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I want to be an “environ-mail-ist” but I can’t!

As an old time direct marketer, I like promotions that a/tie in neatly to the core value proposition being advertised and b/have a clear call to action. So I was bemused earlier this year when I started receiving a free publication called “Deliver” from the marketing department at the United States Postal Service, obviously designed by an unsupervised creative cadre, filled with tips like use email, not the post office, to save money!

Then came a highly personalized mailer with an invitation to send away for a free t-shirt so I can advertise that I am an “environ-mail-ist” because of my commitment to “greener direct mail”. The ironic possibilities here are endless, so I immediately requested my t-shirt and it was at my door a couple of days later. I will add that everything was impeccably produced, down to my name in the appropriate places and a unique code to enter on the website.

So today I open the package and… they shipped the t-shirt in the wrong size! Yes funny, everything right except the product itself. But I really wanted to be able to wear that t-shirt! So I start going through the fulfillment package looking for contact information and there isn’t any. No person to call, no email, just a loose invitation to go online to delivermagazine.com to find more about greener marketing.

Which I do, and I choose the contact me tab, and I am able write a message to them but there are only smirking choices for “Why are you contacting Deliver” like “not sure” or “bored I guess”. I go ahead and state my problem and click “send” and we’ll see what happens. Meanwhile, I’m reminded of David Ogilvy’s observation that “Every copywriter should start his career by spending two years in direct response. One glance at any campaign tells me whether this author has ever had that experience.” Indeed.

Lost in translation

Every writer has a story about the manuscript left in a taxi, or the memoir lost in a hard disk crash. Mine is a virtually complete ecommerce website where, instead of transitioning from the development site in Brazil to the live site in the US, the developers did the opposite and overwrote all my hard work with the existing site that was already there.

This is not a fun thing to discover in the wee hours and since the transition was still in progress, the first thing I did was grab as many pages as I could before they disappeared like Michael J. Fox in “Back to the Future”. Then I got lucky because it turned out they could restore most of it from a backup…. all but about 15% of the content which were the first pages I’d written at the start of the project. So, of course, those were in need of revision anyway.

In rewriting, I’ve been surprised by how much I “remember”, either because I’ve got good notes or because the content I wrote is still lodged in a recess of my brain. And this is a not atypical story. Robert Benchley had a vivid sleep experience where the details of a story were fleshed out and he scribbled furiously for hours and woke to find this note on his bedside pad: “write book”.

In my case I was seduced by a “front end tool” which allowed me to type in copy which was immediately reflected on real live web pages…how cool is that? But now I’m backing it all up to Notepad (actually not, since I use a Mac, but an equivalent) as I write. Klunky, but appropriate.

Maintaining virtual relationships

When I made a move from Southern California to a small town in Oregon, back in 1990, I wondered how many clients I would lose from my freelance copywriting business. I’d promised everybody I would assiduously stay in touch via phone and fax (no email then), and to show up in person whenever needed. Even so, I did lose business—including one regular client who said she couldn’t possibly work with anyone who wasn’t local, even though her office was an hour away from me and I saw her maybe twice a year.

We have come a long way since then. It’s commonplace to have people on several continents on a conference call, and to maintain a virtual identity via email and chat. So much so, I think we may take our connectedness for granted and not realize that clients and colleagues don’t find us accessible enough and so don’t have as much confidence in working with us as they should.

I’m specifically thinking of a guy I have worked with for several years in a technical capacity. He’s brilliant, but I always felt like I was second-tier in his book because he was unresponsive to emails and phone calls. I’d voicemail and email several times and get no reply at all, even in the middle of a project. That obviously made me uncomfortable about working with him.

So we had a talk in the middle of a current project. Turns out that a/email is his preferred method of communication, so if you leave a voicemail he’s likely to respond by email and b/he was having some terrible problems with his email provider and ingoing and outgoing messages were simply disappearing without a trace.

He’s now changed email providers and is suddenly very accessible, sending me reports and checking in several times a week. My confidence in working with him has gone up exponentially though the service provided has not changed. Virtual relationships need to be maintained the same as physical ones.

Let’s all DISCOVER!

We want to love the Discovery Channel Store. The shows are great, and by implication the stuff they sell should be good clean fun for kids. Unfortunately, much of it seems to fall apart at the slightest touch.

Last year my kid got a remote controlled airplane for Christmas from Discovery. It didn’t work. We took it back to the store and exchanged it for another which… also didn’t work. By this I mean that the mechanisms that communicate from a controller to the plane to its moving parts had some kind of disconnect. Finally, on the third try we got a plane that DID work and we succeeded in crashing it ourselves, end of RC airplane trauma.

Just now we’ve ordered again, thanks to a gift certificate. Specifically, RC Anthropods! Three bugs which scutter along as controlled by a twig with a battery hidden inside. But one of the bugs was missing its charger connector out of the box, and a second lost its connector (the thing that powers its internal battery, so it will move) as well as its scuttering wheels within 24 hours. It was at this point I contacted Discovery Online (the stores are all now closed) and asked for a refund.

As with the store experience last year, the reply was prompt and extremely polite: they’ve credited me with the full amount of the purchase and I don’t even have to return the defective toy. Of course, if they did this on every toy that was defective they might quickly shutter their online store too. Could it be their profit model to flood the market with evidently poor quality, but very cheap, product and hope that inertia keeps customers from asking for their money back?

The flaw with this is the difficulty of getting repeat business, which may be why the brick-and-mortar locations shut down (including one which had just opened in a pricey location at SF’s new Westfield Center). Right now the web store is heavily promoting—the RC Anthropods were yesterday’s special. Let’s see what happens after Christmas.. As my solicitious email from the customer service department concluded,

Thank you for shopping with us and LET’S ALL DISCOVER!

Path of least resistance

I bought a vintage table saw last summer and almost immediately broke the vintage drive belts. Wonder of wonders, somebody had done the same thing and posted pictures of his repair online. However, my saw’s setup looked different than the photos. I spent a good 8 hours patiently jockeying the loose parts into alignment without success. Then it dawned on me: it just can’t be this hard. I took a fresh look at my saw and realized one of the bearings had popped out of its housing. I cleaned the parts, popped it back in and was done in 20 minutes.

Another story with the same outcome: many years ago I was driving a VW bus on a very bad road in southern Mexico when a shock absorber came loose behind one of the wheels. I spent a couple hours trying to get it back on as a steadily growing audience of local indigenous men watched me. Finally one got impatient and pointed something out with sign language. The bolts that went into the top and the bottom mounts were different. And you could easily tell what was the bottom bolt because it had more road grit on it.

The lesson is, there’s usually a logical way to do things and people who are not bogged down by intellectual musings will find that way automatically by following the path of least resistance. Good designers of mechanical things know that and design accordingly (a notable exception being 1970s and 80s Detroit cars, where they’d often create special tools to make up for the fact their engine compartments were inaccessible) and ad writers should do the same.

If a reader has made the commitment to proceed through your letter or other body copy, they are fully intending to follow that path of least resistance. They know that A is followed by B, or supposed to be. Put a surprise in the road when they’re about to get to B—a special offer, or a new benefit—and it will get maximum attention. Change course without adding a benefit, and you’ll confuse and irritate and lose the reader. Keep this in mind when you’re framing out your next project.

Beauty in everyday things

You know the standard desktop picture that comes with Windows XP? The rolling green hillside and blue cloud-streaked sky? I happen to love the thing. The scene reminds me of a farm in Oregon’s Applegate Valley where I spent some happy times (the picture was actually shot in Sonoma County, California).

That's bliss What’s nice is the harmony—a visual harmony between the angle of the clouds and the roll of the hill, but also a harmony between man and nature. It’s obvious that this is a domesticated setting—the green hillside has been mown, and there are traces of a road at its base—but the human touch enhances the setting, rather than blighting it.

Here’s something I also love: the statement in the ads for satellite TV companies that you need “a clear view of the southern sky” to get service. How poetic—who wouldn’t want that?

And what makes these two examples even nicer for me is that there’s no particular intent to sell you anything or to “be” poetic. Like a shaker chair or a Korean pojagi (cloth used to wrap gifts), they’re everyday things that rise to the level of art.

Measure twice. Cut once.

I’ve been doing a lot of carpentry this summer, and I find myself pleased by the unforgiving nature of working with a saw. Once you make a cut you can’t take it back. Master carpenters who do the same thing over and over again develop an instinctive eye and a steady hand for sure, accurate cuts. But a tinkering hobbyist doesn’t get enough practice, so mistakes are going to happen. And it’s a milestone in the tyro’s journey when you decide you will toss away the maimed piece (perhaps an expensive piece of stock you’ve worked on for several hours) and start over rather than live with your mistake.

Copywriting used to be something like this, early in my career. I was too early for computers but too late to have access to a steno pool where my manuscript would be retyped. A copy deck was expected to look good as well as read well when submitted—no typos, strikeovers or white-out permitted. And there were moments, many of them, when you’d take the page out of your typewriter, read it over, and realized you should have used a different word or sentence order. And you’d have the choice of living with something that possibly could have been better—or typing the whole page over again.

There’s no doubt computers make for better copy. Not only can you delete your mistakes, you can try all kinds of what-ifs without penalty before hitting the “print” button. But I miss the finality…the recognition that once you type a word, there’s no going back without paying a price. In fact, that may have been what separated a good junior copywriter from a hack—the willingness to not only learn from your mistakes, but pay for them in extra time at the keyboard.

People are not all alike… here’s proof!

I spend a lot of time on the SF Chowhound board, where (just to pick a random example) “Best Bun Cha in the Bay Area” recently accumulated 37 quick posts. So when I wanted to know how the food is at the iconic Highland Park Cafeteria, recently reopened in Dallas, I naturally clicked over to the Texas CH board.

And how many posts did I find there? None. In fact, the most recent post on Highland Park Cafeteria was my own back in January, lamenting its closing, with no more recent messages to correct me. A wider search of the web found only stories about the restored portraits of the Presidents in the waiting line, and a couple of quick comments on personal blogs. This is a temple of Southern home cooking that has served some 36,000 diners since it reopened a month ago (based on published stats of 1200 meals a day) and not a single one has been moved to share their experiences in any depth.

In the Bay Area, online chatter about a restaurant event like this would have melted the copper in the DSL lines. Texas, as we see, is different. I happen to think the Bay Area has the right idea (which is why I’m here and not there, where I was born). But the purpose of this article is to note how really different groups of people can be, with this minor data point to prove it. Something to think about next time you fall into the copywriter’s trap of writing to yourself, AKA thinking everybody has the same priorities that you do.

“I want your free stuff. Please call me now.”

Would you like to put yourself in the shoes of a prospect receiving lots of marketing messages and deciding which ones to respond to? Try this: place an ad in the “free” stuff of craigslist.org.

I recently gave away a big kids’ playhouse and two perfectly good laser toner cartridges. Got over 40 responses in the playhouse (in about an hour), several each for the other item. So how did I decide who was the lucky recipient?

Some of the respondents disqualified themselves immediately with obviously automated responses that sounded like they might have been generated from some mailbot within the Russian mafia. “I want you item for my purposes. Please call my cell now 415-555-1212.” I don’t think so.

But there were lots of legitimate respondents who didn’t rise above the pack. I got a dozen or more “My kids/grandkids would love your playhouse!” so how to choose? Another issue was that I needed to know that getting rid of the item was going to be quick and easy for me. Some people said they had a van or a truck (mandatory and stated in the ad) to pick up the big playhouse; those who didn’t were automatically kicked to the curb.

The winners were a/a single mom who wanted the playhouse for her daughter who was just coming out of the hospital, and had a friend (a fireman!) who would come over right away with his truck; and b/another single mom who wanted the laser cartridge because her printer was streaking and making her kids’ homework look bad.

See the chosen motivations at work here? First they echoed the business proposition, then showed how they could uniquely meet my need to place my item in a good home. As writers, we need to be just as good at presenting our own products and services.

How we learn

I decided I need to learn some basics of electronic circuitry, a subject on which I was pretty ignorant. My path gave me some useful insights into how educators do, or do not, make learning interesting and successful.

Initially, my curiosity was piqued by Elenco’s Snap Circuits Junior, a kit that allows kids to build simple projects by snapping together components onto a plastic board. It’s fun and my kids and I were successful in such achievements as a prototype lie detector. If your hands are clammy and you touch the connectors, it makes a loud noise and lights go off—fun! But we had no idea how it actually worked. We were connecting a series of black boxes to make a new black box.

Next stop was amazon.com, where reviewers heartily recommended Getting Started in Electronics by Forrest E. Mims III. It’s worth getting just to see the production value—every page is painstakingly hand-lettered (which makes for some interesting results when you tell Amazon to “search inside this book”) instead of typeset. But whereas the Snap Circuits have you doing projects without explanation, this book is much more telling than showing.

I put the Mims book aside when I moved on to “300 in 1 Electronics Lab”, also by Elenco, which was exactly what I was looking for. You get a console to work on with real wires, resistors, capacitors etc to assemble into projects on a breadboard. The manual directs you into projects that are just hard enough to be frustrating but ultimately doable and at the end of each, tells you what you’ve learned.

Why was 300 in 1 the best? First, the role of user feedback. You’d do something, test it, and if successful there was a verbal or audio response. That’s different from rote learning for its own sake, which has never worked for me. (I’m terrible at studying languages in the abstract, for example, but less terrible when I’m in a country and have to make myself understood.)

And second, there was a sense of accomplishment that motivated me to learn more. My initial projects were unsuccessful till I discovered I was misreading the marking on the resistors and hooking up parts that kept the current from flowing. Once I figured out that problem I was on my way. Capacitors, diodes, bring ‘em on… I’ll certainly be more likely to persevere next time I get a challenge.

This is stuff to keep in mind if you write user documentation of any kind. But it’s also applicable if you want to “teach” people to read the copy you write for any purpose. Good example: Hershell Gordon Lewis’ advice that you should always make the first sentence of a letter short, because people then assume the letter won’t be tough reading even if it is.

There’s learning at work here—the reader is throwing up the initial words against such screens as “is it worth my time to read this piece of junk mail that obviously wants to sell me something?” And it comes back with good marks for intelligibility and ease of reading. That’s user feedback… possibly augmented, if we’re really good writers, by a sense of accomplishment for having read something interesting or useful.