If you’re in marketing, you know the name Joe Sugarman. If you don’t, shut this down, go buy his book and take the week or weekend off, I’ll be here when you come back and we can move forward then.
Seriously, if you want to understand great copywriting, take time studying what Joe Sugarman writes about it, and what he did to take it to new heights. He is a legend in copywriting for a reason, and there is so much to learn from him — both directly from his writing on the subject and from his example.
Don’t get these two things mixed up.
Copywriting and content writing are different from one another, and they have different objectives and goals. They serve different projects. And if you get them mixed up on a proposal you could cost yourself the whole job. Still worse, if you don’t understand the purpose of each of these styles of writing, you could waste hours and hours of precious time working toward goals that one form of writing or the other was never meant to do.
If you’re just entering the world of copywriting or thinking about it, you don’t want to…
“It’s the damnedest thing,” I said. “So, you didn’t send it?”
“How would I have sent it? You said it didn’t have a stamp or return address or nothing?” Lillith’s voice said across the receiver. She was getting irritated.
“No, you’re right. It just feels off somehow,” I said.
“Well, open it and end the mystery babe,” she said.
“I tried that, trust me, I’ve tried everything,” I said, looking at the butcher knife I’d been using to cut almost everything but the brown paper box with. My hand had a thin red line across three fingers and the small…
I woke up drowning, or very close to it.
I had no sense of direction, no idea how long I had been here, or where here even was. I felt my lungs burning.
I was a dead man waiting to catch up with his death.
And then something thin with a sharp barb that snagged my collar and scratched my neck just enough to give me a kiss of pain and draw blood.
It wasn’t enough to pull me from the water, but it was enough to give me a sense of which direction was up. I swam toward it…
Let’s cuddle up close on the old porch swing, watching lightning bugs write little love notes on the night sky just above the field of wildflowers
Tucking little kisses in the swing swing motion of our little moment, hugged up close and melting together
Lay your head on my chest and peek little peeks, I’ll grin your favorite lopsided grin and kiss you with little kisses when you do
Let’s grab that old fuzzy blanket we love so much and head out to the old tree next to the fallen down fence and wrap ourselves up in each other’s arms
A wolf doesn’t have to eat you for it to swallow you whole. That’s what I learned in the Summer of 1980. I was about to meet the man who called himself Marigold. It was just after Mount St. Helen blew her top and the world wobbled a little differently, the Summer that strange things happened and mysteries found their way into my life. It was the Summer I died.
I found myself walking the little dirt road to his house around noon, the Sun sitting high over me, bright and cheerful. My head felt fuzzy, confused about where I…
There’s a lot of noise out there about how to write, but so little that really explains how to write online specifically.
It might seem like a subtle difference, but writing online is different than other forms of writing. There are a lot of layers to being successful across various platforms and online publications and if you want to write the kinds of things that an online audience will not only love and share but keep coming back to you for more of, pay attention. …
Hi beautiful, I whisper, kissing you as you sleep in just a little
I set a big cup of coffee on the table beside you, grinning your favorite lopsided grin as I set a little love note beside it
Let’s cuddle up close like it’s Fall already, kissing and cuddling and wrapping up in that old fuzzy blanket we love so much
Lace your fingers with mine and scoot in close babe, let’s go to Church and peek little peeks and tuck so much in between the sermon and worship songs
I love those early morning coffee kisses, that sleepy…
It was the Dog Days of August when the creeks all dried up. What water was left went sour and the little pond up at Joe Parker’s farm — the farm nearest mine and Nelly’s childhood home — had gone green with stink and lack of stir; everything that late summer was an ugly mix of hot sweat and humidity.
And despite all of this heat, this is a story of a frozen pond and the mystery that created it.
My sister Nelly, my good buddy Leroy, and I had heard our folks talking at length about the strange carpenter…