Kranz On Copy: Insights and answers on copywriting and writing copy

I got into an interesting e-mail conversation yesterday with a copywriter employed by a northeastern college. (She wishes to remain anonymous, but for simplicity's sake, I'll refer to her as "Jane.") Of her work situation, Jane wrote:

"I have come to really love this college, though, and I wish I had some input into our marketing strategy. It's a great choice for a particular group of students, we have some faculty members who are truly passionate about teaching (and inspiring) undergraduates, so it gets a little frustrating to rattle on with 'small classes, caring professors.' Still, maybe it's my inability to sell my own skills to my bosses."

So, what would you do in her shoes?

Me, I'll begin by dividing this challenge into two separate issues: 1) messaging ("small classes, caring professors"); and 2) selling your skills to your bosses.

Problem number one arises when organizations confuse broad messaging platforms for the real language they need to communicate them. "Small classes, caring professors" might make an OK tagline (though it would hardly be distinctive in the competitive field of smaller colleges), but it's best used as an overall guide -- a kind of Post-It message you tape to your cubicle as a messaging reminder. The real words you should write needn't literally repeat the message, but should embody them. (For a more in-depth discussion of this idea, see my article, Three Ways to Turn Vague Attributes Into Compelling Copy.)

Off the top of my head, I can think of two ways Jane and her school could accomplish this. The first is by a change of marketing media itself -- of creating and publishing articles that show caring professors in action, or that illustrate the advantages of small class sizes, perhaps by showing them engaged in interesting activities -- lab experiments, road trips -- made possible by the class's manageable size.

The other is to incorporate real-life examples into the usual higher-ed recruiting materials, such as viewbooks. When I worked with Lesley University, for example, we incorporated profiles of interesting educators and students into the books sent to prospective students. These mini-stories demonstrated Lesley's virtues (independent study, flexible class schedules, active practicums) in action while creating a more empathetic bond with the reader.

Now, the second issue: selling your skills to your bosses. This is a much tougher question, because the right answer (the effective, helpful answer) depends on context -- the nature of your office, its hierarchy, the personalities, etc. But I do recommend this approach: link your skills to your boss's (or your department's) goals. Take this "small classes, caring professors" issue, for example. If you're able to write articles and would like to recommend them, you might begin by pointing to the ultimate objective -- the one behind the "small classes, caring professors" mantra: to get students to see your college as an intimate, comfortable setting for learning and personal growth. Then position your article-writing talent as a tool for accomplishing that objective. By linking your skills directly and concretely to your employer's immediate needs, you stand a better chance of "selling" them. (Though I admit it's no guarantee. Who says employers are rational?)

Anyone else have any suggestions? Thoughts? Similar experiences?

Even though I was in Connecticut Saturday, driving on an interstate, I couldn't help but think of the state where I grew up, New Jersey, because to live in New Jersey is to drive on one interstate or another (usually one at a time, but not always). And to drive on a Jersey interstate is to live the life, such as it is, given voice in Bruce Springsteen's songs.

So I thought about Bruce Springsteen, too. The Jersey Turnpike is as much a part of my personal mythology as it is of Springsteen's public one. I've walked the boardwalks in Asbury Park and Atlantic City, and I've seen Mary's dress wave too many times to count.

Funny thing -- though I'm no stranger to Bruce's world, his songs no longer resonate with me the same way as, say, those of Dylan or the Stones or even Elvis Costello or the Ramones. I rarely reach for a Springsteen album, and when I hear his songs on the radio, they sound remote, as if they were speaking from a place that was once a favorite hang-out, but is now a shuttered nightclub, gone and nearly forgotten.

Okay, so part of that is geography: I'm in Massachusetts and haven't lived in Jersey since 1990. Part of that is age: I'm way past being (or imagining myself as) a frustrated adolescent "born to run."

But, I suspect, a good part of it is that the world has changed, too. Springsteen wrote about a world of mills, factories and unions. A world in which fathers grew old living "the working, it's the working, just the working life." A world, perhaps, of quiet despair. And one where young people could anticipate the same working grind as their parents; the thing they were "born to run" from.

Now, the mills are closed. The factories decay. The unions are much weaker. Instead of working regular shifts with benefits, vacations and an income that could hold a mortgage, Springsteen's people are working at Wal-Mart and Costco at wages that barely make the rent. Here's the rub: today, people wouldn't run from the jobs Bruce sang about, they'd run to them -- if they existed.

Truth is, Bruce's music sounds a little off-key now because it's hard to feel rage or fear or frustration at a working life that, by today's standards, is actually a pretty good deal. Or at least a better one.

In my Virtual Seminar last Thursday (B2B Web Power), I gave participants a formula for story-telling that begins with desire, but must proceed to danger -- a risk, obstacle or a "but..." -- in order for that desire to unfold into drama.

So imagine my glee when I opened (virtually) the WSJ this morning and read movie critic Joe Morgenstern's article about Alexander Mackendrick, the great director ("Sweet Smell of Success") and teacher. In it, Morgenstern highlights a few insights from Mackendrick's classic on directing, On Film-Making, including this gem:

• "A story in which someone wants or yearns for something becomes dramatic only when obstacles to the wanting are established."

So what does this mean for marketers? When you tell your brand or business story, be sure you add shadows to the sunshine -- elements of danger, risk or obstruction. Without them, your story will never become dramatic nor will it be remembered.

I cordially invite all of you to participate in my live, online "Virtual Seminar" on MarketingProfs.com, B2B Web Power: How to Find, Create and Write the Content You Need, Fast tomorrow, September 15 at noon EST.

I'll cover SEO and readability. . . special techniques for enlisting in-house cooperation. . . and step-by-step instructions for writing glossaries, case studies, articles and blogs. After the 70 minute presentation, we'll have 15 minutes for live Q&A.

Good news: After the live event, MarketingProfs.com will archive the event for future viewing.

Bad news: It ain't free. To see the show, you must either be (or become) a MarketingProfs.com "Premium" subscriber ($199/year), or you must pay a one-time $99 fee for the specific seminar.

Important news: I offer other writing seminars on collateral development, case studies, press releases and articles -- as well as Web content development -- that I can bring to your association, professional group or company. My flagship is a one-day comprehensive program complete with reference books for each participant, but I also float smaller programs I can tailor to your specific needs. My focus: Marketing writing you can (and should) create in-house, as opposed to work that usually requires an agency.

Interested? Drop me a line.

Today, I saw the following sentence on a Craigslist posting seeking a copywriter: "Your cover letter is very important! Use your letter to demonstrate your passion and originality. Avoid cliches, stock introductions, and nautical references [the agency has a nautical name]."

By insisting on a letter that demonstrates "passion and originality," the agency has opened the door to gratuitous cuteness; now every postulant will jump through fire to write clever sentences that express their inherent "passion and originality."

Great. So instead of attracting writers who know how to get to the point with a minimum of BS, this agency is going to get prima donnas infatuated with their own creativity. Instead of what customers need. Or what specific projects demand.

That's the agency's prerogative, of course. But I feel for its clients.

Several years ago I collaborated with a Web usability expert to write Web copy and a series of e-mails promoting his seminars. After submitting my copy, I got his edits -- which were minor -- made the necessary changes, then resubmitted the deck.

Done deal, right? Wrong. A few days later, the expert's "marketing director" (she edited the company newsletter) submitted a few edits of her own. OK. I made those and sent the copy on its way.

Two days later I got the copy deck again, marked with a rainbow of corrections from half a dozen people -- not one of them an experienced marketer, salesman or copywriter. Most of the suggested changes were entirely arbitrary and subjective, a matter of "not liking" one word or another, or "not being comfortable" with this or that phrase. Worse, many of the suggested edits contradicted each other, leaving me with the unenviable task of assigning priorities, a political time-bomb just ticking away.

I called the marketing director to sort this all out. Why are we extending the rounds of edits after the president of the company and his marketing director have already given their approvals? Why are people who have no knowledge of this particularly initiative, or of marketing in general, given authority to make copy edits? Why are we encouraging unwelcome delays by soliciting unnecessary and misleading opinions? Simply put, why are so many chefs stirring this broth?

"Because," the marketing director said indignantly, "we're committed to excellence."

Ah, of course. What was I thinking? Perhaps no other business cliche has wrecked more havoc than the misguided pursuit of that vague, intangible and ever elusive phantom, "excellence."

My two cents: If you really want to achieve "excellence" and not just bow before the Golden Calf of Business BS, you have to define excellence by observable, measurable qualities or standards, then assign responsibility for meeting those standards to specific individuals. Anything less is just a game of office footsy.

Now here's the big punchline: You know what the original seminars were all about? Executing great ideas. How? By establishing observable goals. By setting measurable standards. By being wary of subjective opinions. By assigning individual responsibilities.

Cobblers. Sons. Shoes. Somewhere there's a parable in all this...

Years ago I heard the following anecdote from a painter/contractor I had befriended:

After completing an exterior paint job, George (the painter) got a request from the homeowners for a quote on an interior room. He went upstairs and looked around. It was a brand new addition -- no furniture, no rugs and the walls were primed and ready to go. He already had his truck, paints and tools on hand, so he could do the job right away.

George returned to the homeowners with good news: He could paint the room immediately for $100. Sold.

George went upstairs with a tarp and a sprayer and within 10 minutes he had completely painted the room. When he went back downstairs, the homeowners were stunned. He was finished already? He assured them he was. They saw the finished room, then gave him a $100 check.

Days later, George started getting phone calls. Something "wasn't right" about the room. The paint wasn't peeling and the color was correct, but still, something "wasn't right." After a number of such calls, George went out and, though the room was perfectly fine, repainted the room. Now the clients seemed satisfied.

What had happened? It was all about the perception of value. Instead of seeing the paint job as a great deal -- an entire room painted for just $100 -- they saw it as a steal: $100 for just ten minutes of work. Because they measured value by time, they insisted that George apply more time to the project. Even though it was completely unnecessary. Even though it added no real value to the project.

Moral of the story: When you negotiate a deal, do everything possible to predicate price on the value of the finished work, not on the time it takes to accomplish it. When possible (it wasn't for George in these circumstances), treat your "time spent" as a matter of discretion and re-focus attention on the ultimate worth of the completed project.

Truth is, freelance writers who price by the hour lose money, respect and customer satisfaction. Those who bill by the project stand a better chance of getting paid what they're genuinely worth and, by setting project value as the prevailing standard, of generating increased respect for their accomplishmeents with a concomitant increase in customer satisfaction.