12.11.2014
10.22.2014
Quaker teams up with Blippar to create augmented reality experience for consumers
This October, the Quaker Oats Man is wearing a milk mustache as part of an augmented reality marketing experience. To bring the program to life and allow consumers to interact with the Quaker Oats man in a unique and dynamic way, Quaker is using the Blippar app as part of its promotion. Consumers can download the Blippar app onto their smartphones, scan specially marked packages in the supermarket, then take a selfie with the mustachioed-wearing icon to share on social media with the hashtag #QuakerwithMilk.
I tried out the Blippar app and here's my selfie with the Quaker Oats man. Fun and easy. I also gained access to some interesting recipes that combine oats with milk through the Blippar app promotion with Quaker, which was cool.
The oats & dairy promotion is aimed at encouraging Americans to make their oatmeal with milk instead of water and have a glass of milk on the side for a protein boost.
I tried out the Blippar app and here's my selfie with the Quaker Oats man. Fun and easy. I also gained access to some interesting recipes that combine oats with milk through the Blippar app promotion with Quaker, which was cool.
The oats & dairy promotion is aimed at encouraging Americans to make their oatmeal with milk instead of water and have a glass of milk on the side for a protein boost.
10.18.2014
Presenting the bookbook TM - changing the way you think about technology
IKEA is changing the way we think about technology with the bookbook TM.
10.17.2014
Behold, the new donut selfie!
You spin me right round, baby
Right round like a record, baby
Right round round round ...
OK, here's my donut selfie:
For a more sophisticated version (not mine) with music and special effects, check out donutselfie.com.
Now, should I be calling you out like the Ice Bucket Challenge to post yours?
- Feeling silly
#donutselfie
10.16.2014
7.24.2014
4th Time in a Row!
6.24.2014
How do freelance copywriters handle social media for promotion?
The question ...
My reply ...
And this is an example of how I use (or rather reuse) social media for promotion.
My reply ...
And this is an example of how I use (or rather reuse) social media for promotion.
6.05.2014
I copied a little trick from a 1926 ad to write a headline. And then!~
[Headline]
They Laughed When I Sat Down At the Piano But When I Started to Play!~
See it? Right at the end? That's the thing I'm borrowing from the famous advertisement copywriter John Caples wrote. His 1926 ad for the U.S. School of Music was a great headline then, and it's a great headline now. And that little thing at the end - the "tilde" (~) is, I think, one of the reasons why.
Oh, there are other reasons it's a great headline. Reasons like ...
It tells a story.
There's a beginning, middle and end in those 15 little words. There's the time that begins the story (when he sits down), the time when he starts to play (the middle of the story), and then there's an ending that's alluded to but not seen in the headline. But it is the alluding to, the hinting of the end of the story (a happy ending?), that grabs our attention and pulls us through, that makes us want to read more.
It's the punctuation that speaks volumes.
The little tilde symbol after the exclamation mark is reminiscent of musical notation, so very appropriate for the ad's offer of a free booklet and demonstration lesson to learn to play your favorite instrument. Instead of using the more common ellipsis, which often inspires a feeling of melancholy or longing, Caples ends his headline with a bang and flourish.
Or maybe his creative director or the designer put the "~" in the headline.
Whoever did it was pure genius.
Maybe they laughed at first, but then!~ Then what did they do? Did they cheer, clap or roar with delight? Did they boo or cry?
You've got to read on to find out what happened next.
Some of the best headlines I've seen lately in the world of social media
They're coming my way via my Facebook feed from Upworthy. Headlines like:
A Teacher Shows A Bunch Of Kids What They Gained By Failing Their First Test
What If All The Crap You've Ever Thrown Away Came Back To Visit You?
Oh Snap! The Government Just Got Put On Notice ... By An 8th-Grader.
Here's A Kid Who’s Determined To Get His Voice Heard Now. When He’s An Adult, It’ll Be Too Late.
This Family Has Been Basing Their Life On 5 Words Since 1916
A TV Host’s Response To An Intolerant Jerk Isn’t Clever Or Witty. It’s Just Absolutely Perfect.
All of these headlines evoke curiosity and are coupled with a video. They make you want to click and watch the video until the end, to see the punchline or get the pay-off, much like the famous John Caples headline from 1926.
I write headlines for a living - subheads, banner heads, blurbs, body copy, footnotes, disclaimers, and directional copy, too. And I think I'm going to give the ellipsis a break for now. I've been using it a little too much. Time for the tilde!~
They Laughed When I Sat Down At the Piano But When I Started to Play!~
See it? Right at the end? That's the thing I'm borrowing from the famous advertisement copywriter John Caples wrote. His 1926 ad for the U.S. School of Music was a great headline then, and it's a great headline now. And that little thing at the end - the "tilde" (~) is, I think, one of the reasons why.
Oh, there are other reasons it's a great headline. Reasons like ...
It tells a story.
There's a beginning, middle and end in those 15 little words. There's the time that begins the story (when he sits down), the time when he starts to play (the middle of the story), and then there's an ending that's alluded to but not seen in the headline. But it is the alluding to, the hinting of the end of the story (a happy ending?), that grabs our attention and pulls us through, that makes us want to read more.
It's the punctuation that speaks volumes.
The little tilde symbol after the exclamation mark is reminiscent of musical notation, so very appropriate for the ad's offer of a free booklet and demonstration lesson to learn to play your favorite instrument. Instead of using the more common ellipsis, which often inspires a feeling of melancholy or longing, Caples ends his headline with a bang and flourish.
Or maybe his creative director or the designer put the "~" in the headline.
Whoever did it was pure genius.
Maybe they laughed at first, but then!~ Then what did they do? Did they cheer, clap or roar with delight? Did they boo or cry?
You've got to read on to find out what happened next.
Some of the best headlines I've seen lately in the world of social media
They're coming my way via my Facebook feed from Upworthy. Headlines like:
A Teacher Shows A Bunch Of Kids What They Gained By Failing Their First Test
What If All The Crap You've Ever Thrown Away Came Back To Visit You?
Oh Snap! The Government Just Got Put On Notice ... By An 8th-Grader.
Here's A Kid Who’s Determined To Get His Voice Heard Now. When He’s An Adult, It’ll Be Too Late.
This Family Has Been Basing Their Life On 5 Words Since 1916
A TV Host’s Response To An Intolerant Jerk Isn’t Clever Or Witty. It’s Just Absolutely Perfect.
All of these headlines evoke curiosity and are coupled with a video. They make you want to click and watch the video until the end, to see the punchline or get the pay-off, much like the famous John Caples headline from 1926.
I write headlines for a living - subheads, banner heads, blurbs, body copy, footnotes, disclaimers, and directional copy, too. And I think I'm going to give the ellipsis a break for now. I've been using it a little too much. Time for the tilde!~
5.29.2014
Remind me to take a break ...
Having a job as a writer means I sit at the computer A LOT. I try to get up and down as much as possible, but sometimes I get so immersed in the work that I forget to take a break. So I just added this app to my computer. It's free - Google extension.
3.16.2014
3.05.2014
3.01.2014
My First Full-Time Copywriting Job
“The world isn't interested in the storms you encountered, but whether or not you brought in the ship.” ~ Raul Armesto
The quote above was printed on a piece of 8 1/2 x 11 paper that was taped to the side of a tall filing cabinet. Everyday, I would sit at a little, vintage typing desk that looked like this, and that quote would stare at me.
I encountered a lot of "storms" during this time. It was mid the 1980's, and my boss was a go-getter who was a freelance creative director/copywriter working from home. He had big plans, and I was his first hire. Well, actually, his wife worked for him - she was his accountant. I was their first "copy" department hire, coming on as a "Copy Cub." Since his wife's name was Cindy, he said he'd call me "Cynthia" - a name which, until then, only college professors had called me. Everyone else just called me Cindy. It took a while to get used to being called by my full first name; it sounded so long and drawn out. And it didn't help that my last name had three syllables too. Nothing like having a three-syllable first name and a three-syllable last name. To this day, all of my professional contacts call me "Cynthia."
But back to the quote.
I had no real idea of what it meant. It seemed to suggest that any challenges I might meet up with at this new job were not to be spoken of, to anyone. No one would be interested. I just had to bring in "the ship" - the ship being, I supposed, "great copy." Not bringing in the ship meant not delivering great copy. That's all that mattered - great copy and whether or not I could deliver it.
Trouble was, I was fresh out of graduate school, with a Master's Degree in English Literature, and I had no idea what was great copy. My dad was a "Commercial Artist" - his specialty was the air brush. All I knew about advertising I learned from my dad - and it was mostly of a graphic arts nature. My dad was a terrible speller. The rest of my knowledge base in regard to great copy was gleaned from many years of reading fashion magazines, namely Seventeen magazine in my early teenage years and later on Glamor, Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, and my dad's Esquire magazine. My ship? It was the one that sailed around Moby Dick or carried a crew of Greek soldiers in an epic novel.
My first copywriting assignment for my new boss was to write a series of form letters to policyholders of a third-party insurance plan, to alert them of several different types of situations affecting their policy and/or coverage. It was not glamorous. It was not even fun. I had no idea what I was doing. Truth be told, I only took this job because a guy I was dating seriously at the time worked nearby, and I thought he and I could meet for lunch if I worked in the vicinity. I had an interview with a book publishing company at the same time I got the call to come in for this copywriting job, and I cancelled it, thinking I'd save myself a long commute from Pennsylvania to New York City. Little did I know I'd wind up making a 70-mile round trip commute every weekday for the next twelve years. And the kind of advertising writing I'd be doing? It was called "Direct Response," namely "Direct Mail."
I read through sample after sample of direct mail packages, long envelopes stuffed with letters and brochures and things called "buckslips" that my boss collected in large boxes that had to be filed by the type of product being sold, and all I could think of is, "This reminds me of the way Evangelistic preachers speak." The letters in these direct mail packages, which I later learned people were calling "junk mail," sounded like the writer was talking directly to me, with heavy use of the word "you" and seemingly personal interjections like "Quite frankly, I can't imagine why you would not act now for this generous offer."
My one saving grace in all of this was I was a prolific letter writer, having spent an entire adolescence corresponding with pen-pals all over the world - from Finland to Hong Kong, England and Italy, Peru and Venezuela - as well as cousins and friends from my old neighborhood after we moved to another state, thus avoiding the high cost of long-distance phone calls and freaking out my dad.
Still, writing letters about insurance for my new boss was a far cry from writing to my friends about what I was doing over summer vacation or my thoughts on the latest Bruce Springsteen album. Even weirder was assuming the voice of a male Vice President of an insurance company.
My boss and I went through countless rounds of revisions. In the end, I think he indirectly wrote just about every line. We certainly wasted a lot of paper. It was excruciatingly painful.
But the world's not interested in the storms, right?
That was many years ago, and I've since concluded that the quote about the world not being interested in the storms isn't entirely gospel.
The world IS interested in the storms you encounter.
The world WANTS TO KNOW how you handled turbulence ... how you set your sail in a new direction ... and what you did to avert disaster, find success or merely just get back to smooth sailing.
So face the storms.
Then tell the world.
That's the stuff great lessons are made of - great novels, movies, documentaries, TV and reality shows, too.
The quote above was printed on a piece of 8 1/2 x 11 paper that was taped to the side of a tall filing cabinet. Everyday, I would sit at a little, vintage typing desk that looked like this, and that quote would stare at me.
I encountered a lot of "storms" during this time. It was mid the 1980's, and my boss was a go-getter who was a freelance creative director/copywriter working from home. He had big plans, and I was his first hire. Well, actually, his wife worked for him - she was his accountant. I was their first "copy" department hire, coming on as a "Copy Cub." Since his wife's name was Cindy, he said he'd call me "Cynthia" - a name which, until then, only college professors had called me. Everyone else just called me Cindy. It took a while to get used to being called by my full first name; it sounded so long and drawn out. And it didn't help that my last name had three syllables too. Nothing like having a three-syllable first name and a three-syllable last name. To this day, all of my professional contacts call me "Cynthia."
But back to the quote.
I had no real idea of what it meant. It seemed to suggest that any challenges I might meet up with at this new job were not to be spoken of, to anyone. No one would be interested. I just had to bring in "the ship" - the ship being, I supposed, "great copy." Not bringing in the ship meant not delivering great copy. That's all that mattered - great copy and whether or not I could deliver it.
Trouble was, I was fresh out of graduate school, with a Master's Degree in English Literature, and I had no idea what was great copy. My dad was a "Commercial Artist" - his specialty was the air brush. All I knew about advertising I learned from my dad - and it was mostly of a graphic arts nature. My dad was a terrible speller. The rest of my knowledge base in regard to great copy was gleaned from many years of reading fashion magazines, namely Seventeen magazine in my early teenage years and later on Glamor, Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, and my dad's Esquire magazine. My ship? It was the one that sailed around Moby Dick or carried a crew of Greek soldiers in an epic novel.
My first copywriting assignment for my new boss was to write a series of form letters to policyholders of a third-party insurance plan, to alert them of several different types of situations affecting their policy and/or coverage. It was not glamorous. It was not even fun. I had no idea what I was doing. Truth be told, I only took this job because a guy I was dating seriously at the time worked nearby, and I thought he and I could meet for lunch if I worked in the vicinity. I had an interview with a book publishing company at the same time I got the call to come in for this copywriting job, and I cancelled it, thinking I'd save myself a long commute from Pennsylvania to New York City. Little did I know I'd wind up making a 70-mile round trip commute every weekday for the next twelve years. And the kind of advertising writing I'd be doing? It was called "Direct Response," namely "Direct Mail."
I read through sample after sample of direct mail packages, long envelopes stuffed with letters and brochures and things called "buckslips" that my boss collected in large boxes that had to be filed by the type of product being sold, and all I could think of is, "This reminds me of the way Evangelistic preachers speak." The letters in these direct mail packages, which I later learned people were calling "junk mail," sounded like the writer was talking directly to me, with heavy use of the word "you" and seemingly personal interjections like "Quite frankly, I can't imagine why you would not act now for this generous offer."
My one saving grace in all of this was I was a prolific letter writer, having spent an entire adolescence corresponding with pen-pals all over the world - from Finland to Hong Kong, England and Italy, Peru and Venezuela - as well as cousins and friends from my old neighborhood after we moved to another state, thus avoiding the high cost of long-distance phone calls and freaking out my dad.
Still, writing letters about insurance for my new boss was a far cry from writing to my friends about what I was doing over summer vacation or my thoughts on the latest Bruce Springsteen album. Even weirder was assuming the voice of a male Vice President of an insurance company.
My boss and I went through countless rounds of revisions. In the end, I think he indirectly wrote just about every line. We certainly wasted a lot of paper. It was excruciatingly painful.
But the world's not interested in the storms, right?
That was many years ago, and I've since concluded that the quote about the world not being interested in the storms isn't entirely gospel.
The world IS interested in the storms you encounter.
The world WANTS TO KNOW how you handled turbulence ... how you set your sail in a new direction ... and what you did to avert disaster, find success or merely just get back to smooth sailing.
So face the storms.
Then tell the world.
That's the stuff great lessons are made of - great novels, movies, documentaries, TV and reality shows, too.
1.24.2014
What Day Is It?
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