E-Mail Exchange: Do I Answer You or Not?

Let's say some materials you promised to send just landed in my In basket. Do I respond with a brief thank-you e-mail?

Or maybe you're sending me batches of material throughout the day. Do I thank you for each one?

What if we've been exchanging e-mails about a particular subject, and your last response was something along the lines of, "Let's do it" or "Let's not do it." Do I reply "Great" or "OK"?

A few years ago, I would have said Yes to all three questions. But now that the volume of e-mail cluttering our In boxes is just short of unmanageable, a new strategy seems to be called for. So I now tailor my level of — let's call it "e-mail persistence" — to the personality of the recipient.

It seems clear that many busy people dislike the bother of opening an e-mail containing a response that was expected, whether "OK" or "thank you." So I respond only when my correspondent might be wondering whether I agreed or would take the step we discussed.

Exceptions to the rule

On the other hand, I do work with people who make a point of responding to every e-mail I send. So I answer all their messages, however brief or trivial. This is an instance of the mimicry that makes for good client-consultant relationships. (Similarly, adopting your client's posture — hands on table, hand supporting chin, etc. — can help foster productive interaction at a meeting.)

People with weighty positions also merit the "persistent" treatment. If you are corresponding with the CEO or the executive director, the appropriate response is to answer every e-mail. Let the client be the one to bow out of the exchange.

And when you're not sure what to do? My strategy has been to forestall any uncertainty by telling my recipient how I'll handle the situation — for example, that I will not respond individually to all the documents she sends today, but will let her know at the close of business* that I've received all 20 of them.

*I was introduced to COB (close of business) by a staff member in a government office. Since then, I've also encountered EOD (end of day). Both are useful shorthand, assuming that we're all working with the same 9-to-5 (or thereabouts) notion of a business day.

We're Supposed To Have (Informed) Opinions: An Imaginary Dialogue

Me: If our client wants an approach we feel is inappropriate, we’ll have to tell them that this is not in their best interest.

Designer: Oh, no, we should never dictate to them. We need to listen to what they want.

Me: Sure, it’s our job to listen, and listen carefully. But we’ve been hired for our expertise. So often, clients know (or think they know) what they want, but they don’t understand what their audience needs. So we must explain — in a friendly way — why a different approach is better suited to the project.

Designer: We can’t afford to offend them. They call the shots.

Me: Look, all we can do is present our point of view. In the end, they can get whatever they want — if not from us, then from someone else they hire. But we need to consider ourselves as consultants, not simply as order-takers.

***

I don’t know whether this is a personality issue or a professional niche issue (do other copywriters feel the same way?), but I often find designers to be extremely hesitant to stand up to their clients.

Much has been written in recent years about a key shift in the world of graphic design from “making” to “thinking.” Not that there isn’t a lot of thinking involved in making. But many in the profession have called for a renewed emphasis on the designer as conceptual thinker, engaging his or her client on a macro level. To my mind, this means acting like a consultant.

And if we are to be treated as consultants, we must act as such from our very first client meeting. If the client has already pegged us as merely obedient servants, we’ve lost our professional leverage.

Designers will stand up for client-proposed infringements of specific design rules. If the client doesn’t understand why an extra two pages can’t be added to a catalogue, the designer can fold sheets of paper to show why the minimum additional page-count must be four. If the client wants to clutter a website home page with numerous bits and pieces of information, the designer will explain why this is ill-advised.

But when it’s a matter of discussing how people are likely to perceive something — when we move into a realm with no set rules (or no rules that have been learned in design class) — opinions tend to be withheld or muted.

I believe that this is a form of misplaced deference. Let's be judicious and thoughtful. Let's base our opinions on solid experience. Let's be matter-of-fact, never dictatorial. But for heaven's sake, let's speak up!

© Cathy Curtis 2010

Can We Focus, Please?

Boasting about having a short attention span has become a weird competitive sport. Rather than apologizing for their lack of concentration, people are happily broadcasting their inability to spend more than a few moments focusing on any one thing. It's as if this personal quirk is proof of full-fledged membership in the multi-tasking universe.

Well, count me out. I happen to be one of those people who is happiest when deeply immersed in a project. Psychologists call this state of mind "flow." Being "in flow," can mean being so involved in the activity that you lose your sense of time, forget to eat a meal or fail to hear the doorbell ring.

Most of the time, even when I'm in flow, I'm perfectly capable of coming up for air when a client calls to ask a question or sends an urgent e-mail. (What is difficult for me is to literally shift gears — to get in the car and drive. When my mind is filled with ideas, they become more real than the road in front of me.)

But I think the social imperative of multi-tasking has skewed our priorities. We may believe we are staying ahead of the game by trying to do several things at once, or giving each thing a brief blast of attention. In fact, studies have shown that true multi-tasking is a form of self-delusion. Rather than really doing two things at once, we are constantly toggling between one thing and another.

I suspect that the more fragmented the attention we dole out, the longer it takes to accomplish our goals. And rather than feeling in control — one of the great gifts of being in flow — we are always on the defensive because we can never win the battle against Time.

We would get more things done more satisfyingly if we appreciated the virtues of sustained focus on what we're doing. People would pay more attention to the subtext of what their colleagues and friends are saying, avoiding many misunderstandings. Prioritizing would replace a panicked attempt to do it all. Projects would be completed in a more thoughtful way, with fewer careless errors and increased openness to creative solutions.

Above all, a deeper feeling of achievement and sense of self-worth would suffuse our lives. And that has to be a good thing.

©Cathy Curtis 2010

How the Web Made Me a Better Copywriter

[first published in Voice: AIGA Journal of Design]

In 1999, when I left a staff job at a newspaper to start my own copywriting business, I never even thought about writing for the Web. A decade later, most of my work consists of Web projects. It struck me recently that this medium has led me to develop a different way of writing — tighter, simpler, more transparent. The results, I believe, are greater clarity and persuasiveness, and a speedier, more user-friendly read.

A different mindset

In my journalism days, newspapers were still thick with ads. There was plenty of room for long stories that “jumped” from page to page. Like any writer who wants to be read, I took pains to craft a compelling opening sentence (the “lede”). But I wasn’t terribly concerned with the mechanics of keeping readers interested throughout the story.

The novelty of the Web, on the other hand, made me question every move. During my first few years, I treasured the free online advice offered by Jakob Nielsen and other pioneering Web specialists. I became fascinated by theories about how users absorb information online. Everyone seemed to agree that the Web user was, above all, impatient.

Everybody’s a scanner

It’s one thing if you’re writing a blog with a devoted following. But a corporate, nonprofit or e-commerce website doesn’t come with a readymade group of friends. If users can’t immediately find what they’re looking for, they move on.

Web users tend to scan information rather than reading it closely. One reason is physiological. Research — by Nielsen, Stanford University/The Poynter Institute and others — has shown that reading pixels on a screen makes eyes work harder than reading ink on paper.

Another impetus for scanning, I believe, is the Web’s seemingly limitless content. It’s like being unable to enjoy yourself at a party because you might be having a better time at someone else’s house. Add the growing mania for speed (“This #%&* site is taking 20 seconds to load!”), and it’s clear that Web writing has to pick up the pace.

Subheads built for speed

To make copy easier to scan, I break it up with multiple subheads. They act as visual skipping stones — an eye-friendly break from blocks of copy.

Ideally, the subheads can also convey the main points of the story all by themselves, so they can’t be too cute. And they must speak to the general reader, with no insider terminology that would cut the conversation short.

The em-dash is my friend

That little horizontal line is probably the most useful form of punctuation on the web. Commas, semicolons and colons don’t do a good job of visually breaking up information, and they’re hard to see on the screen. Parentheses have to be used carefully, because the words they enclose are understood to be less important than the rest of the sentence.

But the mighty em-dash is easy to see, and democratic in the way it treats words on either side of it. As with everything, you don’t want to overuse Mr. Em. (You’ll note that he doesn’t make an appearance in these two paragraphs.) But he is the strongman of the longer Web sentence.

Bullet points have their limits

When I founded my business, Crawford Kilian had just published the first edition of his indispensable guide, Writing for the Web (1999, Self-Counsel Press). One of his virtually unbreakable rules is that no paragraph should be longer than 60 words. But I’ve parted ways with him on the issue of bullet points.

Kilian saw them as the standard eye-friendly solution for sentences that contain multiple statistics, goals, activities and so forth. Up to a point, I agree. But bullet points that march down the page like buttons on a jacket are tiring to read. Back-to-back bulleted lists are visually numbing.

When I bullet information, I try to organize it so that there are no more than seven points. (Graphic designers have taught me that odd numbers are more reader-friendly.) Often, though, I prefer to write sentences that group the items into logical clusters. Topped with a subhead, these “chunks” are easier to read because their rhythm is flowing, not staccato.

Simple words for the average reader

My first newspaper editor told me that I should pitch my writing to someone with eighth-grade reading skills. But as a lifelong bookworm, I was proud of my extensive vocabulary. With the assurance of youth, I protested that I didn’t want my ideas dumbed down.

Years later, a piece I wrote for an early information portal (about how to seek a second medical opinion) was rejected because it wasn’t written for the “average” user. I still hadn’t learned.

Writing simply is a skill

Eventually, it dawned on me that conveying complex ideas in simple terms is actually a skill —one that I was proud to finally master.

Today, I’m comfortable with the idea that writing for the Web generally means using only words that are widely understood. It’s not only a question of education. Many websites are intended to reach an international audience unfamiliar with typically American expressions.

Transparency is powerful

Voice is another big issue. As many commentators have noted, writing for the Web works best when it speaks directly to the user. That’s why websites are ideally written in the first (“we”) and second person (“you”).

This approach has made my writing much friendlier. Stripped of big words, complex phrases and unnecessary adjectives, copy becomes increasingly transparent — spare and frill-free. Lacking the distracting imposition of a writer’s ego, copy becomes a more powerful tool of persuasion.

Polishing every word

As my Web writing grew more compact, it felt as though a spotlight shone on every word. I started reading my copy out loud to catch unintended repetition and awkward phrases. I also began using a larger font to keep my eyes from skating mindlessly over the words I’d written on the screen.

Even so, I’ve always found it necessary to print out every page. Whether due to my near-sightedness or sheer force of habit, editing copy with any degree of precision requires the crisp contrast and tactile immediacy of a hard copy.

Helping refine web architecture

Writing a news story or essay involves placing facts or opinions in a logical sequence. But a reader-friendly website is organized in a visually logical way. This concept was new to me.

“Think like a user” may be a Web cliché, but it is the key to producing effective writing in any medium. Much of what I learned about hierarchy came from paying attention to my own navigation — bumpy or smooth — through content-heavy websites written by other people.

Eventually, I took issue with the expectation that a Web writer’s role was simply to add content to predetermined slots. From the outset of a website project, I began suggesting that illogical or unwieldy aspects of the site’s architecture be modified. The resulting back-and-forth with designers and developers has led to an increased awareness of how people process information.

I also learned that turf battles can be reduced by making a sincere effort to understand and accommodate the technical issues faced by other Web specialists — another version of “thinking like a user.”

Sex, lies and plain talk

By now it might seem that everyone can see the benefits of a plain-spoken, streamlined approach. Unfortunately that’s not true.

Some clients expect a swirl of adjectives around each product. Others believe in perpetuating the empty boasts and vague promises of the traditional “mission statement.” People in certain fields tend to worry about leaving out the less important details of a complex program or procedure.

Trying to effectively counter these objections and explain how the Web works best has been a challenge. But — as with all the other aspects of writing for the Web — it has made me better at what I do.

© Cathy Curtis 2009

The Thing You Said You Wanted, or Why Consultants Can Be So Maddening

For years, I admired the tall, slender eugenia that screen the front of my house. I silently thanked them for hiding traffic, passersby and the ugly new houses built on the hill across the street. But after several heavy rains, two of these members of the myrtle family were no longer their old, upright selves. One had pitched forward to lean weakly on my front porch.

I knew I needed expert help. But as a homeowner, I had never been able to find a contractor or handyman who will: (a) listen carefully to what I want done; (b) not insist on bundling unwanted services into the estimate; and (c) do what I said I wanted, in a professional and efficient manner.

All I wanted was to find out if the fallen tree could be saved, and if so, have it and a couple of its neighbors staked.

One arborist spent more than an hour walking around my small property, explaining what was wrong and what should be done.

“I just gave you $150 worth of free advice,” he said at the end of his information-packed tour, punctuated by amusing, elbow-flapping pantomimes of trees that lacked sufficient room to grow.

So now I was supposed to feel so guilty that I would be compelled to hire him to perform various other services I never asked for? Hey, it was his idea to spend his time this way.

Another arborist embarked on a lengthy discussion of how I could find out the name and treatment of the disease that was blistering some of the leaves of my trees. When I finally was able to get a word in, I told her that I already knew what it was, and had been told not to worry about it.

“I appreciate all your information,” I said. “But what about the tree that’s leaning on my house?”

In marketing communications, the same sort of consultant-client miscues often occur.

You probably feel that you know what kind of marketing communications you need, and why you need it. And maybe you’re in a particular hurry to have it produced — for a convention or a fiscal year-end deadline or the incorporation of your new business.

It is reasonable to expect that I will quickly give you a quote specifically for The Thing You Said You Wanted.

But first, I need more information — about the materials you already have (what don’t you like about them?), how you intend to use the new piece, and the identity of your primary and secondary audiences. I need to know how your company sets itself apart from the competition, how it is currently perceived by your customers and how you wish it were perceived.

You and I need to devote some time to this information-gathering activity. We also need to talk about design, which is not some kind of frosting on the cake, but a key ingredient.

[A quick note for those who still believe that a good template is all you need: High-level copywriting and design work together to reinforce your professionalism and promote and sustain your brand identity. Which is just a fancy way of saying that they enable the public face of your company to convey its unique personality in an advanced and systematic way.]

Finally, I’d like to know your ballpark budget, so that I can explain what I can do within your range.

After these questions are answered, I might suggest something other than (or in addition to) The Thing You Said You Wanted. And now that you’ve looked at the bigger picture with me, you may agree.

* * * * * * * * * * *

So I decided to go with the guy who spent so much time looking at the big picture of my garden. He convinced me that I needed more done than The Thing I Said I Wanted — but he also staked my eugenia. His price was reasonable for someone with the right credentials. And he did a great job.

©Cathy Curtis 2010

When Famous Slogans Die

The headline for a JC Penney ad in The New York Times reads, “Full Spring Ahead.” It doesn’t make sense unless you know that the original phrase is “full steam ahead,” a relic of the age of steam-powered ships. But I would bet that this fact sailed past 99.9 percent of the ad’s target audience.

We copywriters assume that our audience has access to a huge cultural warehouse of buzzwords, maxims and slogans, ready for the tweaking. In reality, many age-old sayings no longer, um, ring a bell.

I’ve noticed that when young singers cover old songs, something often gets lost in translation. While I was shopping before Christmas last year, I heard a rendition of “Winter Wonderland” in which Parson Brown (“In the meadow we can build a snowman/ Then pretend that he is Parson Brown”) was transformed into the meaningless “person Brown.”

For those who are still confused, the conceit of the song (written in 1934) is that the snowman is a minister who can marry the singer to his sweetie.

Today, of course, we have new sayings that just about everyone knows: Just do it. Have it your way. Got milk? But they were all dreamed up by copywriters, not by somebody’s great-great-grandma, Ben Franklin or folks down on the farm.

So what does this mean for copywriting?

I think we need to remember who our audience is before trotting out a hoary maxim that no one is likely to recognize. Sad but true. (No, I am not referring to the Metallica song.)

© Cathy Curtis 2010

"Collaborate? But We Hired You To Do It!"

You have a zillion demands on your time. That’s why you’ve hired a communications expert to handle the marketing materials you need. If you and your team weren’t so busy, you’d be writing these things yourselves.

Somewhere on your desktop is the questionnaire your expert sent you weeks ago. Now she is asking you to sit down with her for a couple of hours that you simply can’t spare.

Why can’t she just use the business synopsis you sent her?

Because nothing takes the place of having you talk about your business.

> First, the writer needs to listen to you. Listen for the big ideas that drive your approach. Listen for the assumptions that underlie the big ideas.

> Then she needs to ask follow-up questions. It’s the only way to elicit the key information you’re leaving out simply because you know your work so well.

> She may also ask you to collaborate on a creative brief. One of the best ways to capture the way you actually view your company is play a consultant’s version of 20 Questions. Except that this isn’t a game — it’s a way of unlocking powerful differentiators you may never have thought about or expressed.

What you gain

A good writer will take you beyond your insider’s perspective to help you understand how your company is viewed by people with no vested interest in it.

Your materials will avoid overused marketing-speak, the kind that today’s customer just tunes out.

Instead, your materials will reflect your company’s uniqueness and communicate urgently to your target market.

And the few hours you’ve spent answering questions — even the ones that seemed off-the-wall at the time — will prove to be well worth the effort.

©Cathy Curtis 2010