 I love it when clients know their own business. When they want to tell their story in their own voice. But the language of \u201cme talking to my mirror<\/em>\u201d and the language of \u201cI want to show up in Google search results<\/em>\u201d are often two completely different dialects.<\/p>\n And that, dear reader, is where the following stories begin. Tales of clients who took on the noble quest of writing their own website content. Some driven by passion, some by budget, others simply unaware that copywriting is even a thing.<\/p>\n Each one is different. All of them are real. And every single story ends exactly where it should have started: in the hands of a brilliant, patient, battle-tested copywriter.<\/p>\n It all started, as it often does, with an email full of high spirits and words like \u201cAbsolutely!<\/em><\/strong>\u201d, \u201cNo problem!<\/em><\/strong>\u201d, and \u201cI\u2019ll do all the copy myself, it\u2019ll be quicker!<\/em><\/strong>\u201d Now, from experience, I know this is web-design code for: Project delay incoming. But hey \u2014 benefit of the doubt, right? Still, I try to help. I ask gentle follow-up questions, suggest expanding on certain points. What I get in return is version two \u2014 five pages of stream-of-consciousness, no punctuation in sight, but a whole lot of feeling. Problem is, I\u2019m not a content surgeon. I can\u2019t perform a transplant if I can\u2019t tell which bits are vital organs and which are just creative fat.<\/p>\n The project stalls. The client battles the copy, the website sits half-built, waiting. In the end, they\u2019re referred to a proper copywriter. Together, they manage what couldn\u2019t be cobbled together between emails, coffee breaks, and late-night existential crises.<\/p>\n The site finally moves forward. But by then, it\u2019s lost momentum, picked up some dust, and \u2014 surprise \u2014 the final cost isn\u2019t what anyone imagined. Not in time, not in energy, and certainly not in money.<\/p>\n This one was different. From the very start, the client had a plan. A structure. And, more importantly, a literary soul. At our first meeting he said: \u201cDon\u2019t worry about the copy \u2014 I\u2019ll write it myself. No one knows my business like I do.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d The first batch of text landed in my inbox, and I have to admit \u2014 it was lovely. Like, genuinely. It read like something out of a creative writing course: elegant, fluid, packed with metaphors. The services were described like personal journeys. Each paragraph told a story. Every sentence sang.<\/p>\n Except… none of it said anything Google would care about.<\/p>\n There were no keywords, no headers, no structure that a search engine could crawl. Just beautiful prose floating in the digital void. It was like reading the blurb on the back of an expensive bottle of wine \u2014 charming, but unless I already knew what I wanted, I had no clue what I was being sold.<\/p>\n I gently suggested a few tweaks. Maybe add a \u201cwho this is for<\/em>,\u201d a short summary, some calls to action? The reply: \u201cBut I want it to sound original. I don\u2019t want my website to look like everyone else\u2019s.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d<\/p>\n Fair enough. And to be fair \u2014 it didn\u2019t. A few months later, the client reached out again. \u201cWe\u2019ve had no calls, no emails. Do you think the site\u2019s too subtle?<\/em><\/strong>\u201d Clear messaging. Suddenly, things started to click. Piotr was… poetic. Instead of sending over a brief, he sent me a novella. Four pages on how he started his business. His personal philosophy. How each service was connected to his worldview. At first, I was impressed. Then confused. Then very, very tired.<\/p>\n The opening line of his About Us<\/em> page read: \u201cIt all began on a misty morning when the world whispered that it was time for change<\/em><\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n Right. And I whispered back, \u201cHow do I turn this into a usable homepage?<\/em>\u201d I gently suggested some editing. Maybe tighten things up? Add some structure? His answer: \u201cI don\u2019t want the texts to be short. The client needs to feel me.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d<\/p>\n Well, they felt him all right \u2014 about halfway through paragraph seven, just before their attention span gave up. Yes, Piotr. They read. But first, they want to know what you do, for how much, and why you\u2019re the one they should trust. Croatia can come later.<\/p>\n He eventually handed his content to a no-nonsense copywriter. She kept his voice, trimmed the excess, and gave his story a proper spine. The poetic flavour remained \u2014 but this time, it actually went somewhere. Tomek ran a solid business in London. Precise, reliable, and no fluff \u2014 exactly the kind of client you\u2019d expect to send over clean, structured copy. From day one, he said: \u201cI\u2019ll write the content myself. I\u2019ve got all the details. No need to hire someone for that.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d<\/p>\n And so he did.<\/p>\n A few days later, a file landed in my inbox. I opened it, read the first paragraph… and paused. Then I read it again. Then I googled one of the words just to confirm it wasn\u2019t some rare dialect of German engineering terminology. I suggested we add some entry-level explanations. Maybe a practical example? Something more approachable? Tomek replied: \u201cI don\u2019t want to dumb it down. My clients will understand.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n Sure \u2014 the ones who\u2019ve already worked with him. But the new ones? The ones searching \u201cwho fixes this thing in East London<\/em>\u201d? They had no clue what \u201cType B2 load compensation module<\/em>\u201d meant, let alone why they needed one. Nope. Layout was fine. Copy? Not so much.<\/p>\n Eventually, he swallowed his pride and called a copywriter \u2014 someone his mate had worked with. They reworked the copy together. Kept the facts, trimmed the jargon, added clarity. Suddenly, emails started landing, phones started ringing. Ania was something else entirely. Passionate, radiant, full of energy. When she talked about her work, her eyes sparkled. She said things like \u201cI work from the heart<\/em><\/strong>\u201d and \u201cI help people find their inner light.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d Three pages for the Services<\/em> section, opening with: \u201cI believe every soul carries a light waiting to shine.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d Poetic, sure. But was she offering coaching? Energy healing? A lamp-fitting service?<\/p>\n Each paragraph was soaked in emotion and intention \u2014 but not a single sentence explained what she actually did. Were there sessions? Packages? An online course? Nothing concrete. Just lots of \u201cflow<\/em>\u201d, \u201calignment<\/em>\u201d and \u201cauthentic self<\/em>\u201d. That may be true in some cosmic, spiritual sense. But the average internet user has a five-second attention span and a tight schedule.<\/p>\n So the site launched \u2014 beautiful, serene, full of crystals and white space. But after a few weeks: silence. I nodded. Virtually.<\/p>\n She then met with a copywriter who specialised in soulful businesses. Together, they created content that still had her voice \u2014 but added the essential details: what the client gets, how long it takes, what it costs.<\/p>\n Ania didn\u2019t lose her magic. But now people actually knew what spell she was casting. And they started signing up. Ah yes, the classic. The ambitious sitemap. The beautifully detailed structure \u2014 laid out in our first planning call with pride: \u201cWe\u2019ll have a separate page for each service. Portfolio. Testimonials. FAQs. All clear and structured.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d<\/p>\n I love that moment. It smells of strategy and ambition.<\/p>\n And then… the content arrives.<\/p>\n Each service page gets exactly three sentences. If I\u2019m lucky.<\/p>\n And that\u2019s it. The full extent of what was supposed to be five individual service pages. Entire content that could comfortably fit on a sticky note.<\/p>\n Now don\u2019t get me wrong \u2014 minimalism has its charm. But when you have a whole page for each service, you kind of need more than… a tweet.<\/p>\n So I reach out and gently suggest: \u201cPerhaps we could group these into one Services page instead?\u201d Could it have been avoided? Sure. A short conversation early on. A tiny consultation with a copywriter. Or even just an honest check: \u201cDo I actually have enough to fill this page?\u201d<\/p>\n Because building out a whole structure on wishful thinking is like designing a mansion and realising you only own enough furniture for a studio flat.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a special kind of content that reads like a memoir. Clients who sit down to write not because they have to, but because they want to. And boy, do they write.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve seen About Us<\/em> pages that start with a childhood memory, weave through personal philosophy, and end in a declaration of universal truth \u2014 all without once mentioning what the business actually offers. Because when a visitor lands on your site, they\u2019re not just there to admire your prose. They want to know what\u2019s in it for them. What you solve. What they get. Why they should care.<\/p>\n It\u2019s like being at a party with someone who talks for twenty minutes straight about their journey \u2014 and never asks a single question about you.<\/p>\n You don\u2019t need to kill your voice. Keep your soul, your stories, your sparkle. But lead with clarity. Show them you understand what they\u2019re looking for \u2014 and then, once they\u2019re hooked, share your why. Let\u2019s finish with some light confession. Not every content mistake is a full-blown catastrophe. Some are small \u2014 but when stacked, they create a wobbly tower of \u201cmeh\u201d. You don\u2019t need to be a copywriting genius. But recognising a few of these? That\u2019s the first step toward fixing them. After eight stories, you might think I\u2019m against DIY content. I\u2019m not. Honestly \u2014 I get it. You want to be hands-on. You know your business best. And yes, budgets are a thing.<\/p>\n But your website content isn\u2019t just a \u201cfiller<\/em>\u201d. It\u2019s your voice. Your handshake. Your shop window. And sometimes \u2014 all it takes is one good conversation with a copywriter. A quote. A tip. A fresh pair of eyes.<\/p>\n And if you do love writing \u2014 go for it! Just maybe not in the \u201cServices<\/em>\u201d section. Start a blog. Share your thoughts, your journey, your worldview. Let people get to know the real you.<\/p>\n Let the main pages speak clearly and simply. Let the blog be your stage.<\/p>\n Because a good website isn\u2019t just about selling. It\u2019s about sounding like a human being your clients actually want to work with.<\/strong><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Sometimes the hardest part of building a website isn\u2019t the design \u2014 it\u2019s the text. Eight real stories of clients who took content into their own hands\u2026 and what happened next.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":805,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[32,31],"class_list":["post-813","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-media-en","tag-copywriting-en","tag-web-design-challenges"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/813","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=813"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/813\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/805"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=813"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=813"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pawelopitek.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=813"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
And that\u2019s when the mental warning light goes off. Not blinking. Full-on runway lighting, as if someone just left a suspicious suitcase in Departures.<\/p>\n
– Seen it.
– Lived it.
– Survived it.<\/p>\nChapter 1: Champagne Ambitions, Tin Can Copy<\/h2>\n
A week goes by \u2014 nothing. Week two: \u201cAlmost done, just polishing!<\/em><\/strong>\u201d Then finally, in week three, I receive the much-anticipated file. Title: \u201cMain Page Copy<\/em><\/strong>\u201d. Contents? A handful of sentences, all marching to different beats. No structure, random capitalisation, and the classic line: \u201cPut something snappy here, you\u2019re better at this stuff.<\/em><\/strong>\u201d Right.<\/p>\nChapter 2: Poetry in Motion, Visibility in Question<\/h2>\n
And write he did.<\/p>\n
And that\u2019s precisely why nobody could find it.<\/p>\n
Let\u2019s just say \u2014 subtlety wasn\u2019t the issue.
Eventually, he worked with a copywriter \u2014 someone who knew how to preserve his voice while still delivering on clarity and searchability. They kept the magic, but added a bit of direction. One or two keyword phrases. A proper heading structure.<\/p>\n
The style stayed. But this time, it was anchored.<\/p>\nChapter 3: The Long and Winding Road to Nowhere<\/h2>\n
Every day, Piotr emailed me more reflections<\/em>. The page titles were there \u2014 Services, About, Contact \u2014 but each one quickly evolved into an essay. The service descriptions clocked in at over 3,000 words. One even began with a memory of a family trip to Croatia.<\/p>\n
When the site launched, nothing happened. No traffic, no engagement. Just digital crickets. Eventually, he asked: \u201cDo people even read anymore?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n
And Piotr? He was relieved. His message hadn\u2019t been lost. It had just been found by the right audience.<\/p>\nChapter 4: Technical Brilliance, Human Confusion<\/h2>\n
The copy was clearly written by a man who knew his trade \u2014 and assumed the reader did too. Acronyms, systems, component specs. No explanations, no context. Just pure technical brilliance beamed straight from the brain of an expert to… well, no one in particular.<\/p>\n
A few months in, the site wasn\u2019t getting any bites. Tomek messaged: \u201cMaybe something\u2019s off with the layout?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n
Lesson learned. Don\u2019t write at people \u2014 write for them.<\/p>\nChapter 5: Beautiful Words, Undefined Offering<\/h2>\n
And then came the content.<\/p>\n
I wrote back carefully: \u201cWould you mind telling me \u2014 practically \u2014 what the client receives?<\/em>\u201d She replied instantly: \u201cOh, I don\u2019t like to box things in. People know what they need when they arrive.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n
Eventually Ania said: \u201cMaybe it\u2019s too… ethereal?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n
Because sometimes, all it takes is one less line about light… and one more line about your three-session intro package.<\/p>\nChapter 6: Five Pages in the Menu, Three Sentences per Service<\/h2>\n
\n
<\/strong><\/li>\n
<\/strong><\/li>\n
Client: \u201cOh, really? I thought that would be enough. Just needed something quick.\u201d
And there it is. The elephant in the room \u2014 speed, simplicity, cost. A well-meant shortcut that leads straight into a dead end.
In the end, we simplified the site. One well-built Services page, clear icons, short descriptions. And it worked \u2014 but it wasn\u2019t the grand, professional vision we started with.<\/p>\nChapter 7: All About Me \u2014 But What About You?<\/h2>\n
Don\u2019t get me wrong \u2014 it\u2019s often beautifully written. The grammar is flawless, the tone warm, the story engaging. But the question lingers:<\/p>\n\n
Your website isn\u2019t a diary. It\u2019s a conversation.<\/p>\nChapter 8: Common Sins of the Self-Written Web<\/h2>\n
Here\u2019s a quick collection of the usual suspects:<\/p>\n\n
Sprinkled with slight edits and a new font, but still smells like someone else\u2019s site. Google doesn\u2019t like it. Neither do your visitors.<\/li>\n
If every sentence starts with \u201cWe<\/em>\u201d, you may as well be reading a mission statement from 2009. The visitor wants to hear about themselves.<\/li>\n
Great content… but what now? No \u201cBook a call<\/em>\u201d, no \u201cSee our work<\/em>\u201d, no \u201cLet\u2019s talk<\/em>\u201d? You just ghosted your reader at the end of a great first date.<\/li>\n
One paragraph about services, then a childhood story, then the price list, then your dog\u2019s name. Let\u2019s maybe sort it out?<\/li>\n
Writing like this feels like you\u2019re stuck in a long conversation with no pause for breath and by the end you have no idea what was said but it definitely felt exhausting.<\/li>\n
No keywords, no location, no idea what you do. And then: \u201cWhy isn\u2019t my site showing up in Google?<\/em>\u201d Well…<\/li>\n
The website hasn\u2019t been updated since Brexit was a fresh headline. You\u2019ve moved offices, changed prices, and grown a beard \u2014 but the site still says you\u2019re \u201ca young, dynamic team\u201d.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n
Because words matter. Not just for branding \u2014 but for actually helping your business breathe online.<\/p>\nFinal Word: Write if You Want \u2014 But Don\u2019t Write Alone<\/h2>\n