When I was in 10th grade, I had a light-to-moderate crush on this girl in my English class, Sarah K.
One day, while we were in class, I wrote Sarah some kind of a note. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote. It was not a full-on confession of love. More like a semi-confession, veiled in some kind of inside joke.
The class was seated in an L-shaped arrangement of desks. Sarah’s desk was in front of and perpendicular to mine.
I folded up the note.
I waited for the opportune moment.
And I tossed the note from where I sat to Sarah’s desk.
But Sarah didn’t notice. She was busy writing something. In fact, everyone was busy writing something. Well, except me.
“Psst, Sarah!” I tried to get her attention.
But in my characteristically careless way, I forgot that Sarah K. shared the desk with Sara L.
Sara L. looked up from her writing. She saw my hopeful-then-terrified face. And then she spotted the note on the desk.
Sara L. picked up the note. Unfolded it. Tried to parse the meaning of whatever I had written for Sarah K.
Sara L. then frowned, shook her head a little, and gave me a disapproving look. It said, “You are SO weird.” She crumpled up the note and threw it over her shoulder.
Well, that was a long time ago. It doesn’t sting much any more.
But really, how little things change.
Yesterday, you may have been surprised to get an email from me with the subject line “Death of a postcard.”
I meant to send that email just to the 20 people who are the first subscribers to my Most Valuable Postcard.
But instead, I ended up sending the email to my entire list. Years of daily ritual clicking is a hard habit to break.
I realized my mistake only a few moments after I sent out the email.
I literally groaned. Because here’s something you might or might not know about me:
In spite of the frequent typos, missing articles, and ungrammatical sentences in my emails (a consequence of how I write, a topic for another time), I actually hate making mistakes.
The memory of even a tiny mistake can keep me up at night, or startle me awake in the morning.
And sending out a semi-confessional note to a mass of people who were not supposed to get it — well, that’s a less tiny mistake than just a typo.
Like I said, I groaned.
And then, in the very next moment, I took a deep breath.
I reached into my mental library. I pulled out my copy of Daniel Throssell’s Email Copywriting Compendium. And I flipped the mental pages until I got to rule #101.
“Aha,” I said, “here we go. Here’s the fix for this mess.”
I won’t tell you what Daniel’s rule #101 is. If you’ve bought the Email Copywriting Compendium already, you can reach for it now in your mental bookshelf, or at least pull it up on your computer, and look up rule #101 yourself.
And if you haven’t bought the Email Copywriting Compendium yet, well…
Daniel certainly doesn’t need my help in selling it. And since so many people on my list are also on Daniel’s list, I’m not sure what help I can give.
Still, I have been in a giving mood lately. And I have been sharing resources that I personally find valuable. So I will link to Daniel’s Compendium below.
If you write daily emails, I encourage you to get it and read it. Maybe even twice. That’s how many times I’ve read it so far, and I might read it again.
And in case you’re wondering:
This is not an affiliate link. It’s also not part of any kind of JV, cross-promo, list-swap deal with Daniel.
I’m just linking to Daniel’s Compendium because a) you might get value out of it and b) in gratitude over that rule #101. Plus a few other of Daniel’s rules, which I’ve peppered into this email.
Maybe you can spot these rules in action. If not, here’s where to go: