Three Books, One Page: How Screenwriting Theory Writes a Better About Page

I rewrote my About page seven times today. The first six were about me. The seventh one worked. Here’s what changed.

The problem with About pages

Every About page on the internet follows the same template. “Hi, I’m [name]. I’m passionate about [thing]. I started [company] because I believe [noble cause]. Here are my credentials.”

It’s a resume with a photo. Nobody reads it unless they’re already sold. And if they’re already sold, you don’t need it.

The problem isn’t the writing. It’s the framing. An About page that talks about you is competing with the reader for attention. And the reader always wins that competition by leaving.

Three books that agree

I have three books in my library that seem unrelated. One is about branding. One is about screenwriting. One is about story structure in general. They were written decades apart, for different audiences, about different crafts. They all say the same thing.

Donald Miller, Building a StoryBrand:

“Brands that position themselves as heroes unknowingly compete with their potential customers. Their subconscious thought pattern goes: ‘Oh, this is another hero, like me. I wish I had more time to hear their story, but right now I’m busy looking for a guide.’”

Robert McKee, Story:

“For better or worse, an event throws a character’s life out of balance, arousing in him the conscious and/or unconscious desire for that which he feels will restore balance, launching him on a Quest for his Object of Desire against forces of antagonism.”

John Yorke, Into the Woods (summarizing Campbell’s Hero’s Journey):

Step 4: “encouraged by a mentor to cross the threshold and enter the special world.”

Three frameworks. One structure. The customer is the hero. You are the mentor. Your About page is the moment they meet you and decide whether to cross the threshold.

What my first six versions got wrong

Version 1: “I believe in the power of authentic storytelling.” Corporate. Dead on arrival.

Version 2: My biography. Where I studied, where I worked, what I shot. Authority without empathy. The reader thinks: “Good for you. What about me?”

Version 3: Added social proof. Numbers. “50+ projects, 8 years in Hong Kong.” Client names in a grid. It looked like a pitch deck. The vibe shifted from “person” to “sales page.” On an About page, that’s a death sentence.

Version 4: Personal details. Family, background, life story. Too intimate for a business site. StoryBrand is clear: empathy means understanding the customer’s problem, not sharing your own pain. Vulnerability creates sympathy toward you. That’s the wrong direction. You want empathy toward the customer.

Version 5: Listed credentials again but called it “Why I can help.” Same problem in a different hat.

Version 6: Replaced credentials with a list of what clients get. “Honest feedback. A network of developers, photographers…” Sullivan (Hey Whipple, Squeeze This) would call this a laundry list. After a good story, a list is an appendix.

What version 7 did differently

I started with one question: what is the customer feeling when they land on this page?

They started something. They know it’s good. But something got stuck. They’ve been living inside their own product for so long that they forgot what it looks like from the outside. Everything feels obvious to them. It isn’t. They need someone to ask the dumb questions that pop the bubble.

That’s McKee’s inciting incident. An event threw their life out of balance. They have a desire (to make their project real) and forces of antagonism (the bubble, bad vendors, their own proximity to the work).

Then comes the guide. Not a resume. A story.

I wrote about shooting the president of Balenciaga for a corporate video. He had a brilliant speech. On set, I photographed his notes, used AI to format them for a teleprompter, set up the app on a phone below the lens, coached him on pacing, and we rehearsed until the words stopped sounding read and started sounding said. Technology, creative direction, and teaching someone a new tool. All in one shoot. All improvised on the spot.

One story showed more authority than a list of client names ever could. And it showed how I actually work, not what I claim to do.

Then the plan. StoryBrand says the guide must give the hero a plan. Three steps, numbered: 1. Tell me what you’re building. 2. I come back with a plan. 3. We build it together. Miller: “It’s like paving a sidewalk through a field. More people will cross.”

Then stakes. What happens if you don’t act? “Another year of ‘we should redo the website.’ Another vendor who delivers exactly what the brief said. Another project that sits in a Google Drive folder and never gets sent to anyone.”

And at the end, the transformation. McKee calls it the Quest’s resolution. Yorke calls it the elixir. I wrote: “You stop second-guessing it. You start sending the link to people without apologizing first.”

Not “you get a website.” Not “you get a video.” You get a shift in how you see your own project. That’s the real product.

The connection nobody talks about

StoryBrand says “the customer is the hero.” Campbell and Yorke map the hero’s 12-step journey. McKee explains why that journey works psychologically. They’re the same framework applied to different problems:

McKee teaches you how to build a film around it. Yorke teaches you how to build a narrative around it. Miller teaches you how to build a brand around it.

Your About page is Act 1, Scene 4 of your customer’s story. They’ve heard the call (they need help). They’ve resisted (bad past experiences, budget concerns). Now they’re meeting the mentor. That’s you. What you say in this scene determines whether they cross the threshold.

Two more books weighed in

Sullivan (Hey Whipple, Squeeze This) on authenticity: “Admitting any kind of weakness is a counterintuitive way to establish trust.” My About page says I work full-time and don’t have time for projects without ambition. That’s an admission of limitation that becomes a strength. If I don’t need your money, I must be choosing projects because I care.

Sullivan also pushed me to cut. Every version got shorter. The list of credentials was replaced by one story. The “What you get” section was removed entirely. After the Balenciaga story and the transformation ending, it was an appendix. Sullivan: “The kryptonite of clutter is simplicity.”

My father, a business trainer whose lectures I’ve indexed in a searchable database, said to his students: “Tell them: I have three questions. One, two, three. You show expertise. You show it’s manageable. Then they’ll listen.” The three-step plan on my About page does exactly this.

How to apply this

Read your current About page. Count how many sentences start with “I” or “We.” Count how many start with “You.” If the ratio is more than 2:1 in favor of yourself, you’re the hero of your own About page. And that means the reader has no role in the story.

Flip it. Open with their problem. Not the website or the video. The real problem: they’ve been too close for too long and lost perspective. Show that you understand it. Then one story that proves you can help. Then three steps so they know what happens next. End with what their life looks like after.

One page. Seven versions. Six books. Same lesson: it was never about you.