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

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I get too many creative briefs that insist that the brand affiliation alone is a "key selling point."

Really?

That may be true if you're Lionel Trains or Harley-Davidson motorcycles. But what if you're a bank? Or a cable company? Or the phone company? Do you really believe that customers value their relationships with you as much as you appreciate your relationships with them?

Effective marketing begins with ruthless self-honesty. And let's face it -- few customers hold warm and fuzzy feelings for the business relationships modern life imposes upon them.

So why lead an offer with a "and it's from Bombast Bank, a name you know and trust" kind of message? You're practically begging for the door slammed in your face.

Customers love themselves. Make them offers that serve their self-interests.

But don't confuse your self-interest with theirs.

Karen Ladd of Florida was the first to respond with the correct answer: Jack Kerouac. Her copy of Writing Copy for Dummies is on its way. Great job, Karen!

Why this silly contest? No good reason. But Sunday, my family and I visited the National Park site in Lowell, Massachusetts, the town where Kerouac grew up and where several of his novels were set. In one of the park's museums there's an intriguing display case of Kerouac artifacts including two items we closely associate with him: his typewriter (of course) and his "on the road" knapsack. Beside these is a brief autobiographical sketch that includes the "strange, solitary, crazy Catholic mystic" quote.

This has been my little way of honoring that sentiment. And him. And the road between "beat" and "beatific."

A free copy of Writing Copy for Dummies to the first person who correctly identifies the poet who identified himself thusly:

"Am actually not 'beat,' but strange, solitary, crazy Catholic mystic."

For some time now my older daughter, Rebecca (10) has been writing stories and poems -- on her own and without prompting from either her parents or from her school.

Usually, I'm not privy to these works in progress. And from Rebecca's perfectionist point of view, her writings are always works in progress. But today the printer jammed and suddenly, Dad became a necessary component of the creative process.

So while my wife escorted Rebecca to choir practice, I got to read Rebecca's latest story, a kind of "Star Is Born" thing titled, "The Blue Letter." Here's my favorite part from a section of dialogue:

"I dunno, Lez. It's pretty clear that it's an iffy situation. Who knows? Maybe you'll be performing the rest of your life and become famous or maybe you'll end up having 27 cats and never marrying. Who knows the future?" Emily said.

Who knows, indeed? Doesn't it make you want to read the rest of the story?

This morning, I discovered that Harvard's Thomas J. C. Raymond has died. For 37 years, he taught business communications at the Business School. Then his idea of retirement was to spend another 25 teaching writing at the Extension School.

For one semester in the 90's, I was a section leader (paper-grader) for his business writing class. By then he was already an old man, somewhat hard of hearing, but full of fire. While the rest of us, students and faculty included, were tired after a day of work (these were evening classes), he was wound-up and ready to go.

Harvard, as you may know, is a leading advocate of the case method -- a pedagogy based on the analysis and discussion of stories culled from real-life events. And Raymond was one of Harvard's most ardent practitioners of that method. His weapon: A penetrating intellect. His shield: A disdain for bullshit. His enemy: Pat answers.

Most lectures would follow a similar pattern. After briefly summarizing the week's case, Raymond would wheel around to face a stricken student and, his eyes unwavering in their gaze, his body leaning over the student's seat, he would ask with emphatic emphasis on each word, "What . . . would . . . you . . . do?"

Not, "Would do you think?" nor, "How do you understand this?" What would you do? As if you were the one caught in the dilemma. Within ten minutes Raymond would have swatted away all the easy answers with sharp questions and impatient waves of his hand. What would you do?

Naturally, he didn't have much patience with theory. While many at the B School worship at the altar of "efficiency," he had his doubts. "After all," Raymond would say, "the most efficient business is the one that doesn't do anything at all." He recognized that real business is conducted by real people and involves, therefore, some mess and a good helping of irrationality.

What about TQM and branding and excellence and every other business fad/model/theory/idol? For Raymond, the history of American enterprise boiled down to this: "You make something, then you sell the hell out of it."

I met Professor Raymond near the beginning of my copywriting career, for which I'm grateful. He taught me the value of straight-talk and of a healthy skepticism as inoculation against the latest business/marketing cant. While he was a tough thinker who loved to challenge students, he was immensely fair, too. He treated his Extension School students with the same regard as the more highly esteemed Business School students. He let them know they were every bit as good and had equal odds for success. Perhaps even a bit more.

Blessings to Professor Raymond and every comfort to his family and friends.