Copy Editing

Darkness at 1pm

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It’s 1:34pm as I write this but it’s dark.

​​I’m inside a freezing Boeing 777 somewhere above the Atlantic ocean, flying from Barcelona to New York.

Lunch is over and now the crew has walked down the cabin, telling us to put the blinds down. I can only guess that this is an attempt to reduce future jet lag. Like kindergartners, it seems we passengers have to get our afternoon nap.

Lots of things happened to me on the way to the plane today.

And lots of things happened in my business over the past 24 hours.

I thought of different ways to try to fit the most important and interesting of these events into my email today.

Fortunately, I remembered all the student emails I’ve critiqued over the past few weeks as part of my little Write & Profit coaching program.

One thing I’ve been repeating often to the folks in that group is that they are trying to do too much in their emails… to say too much… that what they have is really two or three or even nine emails’ worth of content.

So let me stop myself and leave you with this advice for today:

If your email isn’t clicking, you are probably trying to say too much.

Now that I’ve told you that I’ll go back to sitting in the dark, or maybe I’ll take that kindergartner nap.

I want to be in shape for tomorrow so I can get to the last of the affiliate promotions I’ll be doing for the foreseeable future, and tell you about an exciting and legit business opportunity for working copywriters.

How to stop readers from skimming your emails

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I’m working on my new 10 Commandments book, and so I’ve been going through the archive on my website, in search of old emails that I could use in the new book as-is.

There are literally hundreds of these old emails.

Most I skim across without reading at all. But from time to time, some of the emails catch my eye.

I noticed that there’s one characteristic among the emails in my archive that do make me stop, read more carefully, nod my head.

The emails that made me do that are clear.

Being clear goes beyond getting a good Hemingway-app score.

You can write at a 3rd-grade level and still not have a clear message. If you don’t believe me, think of former U.S. President George W. Bush, who said:

​​”I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep on the soil of a friend.”

The key thing for a clear email isn’t the word choice. It’s actually having something clear to say.

I’ve personally started forcing myself to write each of my emails in just three bullet points. Here’s an example for today’s email:

1. been reading my old emails
2. good ones are clear
3. sme: don’t need quirks or style

Which brings me my Simple Money Emails training. As I say inside that training:

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Your email doesn’t need to be perfectly written or polished. It doesn’t need to use clever language or have your own “unique voice.” It doesn’t need to have any particular character or surprising, breakneck transitions.​​

Just because you saw some unique quirk in an email guru’s personal email, don’t think you have to do the same to make sales.

You don’t. I know because I have written super basic emails, without any “flair” to them other than an interesting story that I dug up somewhere online, and they did well. In fact, simple, clear, interesting emails will often do better that clever, unusual, or flowery emails.

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You can write clearly. And you can write in an interesting way. And you can write in a way that makes you sales today, and tomorrow, and the day after.

Simple Money Emails can help you get there. ​​For more information:

https://bejakovic.com/sme/

Terminal

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No, this email has nothing to do with death or disease.

Instead, I am stuck at the airport today, much like Tom Hanks in that Terminal movie. It’s not clear when I will get out.

I was supposed to fly to London this morning to get there in time for the Copywriter Club live event tomorrow.

But I missed my flight. I have no one to blame but myself.

I booked another flight for the afternoon. I tried to go through security immediately, only to be told that I am now at the wrong terminal, and need to go back out and get on a bus and then back inside another building. ​​I did so, only to find out my new flight is delayed.

Like I said, Tom Hanks-like. Maybe I’ll write you another email in six weeks from now as I start to get acclimated to this place.

But you surely didn’t open this email to read about my travel struggles.

So let me tell you a simple but surprisingly useful thing I discovered yesterday.

I was preparing for the presentation I’m to give in London. I decided to say the whole thing out loud while sitting at home and glancing at my notes. I also recorded what I was saying on my computer. I then went for a walk listened to that recording.

It turned out some of the presentation was good… while other parts, which seemed so clever when written down, sounded downright stupid when actually pronounced.

Here’s why I found this surprisingly useful:

I’ve noticed that it takes quite a while — days or even a week or more — to get emotionally divorced enough from what I’ve written to be able to judge it accurately.

If I read it any sooner, my brain tricks me, telling me this is as good as anything I or anyone else could ever write, so let’s drop it now.

Of course that’s not true.

I’ve also heard the advice, going back to Gary Halbert, to read your copy out loud multiple times. I’ve never found that to be useful for anything excepting getting a hoarse voice.

But this thing of reading your copy — or presentation — out loud as well as recording yourself and then listening to the recording… well, for me at least, this sidesteps the part of my brain that feels protective of what I’ve just written. And it allows me to actually come up with a better, stronger version 2.

​​Or 3.

​​Or 4.

So there you go.

Try recording yourself the next time you’re writing something important, and then listen to yourself with wonder and horror.

Maybe you will find it as useful as I have.

I will go do it once again right now, somewhere in the corner of terminal 2, where I hope not a lot of people will hear me revealing the secrets of writing for insight.

Meanwhile, if you haven’t gotten it yet, you might be interested in my Most Valuable Email training.

It’s one way to create the feeling of insight. That’s why I’ll actually be using the Most Valuable Email trick tomorrow during my presentation in London.

For more info on MVE:

https://bejakovic.com/mve/​​

There’s a new railroad across America, and it’s turning some copywriters into firemen

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I woke up this morning to an email from an old client:

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Hey John, happy new year!

We’re seeing a lot of growth again in [his wife’s] business… you totally nailed the voice and tone last time, wondering if you’d be interested in revisiting that engagement?

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The fact is, I didn’t totally nail the voice last time. Not even close.

I even wrote an email in this newsletter about that miserable experience, with the subject line, “My so-called life as a 32-year-old Brazilian female fitness model.”

In that email, I said it was impossible for me to really mimic somebody’s voice, at least in daily emails, at least to an audience who genuinely knows that person.

Pretending to be a 32-year-old Brazilian fitness model, I spent 15 minutes writing each email, and another 30-40 minutes massaging the emojis and Instagram inspiration buzzwords and agonizing whether something was just important! or really super important!!!

I hated the process.

But things have changed in the past two years. And if my old client thought I nailed the voice last time, he would be amazed now.

Because after I got his message, I clambered into my connection pod, plugged the metal cables into the back of my skull, and initiated a telepathic conversation with the General Networked Intelligence. I asked it:

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Rewrite the following in the tone of a peppy, enthusiastic, 32-year-old female Instagram fitness model, who loves using emojis and a few words in all caps: It’s important to be healthy and fit. But what’s equally as important is to feel good about yourself, not to compare yourself to others, to enjoy each day without worrying about living up to a standard. And that’s what I want to do for you.

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In an instant, the Great Networked Intelligence replied with the following:

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“💪 Hey friends! Staying FIT AND HEALTHY is super important, but it’s not just about hitting the gym and eating right 🥗 It’s about FEELING GOOD IN YOUR OWN SKIN, not comparing yourself to others 🙅‍, and ENJOYING EACH DAY TO THE FULLEST 🌞 That’s what I’m all about, and that’s what I want to help you achieve 🙌 Let’s make every day POSITIVE, HEALTHY, AND HAPPY together! 🤗”

===

This is pretty close to perfect. Maybe a tiny bit over the top, but as copywriter John Carlton likes to say, better start with extreme inspirational fluff and dial it back a notch, than try to squeeze a pizza-slice emoji into an unenthusiastic and limp Instagram post.

And then, suddenly, I had a vision.

I saw a 19th-century steam locomotive, a huge and ugly engine spewing smoke and eating up the American landscape.

​​Inside that locomotive was a small, sweaty, sooty man, shoveling coal into the blazing fire that drives the great steam engine on.

But what do you call that small, sweaty, sooty man? I never knew the term. No matter. As soon as I had that thought, without speaking a word, I immediately had the response:

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A person who shovels coal on a locomotive is typically called a “fireman” or “stoker.” The fireman is responsible for maintaining the fire in the locomotive’s furnace, which generates steam to power the engine.

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So there you go. There’s a new railroad across America, and it’s turning some copywriters into firemen. Maybe some of those firemen will get very rich.

Anyways, you might wonder if I have any bigger point to this email besides that you can now quickly and cheaply imitate the voice and tone of Instagram fitness models.

I do have a bigger point. But this email is getting long, and several other steam locomotives demand my attention. So I will tell you the bigger point in my email tomorrow, in case you are interested. If you’d like to read that email when it comes out, click here to sign up for my daily email newsletter.

“sold out”

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Yesterday, marketer Justin Goff sent out an email with the subject line “sold out”. The body copy immediately explained what was sold out:

Just a heads up, nearly half of the 250 swipe files that are available in the special sale going on today have already been taken…

So they will be sold out soon.

Here are a few things I, and probably many other people who are on Justin’s list, know after this email:

1. Justin has been promoting this affiliate offer for a few days.

2. So have several other marketers with large lists, including some with the largest lists in the copywriting/IM niche.

3. After several days of steady emailing by all those marketers, going out to tens of thousands of people in total, fewer than 125 sales of the affiliate offer have been made. That probably translates to a less than 0.1% conversion rate — and maybe as low as 0.025%.

I don’t know how many sales, and more importantly, how much money, Justin made with this “sold out” email. Maybe he did great. And maybe I will look like a fool for sticking my nose into things that I don’t know anything about.

With that in mind, let me say that Justin’s email is a violation of a fundamental rule of copywriting.

Perhaps the most fundamental rule of them all.

It’s a rule I was exposed to in the mythical webinar training that A-list copywriter Parris Lampropoulos put on back in 2018. Parris repeated this rule, over and over, while talking about how he evaluates his own copy, and while critiquing many pieces of student-submitted copy. The rule is this:

“Does it help your case, hurt your case, or is it neutral? Only keep it in if it helps your case.”

This rule might seem blindingly obvious. But as Justin’s email above shows, even smart and successful marketers will break this rule — because they get rushed, careless, or greedy.

When I read Justin’s email, my first impression was, “Fewer than 125 copies sold? This must not be a very attractive offer.” My second impression was, “Even if it’s a fine offer, I’ve got plenty of time to get it, since at this rate it won’t sell out soon — in spite of Justin’s alarmist subject line.”

Again, I might be sticking my hoof in my snout by talking about a promotion where I don’t know the actual sales numbers, and one which is still going on.

But the bigger point stands. Does it help your case, hurt your case, or is it neutral?

Anyways, on to my own promotion:

Nearly half of the infinity+ digital copies of my Most Valuable Email course have already been sold.

The remaining infinity+ copies are sure to sell out soon. So starting tomorrow, I will turn my great eye elsewhere, and start promoting my twice-born Copy Riddles program.

That means you might not hear from me about my Most Valuable Email program for a while, even though it will continue to be available for sale.

But hold on—

Is this any kind of way to do urgency? Should the fact that I won’t be pitching MVE for a while make you want to buy it today?

No. Not unless you’re the type to get activated by “sold out” subject lines and other transparent scarcity tactics.

On the other hand, if you like the basic promise of Most Valuable Email — “turn ordinary and rather boring emails into something clever and cool” — then today is as good a day as any to start down that path. ​​And maybe even better than any later day — because if you get going now, you will start seeing the benefits of this little trick in action sooner.

Whatever the case, if you are interested, here’s the link:

https://bejakovic.com/mve/

I’d like to present to you the most wretched opening sentence of 2022

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Ever since 1982, for more than a few years now, the world has been outraged (an increasingly common emotion these days) by a strange something called the Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest.

Sir Edward George Bulwer-Lytton was a 19th-century novelist. In his time, he was more widely read than Charles Dickens. Also in his time, he opened one of his novels with these fateful words:

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the blah blah…”

Well, the Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest is named in memory of poor Edward George. Each year, it challenges participants to channel Bulwer-Lytton and invent an “atrocious opening sentence to the worst novel never written.”

I found out about this bizarre contest I don’t know when. Of course, I immediately went to the BLFC website and signed up for their “(infrequent) BLFC news and updates.”

Then I forgot all about it.

But today, my patience and foresight were rewarded. Because the 2022 Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest winners are out!

Perhaps you are morbidly curious to find out the winner — I mean, the loser — of this year’s contest.

If you are, don’t worry. I will reveal the offending sentence right now so you can scoff at it.

Ready? Cue the tubas, point the Klieg lights at the center of the stage, and let’s welcome this year’s most wretched opening sentence:

“I knew she was trouble the second she walked into my 24-hour deli, laundromat, and detective agency, and after dropping a load of unmentionables in one of the heavy-duty machines (a mistake that would soon turn deadly) she turned to me, asking for two things: find her missing husband and make her a salami on rye with spicy mustard, breaking into tears when I told her I couldn’t help — I was fresh out of salami.”

So? As bad as you thought?

Worse?

Or does it seem a little contrived?

It’s not easy writing wretchedly. John Farmer, the winner of this year’s Bulwer Lytton award, did a lot of things right, or wrong, to make this sentence so bad.

Perhaps you’re sure this could never happen to you. Not in real life. Not unless you yourself were trying on purpose to write something awful.

But let me get to my mandatory marketing and copywriting takeaway. And that is, it often makes sense to stack different related promises and appeals in your copy. For example:

“It slices, it dices…it even makes Julienne fries!”

It can even make sense to stack promises that aren’t immediately related:

“The ‘pleasure trigger’ secret accidentally discovered by medical doctors that sets up more intense and more frequent orgasms for you! (It also curbs premature ejaculation! Pages 136-141.)”

But at some point, the promises you make can get so far apart that they don’t blend pleasantly any more. Instead they clash, jangle, and feud with each other.

And it happens to the best of ’em.

Like the few people in my Copy Riddles Inner Ring. They have become very very good at writing bullets. Each week, I’m impressed by their copy and sometimes a little put off — “I wish I would have written this. Could I have written this? Or are they getting better at this than I am?”

And yet, on last week’s Inner Ring call, this exact same issue of clashing, jangling, and grating promises came up. The promise of the combined 24-hour deli, laundromat, and detective agency might seem convenient and attractive… but it’s actually atrocious.

So what to do?

The solution, if you ask me, is not to follow the “Rule of One” blindly.

After all, plenty of successful and effective copy doesn’t follow the “Rule of One.” Just look at the Ron Popeil and John Carlton copy above.

Instead, my advice is to be mindful that you can go too far.

And if you want to develop a a good ear, or eye, or nose for what too far might be, then the second best way to do that is to read good writing, and see how good writers do not cross that line.

The first best way of course is to look at really awful writing. Writing where mistakes are taken to the extreme, so they both make you laugh and so they stick in your memory.

If you want to see some of that, then check out the BLFC website, and scoff and snort at this year’s winners. Or just sign up to my email newsletter. I don’t always write atrociously. But sometimes I do, to make a point. In case you’re interested, here’s where to go.

On writing badly

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“Don’t fight such a current if it feels right. Trust your material if it’s taking you into terrain you didn’t intend to enter but where the vibrations are good. Adjust your style accordingly and proceed to whatever destination you reach. Don’t become a prisoner of a preconceived plan. Writing is no respecter of blueprints.”

I’m re-reading William Zinsser’s book On Writing Well. I don’t like this book. I have several reasons why, but one is that I don’t like the style.

The passage above is one example. It comes from a chapter on “unity.” That’s what Zinsser calls being consistent with your pronouns, your tense, and your mood. But…

It seems no one told William Zinsser about being consistent with your imagery. So in the passage above, the reader is first floating on a body of water (current). Then he’s on hard land (terrain) or perhaps a volcano (vibrations). Suddenly, he seems to be in trouble with the law (a prisoner) and finally he’s building a house (blueprints).

My point is that a lot of the “rules” of writing well, even by supposed authorities like Zinsser, don’t mean much. A good writer can break these rules. So can a mediocre writer.

My advice, in case you want it, is to not worry about the rules of “good” writing. Instead, spend your energy on looking for something new or unique to say. And if you don’t know where to find such stuff, then start with what’s already been written by others — “On Writing Well” — and turn it on its head.

At least that’s what I do. Each day, I write a few hundred words like this. My goal is to say something new or unique about writing, persuasion, and marketing.

I’ve got an email newsletter where I publish these daily essays. In case the vibrations are good and you want to reach the destination of being subscribed to this newsletter, then click here and float down the current it leads you to.

#1 copy critique I give inside the Inner Ring

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Yesterday, I held the fourth call of the Copy Riddles Inner Ring.

The Inner Ring is a little coaching group. I created it as an upsell to Copy Riddles.

In the Inner Ring, I critique people’s bullets.

The problem is, the bullets of the Inner Ring folks are getting too good. With each new week, there’s less and less biting and merciless criticism I can give.

If you think I’m trying to presell you on the Inner Ring, then stop thinking. I won’t run this offer again.

I made that decision a few days ago, for my own reasons. I might talk more about those down the line.

For today, I want to share a share a little diamond with you. It’s small but very valuable. I found it thanks to the Inner Ring. And it’s this:

There’s just one bit of feedback I keep giving people, week after week.

Even as their bullets become more intriguing… as their mechanisms become sexier… as their warnings become scarier… there’s one thing I keep repeating.

And that’s to make their copy 100% clear.

That’s my advice to you too.

Make your copy easy to read. Make it easy to understand. Take out fluff that clutters your message. Clean up stains that allow doubts to creep into your reader’s mind.

How do you do that? How do you make your message 100% clear?

There are many ways to fleece that feline. Today, I want to point you to just one. It’s an automatic, push-button tool that gets a lot of cat fur off quickly.

For example:

I started out this email with a first draft. That draft was at a 6th-grade reading level.

Thanks to this tool, I whittled it down to an 5th grade level. Then to a 3rd-grade level. And then, with a lot of work, to a 2nd-grade level.

You are still reading this email. Maybe you even found it persuasive. If you did, clarity is the reason why.

So if you aren’t using this tool yet, consider doing so. It’s valuable and it’s free.

And if you this tool, consider using it more. All the way to its full, second-grade potential. Here’s where to find it:

https://hemingwayapp.com/

A push-button storytelling trick for a stronger second draft

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Let me try to charm you with a pretty exciting story I witnessed a few days ago:

I was sitting on a stool at a seafood restaurant at the main Barcelona market, waiting for my order of oysters and fried squid. Suddenly, I saw it. A lobster, on a bed of ice, on top of a seafood display shelf in front of me. But the little guy was still alive!

The lobster started walking backwards, off the plate, onto the glass counter. The nearest restaurant patrons moved away. One tried to grab the lobster from behind. But the lobster turned around, and the brave patron backed off. For a moment, it looked like a panic might start.

But then the owner of the restaurant, a middle-aged woman with a pixie cut and a big smile on her face, came, confidently picked up the lobster, and put him back on the plate of ice, pushing the poor bastard down to keep him from walking off again. The end.

Pretty charming story, right? Pretty… pretty… charming.

But can we inject some electricity into this pretty charming story? Can we force it to come alive, like Frankenstein’s monster? Well, let’s push the button and see:

I was balancing on a stool at a seafood restaurant at the main Barcelona market, counting down the seconds for my order of oysters and fried squid. Suddenly, my eyes locked in on it. A lobster, on a bed of ice, on top of a seafood display shelf in front of me. But the little guy still twitched with life!

The lobster scrambled backwards, off the plate, onto the glass counter. The nearest restaurant patrons fell out of their seats. One tried to coral the lobster from behind. But then the lobster spun around, and the brave patron backed off, arms up. For a moment, it felt like the place might erupt in a panic.

But then the owner of the restaurant, a middle-aged woman with a pixie cut and a big smile on her face, swept in, confidently grabbed the lobster, and plopped him back on the plate of ice, crunching the poor bastard down to keep him from escaping again. The end.

Better, no? I mean, maybe a little ham-handed, maybe a little freshman-writing-class-y, but the idea is sound. And the idea is this, from a quick story once whispered by Hollywood screenwriter Larry Ferguson:

“There was a girl who came to me with her first screenplay. It was a good first shot. I gave her some advice. I told her, ‘I want you to go home and take a yellow Marks-A-Lot and highlight every verb in this 120-page screenplay, and then I want you to read them out loud and ask yourself, Can I find a stronger verb.'”

So there you go. If your current draft is a good first shot, highlight your verbs. Sweat and struggle a bit until you hit upon stronger verbs. And you might discover you’ve created something sexy, something truly alive.

But you know what?

Stronger verbs, and stronger words in general, are just one good way to edit your copy to make it more biting and bothersome.

There are at least six other editing techniques, which I’ve seen A-list copywriters using regularly, either consciously or unconsciously. A few of these techniques are much more subtle, and maybe even more effective, than just reaching for stronger words.

If you’d like to own all of these techniques, you can find them in Round 20 of Copy Riddles. Round 20 is all about taking that pretty, pretty good copy you’ve written and turning it into something that wounds people with intrigue and curiosity, even if they can’t quite pinpoint why.

And Round 20 isn’t just a bunch of boring how-to. Instead, just like the rest of Copy Riddles, it forces you to practice each technique yourself, and compare your results to the results that A-list copywriters got.

After all, the only thing better than a demonstration you can see… is a demonstration you can try out — I mean, play with, fondle, and feel — yourself.

Enrollment for Copy Riddles closes later tonight, at 12 midnight PST. That’s less than 12 hours away. To sign up while there’s still time:

https://copyriddles.com/

Copy Zone thesis #89

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If there were a church near me, I’d go and nail an announcement to the door that says:

I’m nearing the end of Copy Zone, my guide to the business side of copywriting. Managing clients… getting them if you don’t got ’em… upleveling to as high as you want to go, that kind of thing.

Copy Zone consists of 114 points, rules, or maybe theses, to keep going with the religious theme I have set up my offers.

I’ve finished all but a handful of these 114 theses. And for those that remain, I have notes and clear plans for what I want to say.

But here’s the puzzling and conflicting thing to my troubled mind:

I started working on Copy Zone over 3 months ago. This final result, soon to be finished, will be 85% what I initially wrote up for myself in a batch of notetaking in the first couple weeks, when I started working on this.

And yet it’s taken me over three months, and will take a bit more time, to actually get to the end.

That’s not because the actual writing has been so hard or has taken so long.

Instead, it’s because I had doubts about the overall structure… the presentation I was making… the emphasis I wanted readers to rememeber and walk away with.

So I ended up rearranging, making tweaks, changing the structure multiple times… while keeping much of the content the same.

Will it be worth it?

​​And even if the current version really turns out to be a 100, wouldn’t it have been better to put out something that was an 85, but to do so three months ago?

Who knows. It’s a fair question. and maybe It’s a lesson I will draw for myself in the future.

For now, I just want to share a different point with you:

Don’t get desperate if your copy, or anything else that you’re writing, sucks.

Don’t go all Nikolai Gogol on your half-finished sales letter and set it on fire, or delete it on your hard drive.

It might be tempting. I know I’ve felt the urge. But the fact is, even if what you’ve written looks awful right now, 85% of it can be salvaged.

So take a bit of time — or worst case, take three months — and rewrite what you’ve got. There are sure to be good ideas in there. Your entire package just needs to be sharpened, polished, molded or otherwise physically transformed. But the substance is there.

A-list copywriter Parris Lampropoulos once talked about how he writes a sales letter. After the first draft’s done, Parris said, he always thinks he’s lost it. People will find out he’s a fraud.

Then he rewrites the bullets he’s written. They’re still bad. But Parris squints a bit, tilts his head, and thinks to himself, maybe, maybe I can get away with this?

Third and fourth rewrite, the bullets are starting to look pretty damn good.

And the next thing you know, Parris has got himself a new control sales letter, which ends up paying him hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars in royalties.

Ok, on to business:

Do you want to get notified when Copy Zone is out? You can keep waiting for that announcement on the church door. Or just sign up to my email newsletter.