Content writer interviews check three things: can you write clearly for a real reader, can you do it on deadline and at volume, and can you take feedback without falling apart. Expect a portfolio walkthrough, stories about tough edits and busy weeks, what-would-you-do questions about vague briefs and difficult clients, and checks on research, SEO basics, headlines and tone of voice. Many teams also set a short writing test. Each question below shows what the interviewer is listening for, a shape for your answer and a sample you could say out loud. Swap in your own pieces and stories before the day.
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Start: the short version of how you began writing for other people.
What you've done: the formats and topics you've covered, with one example.
Direction: the kind of writing you want more of and why this role fits it.
"I started writing for my college society's newsletter because nobody else wanted to, and I found I liked turning a messy event into something people actually read. After graduating I took a junior role at a small agency writing blog posts, product pages and the odd email for about a dozen clients. That taught me to switch topics fast and to hit deadlines. What I want more of now is long-form, research-heavy pieces, the kind of guides that answer a real question properly and keep getting read for years. Your blog is mostly that kind of work, which is why this role stood out to me."
Saying you've always loved writing with nothing specific about who you've written for or what you've produced.
Keep: something specific that works, with the article you saw it in.
Change: one concrete improvement, not a list of complaints.
Why it matters: the reader or business effect of the change.
Humility: note what you can't see from outside.
"I read about eight of your recent posts. What I'd keep is the practical examples; the one on setting up invoices walked through a real scenario instead of staying abstract, and that's rare. The one thing I'd change is the openings. Several posts take three or four paragraphs of background before they reach the point, and on a phone that's a lot of scrolling before the reader knows they're in the right place. I'd move the answer or the promise into the first two lines. I'll say I can't see your data, so if those posts perform well there may be a reason for the long intros I'm not aware of."
Saying everything is great, or tearing the blog apart with no example and no sense that the interviewer may have written it.
Reading: what you read and what you take from it.
Practice: writing beyond the day job, or deliberate exercises.
Feedback: how you seek it out.
Recent change: one concrete thing you do better now.
"Mostly I read a lot and read it like a writer. When a newsletter or article keeps me hooked, I go back and look at how: how long the sentences are, how it opens, where it puts the examples. I keep a file of openings and headlines I liked, with a note on why they worked. I also write outside work, a small blog on cooking, where I can try things I can't try on client work. And I ask for feedback on purpose; I'll ask an editor what one thing would most improve my writing. The last thing I worked on was cutting my first paragraphs, because an editor pointed out I warm up too long."
Having no answer beyond I write every day at work, or naming no writing you admire.
Brief: what you were asked for and the goal behind it.
Reader: who it was for and what they needed.
Choices: two or three decisions on angle, structure or tone, and why.
Result and hindsight: how it did and what you'd change now.
"The piece I'd pick is a guide on how to read a payslip that I wrote for a payroll software client. The brief was loose, just the topic and a word count. I decided the reader was someone in their first job who felt a bit embarrassed to ask. So I kept the tone friendly, used a labelled example payslip as the backbone, and explained each line in the order your eye meets it. I cut a whole section on tax codes because it differs so much by country and would have lost the reader. The client told me a few months later that it had become one of the most visited guides on their site. If I wrote it today, I'd add a short summary at the top for people in a hurry."
Describing only the topic and never a single decision you made, or being vague about which parts you actually wrote.
Topic: what it was and why it seemed dull.
Angle: the reader's problem or a story you found inside it.
Techniques: examples, structure or questions that kept it moving.
Result: how readers or the client responded.
"At my last agency I got a series on industrial pump maintenance. I knew nothing about pumps and honestly dreaded it. What helped was a call with one of the client's field engineers. He told me about a factory that lost a whole week of production because of a cheap seal nobody checked. That became my angle: the small, boring check that saves a very expensive week. I opened each post with a short real-world failure, then gave a plain checklist, and kept jargon to terms the reader would actually see on the equipment. The client said their sales team started sending the posts to customers, which they'd never done with the old blog."
Saying you just add jokes or exciting adjectives, which makes a dull topic feel padded rather than useful.
Reader: who is this for and what do they already know.
Goal: what the piece should make them do or understand.
Angle and scope: which slice of a huge topic.
Practicalities: keyword, examples to follow, reviewer and sign-off.
"Cloud security is a huge topic, so the first thing I'd do is go back with a few quick questions. Who's the reader, a small business owner or an IT manager? What should they do after reading, sign up for a demo, download something, or just trust us more? Is there a search term we're aiming at, and is there a past post they liked that I should match? And who signs it off, so I know if there's an expert review step before Friday. If I can't get answers quickly, I'd write a short outline with my assumptions and send that for a thumbs-up. Ten minutes of questions saves rewriting fifteen hundred words."
Starting to write straight away and hoping the angle is right.
Before writing: clarify the brief, research, pick an angle.
Outline: the structure and the point of each section.
Draft fast, then edit: separate writing from fixing.
Finish: fact-check, SEO basics, formatting, and a final read.
"I start by making sure I understand the brief: who's reading, what they need, and what we want them to do next. Then I research, and I look at what already exists on the topic so I can find an angle that adds something. Next I outline, with one line under each heading saying what that section does for the reader. I write the first draft quickly without stopping to polish, because stopping kills momentum. Then I leave it for a few hours if I can and edit with fresh eyes, first for structure, then for clarity, then for small errors. Last I fact-check, add the title, meta description, links and images, and read it once more in the preview."
Saying you just start writing and see where it goes.
Read the brief closely: reader, format, word count, anything specific they ask for.
Split the time: research and outline, draft, edit, final check.
Protect editing time: stop drafting on schedule.
Show thinking: a short note on assumptions if the brief is unclear.
"I'd spend the first five minutes reading the brief twice and underlining the reader, the format, the length and anything they explicitly ask for, since a test often checks whether you follow instructions. Then about twenty-five minutes on quick research and a proper outline. About an hour on the draft, and I'd stop drafting on time even if a section isn't perfect. Then twenty-five minutes editing: structure, clarity, cutting, and a check that the word count and format match. The last five minutes go to a final read, the headline and checking I've answered the brief. If something was unclear, I'd add a one-line note saying what I assumed. A finished, tidy piece beats a brilliant half."
Planning to spend most of the time researching and rushing the writing at the end, with no time for editing.
Answer first: the key point or summary near the top.
Headings that say something: a skimmer should get the story from them alone.
Short paragraphs: one idea each, key word early.
Scannable pieces: lists, tables, bold used sparingly, for the right content.
"I assume most readers will skim, so the structure has to work on its own. I put the main answer or a short summary near the top. Then I write headings that say something, not labels like Introduction or Benefits, but a heading that makes a point, so someone reading only the headings still gets the story. Paragraphs stay short, usually one idea each, with the important word early in the first sentence. I use lists for steps or options, and tables for comparisons, but not for everything, because an article made only of bullets loses its argument. A quick test I do is to read just the headings and first lines and see if the piece still makes sense."
Turning everything into bullet points, or long walls of text with vague headings.
The feedback: what was said, honestly.
Your reaction: how it felt and how you handled that.
The fix: what you changed in the piece.
The lasting change: what you do differently now.
"Early on, an editor sent back a feature I was proud of with one line at the top: it's well written, but I don't know what it's for. That stung, because I'd spent a week on it. When I reread it the next morning, she was right. It was a tour of interesting facts with no point the reader could take away. I asked her what she thought the reader should leave with, we agreed on one clear idea, and I cut about a third of the piece to serve it. Since then I write a one-sentence purpose at the top of every draft before I start, and I check the finished piece against it."
Choosing feedback that was secretly praise, or telling the story in a way that makes the editor the villain.
The change: what they wanted and why you disagreed.
Your case: how you argued it, based on the reader or goal, not taste.
Outcome: what was decided, including if you lost.
Relationship: how you kept working well together.
"A client wanted to add a long paragraph about their company history to the top of a how-to guide. I thought it would push the actual answer below the fold and people would leave. Instead of just saying I didn't like it, I showed them two versions side by side on a phone screen and pointed out where the reader would first see the thing they searched for. I suggested moving the history to a short box near the end, with a link to their about page. They agreed to try it. If they'd said no, I'd have made the change without fuss, since it's their site. But showing it rather than arguing it made it an easy call."
Refusing to budge on style preferences, or saying you never disagree with feedback at all.
The load: what was due and why it piled up.
Triage: how you ordered the work and batched similar tasks.
Communication: who you told and what you agreed.
Result: what shipped and what you learned about your pace.
"Before a product launch at my last company I had eleven pieces due in one week, when my normal load was about four. On Monday I listed them by deadline and by how much research each needed. I did all the research and outlines on Monday and Tuesday, so the writing days were just writing. I batched the short product descriptions together because they used the same notes. By Tuesday afternoon I could see two blog posts wouldn't be good if I rushed them, so I told my manager and we moved them a week. Everything else went out on time and passed edits with only light changes. The lesson was that outlines first, all at once, saves me hours."
Bragging about all-nighters, or saying you just worked faster with no plan and no conversation with anyone.
Find the real concern: what each person is protecting.
Back to the goal: who the reader is and what the piece is for.
Propose a fix: a structure that serves both, like a short main piece plus detail lower down.
Owner decides: get one person to sign off.
"Usually both people are right about something. The marketing lead is protecting the reader's attention, and the expert is protecting accuracy and credibility. So I'd go back to the brief and ask who the reader is. If it's a buyer skimming options, I'd keep the main piece tight and move the extra detail into a table, a short section near the end, or a linked page for people who want it. I'd send one revised draft to both with a note on how I handled each point, rather than two versions. If they still disagree, I'd ask whoever owns the piece to make the call, because I can't please two people with opposite instructions."
Trying to satisfy both by making the piece longer and more cheerful at once, or picking whoever is more senior without thinking about the reader.
Editors: clean drafts on time, open to changes.
Designers: early notes on visuals, room for layout.
SEO people: involve them before writing, not after.
Your part: clear handovers and quick replies.
"For me it starts with making their jobs easier. With editors, that means sending drafts on time that I've already edited myself, so they're improving the piece, not fixing my typos, and taking their changes without getting precious. With designers, I flag early where an image, chart or screenshot would help, instead of dumping text on them at the end. With SEO people, I like to talk before I outline, so their input shapes the piece rather than being bolted on afterwards. And I keep handovers tidy: sources linked, open questions listed, notes on anything I'm unsure of. Good teams are mostly people who reply quickly and don't surprise each other."
Describing other roles as obstacles to your writing.
Subject: what it was and how new it was to you.
Sources: primary material, experts and trusted references you used.
Checking: how you confirmed facts before writing.
Result: how the piece held up with an expert reader.
"I once had to write a guide on cold-chain storage for vaccines for a healthcare logistics client, and I didn't know what the phrase meant. I started with the client's own training material and the official guidance they pointed me to, not other blogs, because other blogs often copy each other's mistakes. I kept a list of every claim I planned to make with its source next to it. Then I booked a half-hour call with their quality manager and went through the list, asking her what people usually get wrong. She corrected two points I'd picked up from secondary sources. The final piece went through her review with only small changes."
Saying you read the top few search results and rewrote them.
Trace it: try to find the original source, not the articles quoting it.
Flag early: tell the editor or client today, not tomorrow.
Options: a verified alternative, softer framing, or a different angle.
Decide together: let them choose with the risk made clear.
"First I'd spend a focused half hour trying to trace it back, because figures often get passed from blog to blog and the original may exist. If I still can't find a trustworthy source, I'd message the editor that same day. I'd explain that the number is quoted everywhere but I can't find where it came from, and that if it's wrong, it's our name on it. Then I'd offer options: a figure I can verify that makes a similar point, rewriting the opening around the reader's problem instead of the number, or holding the piece a day. I'd keep writing the rest while they decide, so the deadline isn't at risk whichever way they go."
Using the number anyway because everyone else does, or silently dropping it without telling anyone.
The mistake: what it was, plainly.
Discovery and fix: how it came to light and how fast you corrected it.
Root cause: why your process let it through.
Prevention: the habit you added.
"I published a post that got a product's launch year wrong by a year. A reader emailed the company about it two days later. I corrected it within the hour and added a short correction note at the bottom, because quietly changing it felt dishonest. When I looked at why it happened, I'd taken the date from my own notes, and my notes had come from a news article that was itself wrong. Now, before anything goes out, I do a separate pass just for facts: every name, number and date, checked against the original source rather than my notes. It adds maybe fifteen minutes to a piece and has caught several errors since."
Saying you've never made a mistake in published work, or blaming the editor for not catching it.
Distance: a break so you read what's there, not what you meant.
Passes: structure first, then clarity, then line-level errors.
Tools and tricks: read aloud, change the view, use a checker as a helper only.
Cutting: remove what doesn't serve the reader.
"First I get some distance, even twenty minutes on something else, so I read what I actually wrote. Then I edit in passes, because trying to fix everything at once means I miss things. The first pass is structure: does each section earn its place, and is the order right. The second is clarity: long sentences split, jargon explained, vague words made specific. I also cut a lot here; most first drafts can lose a good chunk. The last pass is small errors, and for that I read it aloud or change the font or view so my eyes stop skipping. A grammar checker helps catch slips, but I don't accept every suggestion it makes."
Relying on spell check alone, or saying your drafts rarely need much editing.
Cut filler: it is important to note, in order to.
Replace buzzwords: leverage synergies says nothing specific.
Ask for substance: what does it actually do, for whom?
Offer a version: a concrete sentence, with placeholders if facts are missing.
"First, it is important to note can go, because if it's in the sentence we're already noting it. In order to becomes to. The real problem is leverage synergies, which sounds impressive but says nothing, so a reader can't picture what the product does. I'd ask the client what it actually does. Say it connects their sales and stock systems. Then the line could be: our software links your sales and stock data, so you reorder before you run out. That's shorter, it names a real benefit, and a reader can check whether it's true. If I didn't know the specifics, I'd flag it rather than just trim the words and leave the emptiness."
Only shortening the sentence while keeping leverage synergies, or rewriting it with a new set of buzzwords.
The piece: what it was and what it was meant to do.
The signal: the numbers or feedback that showed it wasn't working.
Diagnosis: your best explanation, honestly held.
Change: what you did to the piece or to your approach.
"I wrote a long guide aimed at a search term our team wanted to rank for. After three months it had barely any traffic. When I looked at what was ranking for that term, every result was a short comparison table, not a guide. People searching it wanted to compare options quickly, and I'd written them an essay. So the problem wasn't the writing, it was that I'd misread what the searcher wanted. We rewrote it with a comparison table near the top and the explanations underneath, and within a couple of months it was getting steady visits. Now I look at the current results for a term before I outline, not after I publish."
Blaming the algorithm or the promotion team without looking at the piece itself.
Understand: what result they're really after.
Explain: repeated keywords read badly, and search engines class stuffing as spam.
Offer: natural placement, related phrases, a better title and headings.
Show: a sample paragraph both ways.
"I'd start by agreeing with the goal, because they want the post found, and that's fair. Then I'd explain that repeating a phrase that often makes the text read like a robot wrote it, readers leave, and search engines class keyword stuffing as spam, so it can hurt the page rather than help it. What works better is using the keyword where it matters: the title, the first paragraph, a heading or two, the page address, plus related words people naturally use for the same thing. I'd send them one paragraph written their way and one written mine, so they can hear the difference. Most clients come around when they read it. If they still insist, it's their call, but I'd put my advice in writing."
Doing it without comment, or lecturing the client on SEO without offering an alternative.
Definition: the reason behind a search, what the person wants to do or find.
Common types: informational, navigational, commercial investigation, transactional.
How to check: look at what currently ranks for the term.
Effect: it decides the format, depth and call to action.
"Search intent is the reason behind a search, what the person is actually trying to get done. People usually group it into a few types: informational, where they want to learn something; navigational, where they want a particular site; commercial, where they're comparing options before buying; and transactional, where they're ready to buy or sign up. The easiest way to check is to search the term and look at what's already ranking. If it's all step-by-step guides, a sales page won't compete. If it's all comparison lists, a long essay won't either. So intent decides the format, how deep I go and what I ask the reader to do at the end, before I write a single sentence."
Defining SEO writing as putting the keyword in enough times.
Title and meta description: clear, include the topic, written to earn the click.
Headings: one main heading, logical subheadings that match what people look for.
Links and images: helpful internal links with descriptive anchor text; alt text on images.
Content first: answer the question early and fully.
"The most important thing is still that the piece answers the question well, early on. On top of that, I write a clear title tag with the main topic near the front, and a meta description that sums up the page and gives a reason to click. It doesn't directly help rankings, and search engines often show their own snippet instead, but a good one helps people choose us in the results. I use one main heading and subheadings that follow what readers are looking for. I add internal links to related pages with anchor text that says where the link goes, not click here. Images get alt text that describes them for screen readers. And I keep the page address short and readable."
Listing keyword density as the main thing, or not knowing what a meta description is.
Stay calm: take the concern seriously; they're protecting their brand.
Evidence: version history, notes, research and outline.
Context: these tools can flag human writing, especially clear, plain prose.
Going forward: agree how you'll work and share proof on future pieces.
"I'd take it seriously rather than getting offended, because they're worried about their brand. I'd offer to show them my process: the document's version history, which shows the piece being written and rewritten over days, my research notes and my outline. I'd also explain, calmly, that AI detectors are known to flag human writing, and clear, plain writing is the kind they often get wrong, so a score alone isn't proof. Then I'd ask what would make them comfortable going forward. Maybe I share drafts in a document they can watch, or send notes with each piece. If I had used a tool for any part, like brainstorming headlines, I'd simply say so."
Getting angry with the client, or rewriting the piece to game the detector instead of addressing the trust problem.
Check each match: credited quotes, names and stock phrases are not the same as copied sentences.
Fix the real ones: rewrite from your own understanding, not by swapping words.
Credit: quote and link wherever you rely on someone else's idea or figure.
Prevent: notes in your own words, drafting with the sources closed.
"First I'd open the report and look at each match myself, because checkers flag a lot of harmless things: a quote I've credited, a product name, a phrase like step-by-step guide. Those are fine. If a sentence really is close to someone else's, it usually means I wrote too near my research. I don't just swap a few words, because that's still their sentence. I close the source, think about what my reader actually needs to hear, and write it fresh. If the idea or a figure came from them, I credit it and link to it. The habit that stops this happening is taking notes in my own words and drafting with the source tabs closed. Then I run the check again before it goes in."
Swapping in synonyms until the checker score drops, or treating every match as proof of plagiarism without reading it.
Where they help: brainstorming, outlines to react to, headline options, tidying.
Where they don't: facts, quotes, sources, and anything needing real experience.
Your checks: verify every fact, rewrite in your own voice, add original insight.
Honesty: follow the client's policy and say when you've used them.
"I find them useful for the early and fiddly parts. They help me brainstorm angles, give me a rough outline to argue with, suggest a pile of headline options, or tighten a clumsy sentence. Where I don't trust them is facts. They can state something false very confidently, and they sometimes invent sources or quotes, so I verify everything against a real source. I also don't let them write the piece, because the result tends to sound like everyone else's and lacks the real examples and opinions that make content worth reading. And I follow each client's rules. Some don't want these tools used at all, and if a client asks, I tell them exactly how I used them."
Either claiming you'd never touch these tools on principle, or treating their output as ready to publish.
Examples: ask for pieces they love and pieces they don't.
Compare: sentence length, formality, humour, how they address the reader.
Rewrite a sample: a paragraph in two or three voices for them to pick.
Write it down: a few rules so the next draft lands first time.
"Can't explain why is normal, most people recognise their voice but can't describe it. I'd ask for three pieces of their own writing they love, and one from anywhere that they'd hate to sound like. Then I'd compare them with my draft on specific things: sentence length, how formal it is, whether they say you and we, whether they use humour, how much jargon. Usually the gap jumps out, say my draft is chatty and they're quite reserved. I'd rewrite one paragraph two ways and let them pick. Then I'd note down five or six voice rules from what they chose, share them, and use them for every piece after that."
Asking them to just rewrite it themselves, or guessing again without any examples to go on.
Starting point: what each reader already knows.
Depth and jargon: define terms for beginners; skip basics for experts.
Structure: step-by-step for beginners; quick answers and nuance for experts.
Example: one topic written both ways.
"Take budgeting for a small business. For beginners, I'd assume they've never made a budget. I'd define terms like fixed and variable costs the first time they appear, walk through one simple worked example, and reassure them that a rough budget is better than none. For experienced finance people, that would feel patronising. I'd skip the definitions, get straight to the tricky part, like forecasting when income is seasonal, and talk about trade-offs rather than rules. The facts are the same, but the depth, the vocabulary and even the headline change. For the beginners' piece the headline promises simplicity; for the experts' it promises a specific insight they don't already have."
Saying you'd just use simpler words for beginners, with no change in structure or depth.
Many options: write several, not one.
Test each: is it clear, specific, and true to the piece?
Search and people: the words readers search for, plus a reason to click.
Example: the winner and why the others lost.
"I always write ten or more options, because the first one is rarely the best. Then I test each against a few questions: does it say clearly what the reader gets, is it specific, does it use the words people actually search, and does the article keep its promise. For a post on cutting grocery bills, my first try was Smart Ways to Save at the Supermarket. Clear, but forgettable. I also tried You Won't Believe How Much You're Overspending, which is clickbait and the article couldn't live up to it. I went with How to Cut Your Weekly Grocery Bill Without Eating Worse, because it's specific, it names the worry, and it's honest."
Relying on shock or curiosity-bait headlines the article doesn't deliver on.
Confirm quickly: show the reader they're in the right place.
Hook options: a specific problem, a surprising fact, a short scene, a direct answer.
Promise: what they'll get if they keep reading.
Cut the warm-up: no throat-clearing background.
"People decide very quickly whether to stay, so the opening has one job: prove they're in the right place and give them a reason to read on. I usually do one of a few things. Name their exact problem, so they feel understood. Give the short answer straight away for people who searched a question, then promise the detail. Or open with a very short real scene. What I avoid is warming up, like saying the topic is important in today's world. A trick I use is to write my draft, then delete the first paragraph and see if the piece starts better at the second. Surprisingly often, it does."
An opening built on a vague general statement or a dictionary definition.
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