Stories

Hitchcock sales structure

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The exciting climax of Alfred Hitchcock’s North By Northwest goes like this:

Eva Marie Saint is about to fall off a cliff.

Cary Grant is reaching down to try to keep her from falling.

“I can’t,” she says.

“Yes you can,” he says.

And then one of the evil guy’s henchmen comes and starts to crush Cary’s fingers underfoot. But Cary needs those fingers to hold on to the cliff, and to keep himself and Eva from death below.

Like I said, that’s the climax.

But don’t worry.

It all turns out fine. The police arrive and shoot the evil henchman, who falls off the cliff. The main bad guy is caught. The secret microfilm is safe. And some time later, Cary and Eva, who made it off the cliff and got married in the meantime, head back east by train to start a new life together. The end.

Pretty usual Hollywood, right?

Right. The only unusual thing is the speed:

That entire anti-climactic sequence, from the moment Cary gets his fingers crushed to the train ride home, takes a total of 43 seconds.

​​43 seconds!

For reference, North By Northwest is a movie that lasts 2 hours and 16 minutes.

Of the total, 2 hours, 14 minutes, and 17 seconds goes to building up tension and misery.

The last 43 seconds goes to relieving it.

And yet people watch. And more relevant for us, they buy.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve previously had the task of selling many generic, unremarkable, sometimes suspect physical products. To boot, these products often sold at 3-4 times the price you could find on Amazon.

How can you possibly sell millions of dollars of a commodity at three times the price that anybody can get, just by shopping as they always do?

In my case, the answer was stories. Full of tension and misery. That’s how the bulk of the sales message went.

And when you thought things were bad, an evil henchman came to make it all worse.

The relief of all that tension, in the form of talking about the product, was really an afterthought. Not quite at Hitchcock levels, but still.

So that’s my takeaway for you.

Don’t sell overpriced crap.

​​But even if you sell something great, it probably makes sense to talk less about it than you want to. Instead, focus more of your prospect’s time and attention on that “I can’t/Yes you can” drama.

And in case you want more storytelling and selling ideas:

You might like my email newsletter.

Chance encounters with Blackie

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And somewhere in the darkness
The gambler he broke even
But in his final words
I found an ace that I could keep
— Kenny Rogers, The Gambler

This morning, I started writing my bread-and-butter piece of copy. It’s an advertorial of a person on a quest.

In this case, the quest is a mom looking for a way to cope with her 8-year-old’s ADHD without drugs. I’ve also used the same quest structure to sell tens of thousands of shoe insoles, silicone kitchen sponges, even fake diamonds.

The quest has 3 acts.

Act 1 is the hero coming face-to-face with the horror of the problem… and then getting sucked deeper and deeper into promised solutions that don’t work or even make things worse. Despair sets in.

Act 2 starts with a chance encounter. And that’s what I want to tell you about today.

In my advertorials, this chance encounter is usually a friend or acquaintance the hero hasn’t met in a long while. The friend casually mentions the key missing ingredient for the hero’s quest.

At first, the hero is skeptical. But the friend isn’t pushy, plus there’s a good reason why the solution could work. So the hero goes home to do more research and— EUREKA!!

If this sounds familiar, it’s because something like it is present in more than 99% of all make money, rags-to-riches, “I was living in a trailer but look at me now” sales letters. The hero in those stories wouldn’t be the success he is today were it not for the trick he learned from a Yoda-like guru who lives on top of a mountain or in a gated retirement community in Florida.

In fact, according to Dan Kennedy, this same trope goes back to at least the middle of the last century. It’s called a “Blackie story.”

Old Blackie was this horse track regular until the day he died. He had a secret for bettin’ on the ponies… and then on his death bed, he revealed the secret to the writer of the sales letter.

What do you think? Corny? Overplayed? Transparent?

Think what you like. The fact is these Blackie stories work.

Because chance encounters in stories are like spike proteins on the surface of corona virus. They jam themselves into your soft defenses so the payload can worm its way in.

And if Blackie dies to boot, like The Gambler in the Kenny Rogers song, it’s even more powerful. Because the secret is now lost… unless you buy the product on sale.

This all reminds me of a run-in I once had with an old door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman. He showed me a neat little trick to get your foot in the door, every time, without fail. It works brilliantly online too.

Unfortunately the poor bastard died just a few weeks later. Rest in peace, Jerome.

If you’re curious to learn Jerome’s “foot in the door” copywriting trick… it’s one of the things I share inside my email newsletter. It’s free to subscribe. You might find it entertaining, and you can always unsubscribe if you don’t like it. Here’s where to sign up.

Free bonus: Storytelling for sales

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Here’s a shameful confession:

My only ambition in life was to be a novelist, but I’m largely cured. An article by Robin Hanson, titled Why We Fight Over Fiction, does a good job explaining why:

We tell stories with language, and so prefer to tell the kind of stories that ordinary language can describe well.

[…]

Stories that take place in modern settings tend to focus on personal, romantic, and family relations, as these remain to us relatively familiar moral universes. Or on artist biopics. Or on big conflicts like war or corrupt police or politicians. For which we have comfortable moral framings.

In other words, we almost always tell the same stories, reinforcing the same mores we’ve been reinforcing for a long-ass time, dealing with the same types of characters we are already all-too familiar with.

This might be bad news if you had hopes of being a novel novelist… but great news if you want to influence and persuade people. Because even though we’ve heard the same stories over and over, we keep craving more. Storytelling remains a powerful way to persuade and get attention. And yet it’s as formulaic as making a soft-boiled egg.

Which brings me to the bullets course I am launching next Monday. Bullets happen to be great for mastering most of what copywriting is about. But one big piece is missing, and that’s telling a story.

So to fix that, I’m including a free bonus along with the course. It will be a special presentation, delivered by me, on how to tell a story in copy or your other sales messages. And for the record, this is something I know pretty well.

Over the past several years, I’ve written dozens of front-end advertorials — basically mini sales letters — all following the same “horror story” structure.

By my estimate, these advertorials have made several million dollars worth of sales from cold traffic, mostly Facebook and now YouTube. I think a big reason for this success is the stories right at the top of each of these advertorial — they grab prospects and keep them reading, all the way to the point where they are wondering, “What the hell did I just buy?”

So in this bonus presentation, delivered over Zoom so you can ask me questions, I will tell you how I come up with these effective stories… how I organize them and present them… and how you can do the same.

Again, this is a free bonus that you get if you sign up for my bullets course by Sunday. If you’re interested in signing up for the course, or just to learn more about it, then the first step is simple and risk-free. It’s to sign up for my email newsletter. You can do so here.

My whole life has been leading to this

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1. Age 7, second grade. I’m standing in front of the class and reading a little story I’d written. It’s about a yellow raincoat I had and a googly-eyed giraffe sticker on it which I tried to rip it off and give to Ivona, the girl I was in love with back in kindergarten.

Some 7-year-old monster in my class gets restless and starts to talk. The teacher shushes him angrily. “Listen!” she says. “It’s such a wonderful story.”

2. Age 17, English class in 12th grade. We break into groups of four and read each other’s college application essays. Everybody else’s essay is a dutiful list of lessons learned and life goals to be achieved. My essay is about my first time waiting at the DMV. I know when people are reading it, because they first snicker and then start to laugh.

3. Age 23, senior year of college. I’ve taken an advanced math class, thinking I might go to graduate school for the same. Well, we’ll see about that.

“Roses are red,” the intimidatingly smart professor says. I nod. I believe I understand what he’s saying.

“If roses are red,” he goes on and faces me, “then violets are…?”

My mind is blank. I can’t follow his simple reasoning. I squirm in my seat. But he wants an answer.

“If roses are red,” I start, “then violets must be… a type of common flowering plant?”

Not the right answer, it turns out. Graduate school for math? No.

Instead, pretty much my whole life has been leading me to this point right here, where I write copy for a living and I write these daily emails for fun.

Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. In fact, it’s very much an exaggeration. But you might believe it, based on the little snippets I just shared with you.

And that’s my point. Because snippets are often all you need.

Yesterday, I gave you a Dan Kennedy story titled, “My chief asset was a cat who licked stamps.”

Part of that story was exaggeration and absurdity and humor. But there was something else. Because Dan’s story wasn’t really a story. It didn’t have a tail and horns and everything in between.

Instead, it was really a snapshot, a scene, an episode.

That’s often all you need. And in today’s world, where everybody and his cat is forcing their life to fit a “hero on a quest” story mold, you might even stand out as somebody more honest. A few snapshots from your life to add color. An episode to make a point — without making yourself out to be Luke Skywalker.

And by the way, if you want a real-life example of selling yourself for millions of dollars using this episode-based approach, track down Dan’s Magnetic Marketing stump speech. It’s available online, and it’s a great sales presentation. Plus, it’s as funny as a Bill Burr comedy special — pretty amazing, considering Dan gave these speeches almost 30 years ago.

And for more intimate snapshots from my private life, you might like to sign up to my email newsletter.

“My chief asset consisted of a cat who licked stamps”

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A few days ago, a reader of this newsletter wrote in with a problem.

He’s an expert in his field. But he feels sick telling his mess-to-success, rags-to-riches origin story. He hates hyping it up and repeating it over and over, even though it’s all true.

I can understand. So here’s an alternative. Take a look at the following background story from Dan Kennedy:

I often tell the story, when I went through a divorce and went broke I started over in info-marketing and my chief asset consisted of a cat who licked stamps.

My wife abandoned the cat and left the cat behind. We quickly came to an agreement that, if it was going to get fed, it had to do something other than hiss, and snarl, and scratch, and bite, which were unattractive attributes of this little monster.

We arrived at a working relationship where it sat on the coffee table, I sat facing the TV at night stuffing my envelopes and getting my mail ready. It sat facing me, and I took the strip of stamps and held it out and the cat licked them and then I did all my stamps.

I kept a little bowl of water there so the cat could, you know… I’m sure all that glue … but they’ve got nine lives! All the glue probably didn’t kill it, its personality probably did.

That’s the end of Dan’s story. In the presentation he gave, he moves on and talks marketing.

So what’s my point in bringing up this story?

You might think it’s humor. And yes, humor is a big part of the story above. If you can be funny like Dan, you are that much ahead of the rest of us.

But there’s something else to Dan’s story. Because it’s certainly not rags-to-riches, is it?

No, something else is going on. I’ll spell it out in my email tomorrow (click here if you wanna get it), and I’ll tell you how it’s relevant for your sales copy… or for your in-person, nose-to-nose, toes-to-toes origin story. Whether you are funny or not.

My unflattering email critique to my earlier self

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[I gave myself a harsh email critique recently. It’s for an email I wrote exactly two years ago, which gets a “C” at best. If you want to see why, here’s the original email in bold, along with my comments in brackets:]

SUBJECT: The email that broke the camel’s back

[I’ve found that “play on a popular phrase” rarely works as a subject line, at least to my personal newsletter list. So I would say, force yourself to come up with 10 new subject lines, and use the best of those. But if you insist on the subject line above, then make it more specific and intriguing. Something like, “The sticky sweet email that broke this camel’s back.”]

A while back, I subscribed to the Farnam Street email newsletter.

I’d seen a headline in the New York Times about Shane Parrish, the guy who writes Farnam Street. The headline read:

“How a Former Canadian Spy Helps Wall Street Mavens Think Smarter”

Interesting.

So I subscribed, without knowing too much about what the content I would be getting.

[Only people who really love you will read past this opening. Everybody else will leave. As James Altucher says, you have to bleed in the first line. Options:

– “How a Former Canadian Spy Helps Wall Street Mavens Think Smarter.” Lead off with this and then explain what it’s all about.

– “And that’s when I unsubscribed.” Lead off with the end of the story (below) and then work your way back to explain how it all went wrong.

– Make it into a metaphor. “I only dated the Farnam Street newsletter for a few weeks. In that short time, we had several nasty fights…”]

The first email arrived with a ton of links to important, helpful articles on the Farnam Street blog. I scanned through, but I didn’t read anything.

A second email hit me a few days later, with more helpful content.

Then a third.

And a fourth.

There was nothing wrong with any of these emails. And the content was apparently good — after all, Shane Parrish got a feature written about him in the New York Times.

But none of it clicked with me. It was too earnest, too virtuous, too positive.

[Ideally, make this section more concrete. Give examples of specific emails, and make each example funny or stupid. If you can’t do that for any reason… then make this section shorter. Your copy should never be both abstract and long, which is what’s happening here.]

Finally, I got an email with the headline “Introducing your new favorite holiday tradition” (it was around Christmastime).

I opened it up. It was about a “charming Icelandic holiday tradition” to exchange books and then spend the evening reading them together with friends and family.

That’s when I unsubscribed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got no beef with Farnam Street or their email newsletter. I personally didn’t find the content interesting. On the other hand, a lot of other people obviously get a lot out of the same emails that I unsubscribed from.

[This is a missed opportunity to be a bit funny. You can make fun of the Icelanders and their nerdy tradition… of Shane Parrish and his virtue signalling… or of yourself and your cold Grinch heart, two sizes too small.]

I only bring up my experience with Farnam Street emails to illustrate a point:

It wasn’t that last email that made me unsubscribe.

That was just the straw, or the email, that broke the camel’s back.

All the previous emails had already primed me to open up the “charming Icelandic holiday tradition” email and say to myself, “Oh, hell no.”

This is something to remember in case you do a lot of email marketing.

It’s very hard to assign blame (or praise) to an individual email.

Odds are, it’s the entire email sequence that’s driving readers away — or winning them over.

[This point is worthwhile. But it could be developed further. An easy way to do this would be with another, positive example. “I was on Ben Settle’s list in two separate bursts, for 3 years in total, before I subscribed to his paid newsletter. The last email I read before I subscribed had the subject, “The Myth of Security”… but you can be sure it wasn’t that email alone that made me subscribe. It was those 3 years of cumulative reading.”]

Of course, there are things (unvirtuous and unearnest things) you can do to stack things in your favor early on in the relationship, while you still have your reader’s attention and good will.

If you’d like to find out what some of those unvirtuous ways are, you might be interested in my upcoming book on email marketing for the health space. For more info or to sign up to get a free copy (once it’s out), here’s where to go:

[A couple of points to wrap this up for you and for myself both:

1. Even though this email is weak from a copywriting standpoint, that’s ok. Sometimes these daily emails come out a little undercooked, other times they are dry and flavorless. But the more you write, the more of them turn out fine.

But even if not, so what? A weak daily email still has value. It strengthens your relationship with your list… it cements the central idea in your mind… and it can form fodder for your future emails, two years down the line. So keep writing, or if you haven’t started yet, then start.

2. When you tease something at the end of your email, make sure you write down what you had in mind for the payoff. I’d like to know now what info I was teasing back then… but two years later, I have no idea any more. Time to head over to Farnam Street and see what advice Shane has about improving my failing memory.]

A quick disgusting story

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I had something disgusting happen to me yesterday.

I was having breakfast, my usual fare of testosterone yogurt, steel-cut oatmeal, and a few frozen raspberries and blackcurrants.

So I sat down in my usual breakfast armchair and took hold of the oatmeal bowl. On the underside of the bowl, though, I felt something dry and hard.

“EW!!!”

It turned out to be a dead, flattened, and desiccated insect of some sort, perhaps a cockroach. I instinctively shook it off my hand and stared after it in disgust.

How the hell did it get under my yogurt bowl? And where did it come from in the first place?

I zoomed in over the cockroach corpse. And as my eyes adjusted, so did my brain. It wasn’t really a dead insect. Instead, it was just the dried calyx from a cherry tomato that I had eaten last night. But in that split second, my overactive and anxious brain had convincingly transformed it into something much grosser, more frightening, and more unpleasant.

I don’t have a particular point in telling you this story except to illustrate one thing:

You’ll often hear that good copy is based around a story. And you’ll see many people take this advice to heart.

“I had some yogurt this morning,” they will start. “Yogurt is my favorite breakfast food and this morning was no different. The end.”

(I’m exaggerating, but I think you get the idea.)

Yes, that’s a story, but it’s not very good. And it doesn’t really have a place in sales copy. Because sales copy requires stories that are dramatic, or that evoke strong emotions – fear, surprise, or even disgust.

So keep that in mind in case you’re writing some copy of your own. And in case you want help writing dramatic stories, you can find more of my disgusting advice here:

https://bejakovic.com/advertorials/

Silent stories run deep

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Yesterday, I walked into an unfamiliar room and got naked.

I took a warm shower, tiptoed over to a large, clam-like apparatus, and climbed in.

I closed the clam shell behind myself.

All around me was warm, salty water and complete darkness and silence.

I was in an isolation (or sensory deprivation) tank.

For the next hour or so, I lay there in the darkness, waiting for the visions to start.

At least, that’s what I’d read would happen. I got this idea from Paddy Chayefsky’s novel Altered States, in which a scientist starts experimenting with sensory deprivation and psychedelic drugs, and winds up transforming into an ape-like creature who runs amok in Central Park.

The story in the book is less kooky than this quick summary makes it sound.

And kooky or not, this story was enough to make “sensory deprivation” something I very much wanted to try.

Which is a lesson to keep in mind if you are trying to convince people of anything — particularly anything unusual, or something they might not know they want.

Just consider:

Had I read a sales letter, an advertorial, or a blog post with a headline like, “How to induce safe, drug-free hallucinations,” odds are the message would have just bounced off me.

In the best case, it might have gotten me interested, but it would have caused all sorts of objections and doubts to pop up as well.

But a story, in an obscure novel from 40 years ago, was enough to get me to seek out a “float” halfway around the world, without inquiring about the price, safety, or effectiveness of this experience.

And this all happened without even a call to action. Speaking of which:

If you are selling something to an “unaware” audience, and you want to try a story-based approach in your sales emails, then you might find some valuable pointers here:

https://bejakovic.com/profitable-health-emails/