A few days ago, a friend of mine posted something on Facebook.
He works for a pest control company, and he was trying to reach a sales goal. Six more customers and he would earn a company cruise.
His post was simple, straightforward, and honest:
If you need your home inspected for termites let me know. I need 6 more sales to earn a free cruise so if you are a new home owner or don’t have termite service or have termite service with a company we can take care of you. Text me or send me a message and I can get you taken care of.
There was nothing particularly wrong with it.
That’s important.
It wasn’t filled with grammatical errors.
It wasn’t dishonest.
It wasn’t obnoxiously salesy.
He wasn’t making outrageous promises.
He was simply telling people what he offered and asking them to contact him if they needed it.
That’s what most of us do when we have something to sell.
We explain what we’re offering.
We tell people how to get it.
And then we wait.
But as I read his post, something bothered me.
Not because it was bad.
Because I knew there was a better story hiding inside it.
And more importantly, there was a different first impression waiting to be made.
So I sent him a message.
I didn’t want to come across as the guy correcting somebody else’s Facebook post, so I borrowed a little something I’ve learned from Chris Voss and asked him a no-oriented question:
“Would it be a bad idea if I took a crack at rewriting your post to see if we could get you a few more responses?”
No charge.
No strings attached.
I just wanted to play with the words.
He said sure.
And that’s where things got interesting.
Because I didn’t really rewrite his words.
I rewrote the moment between him and the person scrolling Facebook.
There’s a difference.
The First Few Seconds
Imagine the person reading his original post.
She’s sitting on the couch after supper.
Maybe she’s watching television.
Maybe one of the kids is asking for something.
She’s absentmindedly scrolling Facebook.
Dog picture.
Political argument.
Somebody’s vacation.
Advertisement.
Birthday.
Meme.
Then she reaches my friend’s post:
If you need your home inspected for termites let me know.
There’s nothing wrong with that sentence.
But unless she happens to be thinking about termites at that exact moment, there’s a good chance her thumb keeps moving.
Why?
Because the sentence requires her to already care.
That’s the problem with a tremendous amount of business writing.
We begin where we are.
Not where the reader is.
My friend was thinking about termite inspections.
Of course he was.
He works in pest control.
He was thinking about sales.
He needed six more.
He was thinking about that cruise.
All perfectly reasonable things for him to be thinking about.
But the homeowner wasn’t thinking about any of those things.
She was thinking about whatever was happening in her life at that moment.
So before we could sell termite protection, we had to cross a small but incredibly important bridge.
We had to answer the question she wasn’t consciously asking:
Why should I care?
Finding the Real Beginning
I started thinking about termites.
Not as a copywriter.
As a homeowner.
What makes termites concerning?
They’re not particularly terrifying.
Nobody sees a termite and runs screaming from the house.
They’re not like snakes.
They’re not even like roaches.
The problem with termites is almost the opposite.
You often don’t see them.
That’s the story.
The damage can be happening before you realize there’s a problem.
Suddenly I knew where the post needed to begin.
Not with:
If you need your home inspected…
But with:
Most people never think about termites… until they discover they’re already there.
Now we’ve changed the conversation.
The reader doesn’t have to already be shopping for termite protection.
We’ve given her a reason to think about termites.
And then:
By then, the damage can be expensive.
That’s it.
Two sentences.
No screaming.
No fearmongering.
No:
YOUR HOME COULD BE DESTROYED RIGHT NOW!!!
No manipulation.
Just a simple truth that connects the service to something the homeowner already cares about.
Her home.
Now we’ve earned the right to continue the conversation.
Making the Reader the Main Character
The next part of the original post was primarily about my friend.
He needed six sales.
He wanted the cruise.
Again, there’s nothing wrong with that.
In fact, I liked the honesty of it.
I didn’t want to remove it.
But it shouldn’t be the reason someone buys termite protection.
So we changed the order.
The rewrite continued:
Whether you’ve just bought a home, have never had termite protection, or you’re wondering if you’re getting the best value from your current provider, I’d be happy to take a look and answer your questions.
No pressure. Just honest information to help you protect one of your biggest investments.
Notice what happened.
We’re still talking about the exact same service.
But now we’re identifying the people who might need it.
New homeowner?
This could be for you.
No termite protection?
This could be for you.
Already using another company but wondering about your options?
This could be for you too.
We’re helping the reader locate herself inside the message.
That’s something good writing does extraordinarily well.
It doesn’t merely communicate information.
It creates recognition.
The reader begins thinking:
“Wait. He’s talking about me.”
That’s a very different experience from reading an advertisement.
Don’t Hide the Human Part
Then came the cruise.
We could have removed it completely.
A traditional marketing approach might argue that the customer’s only concern should be the benefit to them.
I disagree.
People buy from people.
And my friend’s original post contained something wonderfully human.
He had a goal.
Why hide it?
We simply moved it to the proper place.
And yes, full disclosure… I’m trying to reach a personal goal and need 6 more new customers to earn a company cruise. If you’ve been thinking about getting termite protection anyway, I’d truly appreciate the opportunity to earn your business.
I love the phrase full disclosure here.
We’re not pretending the post is purely altruistic.
He’s selling something.
He knows it.
The reader knows it.
So let’s not play games.
But notice the difference between:
I need six sales so I can earn a cruise.
and:
If you’ve been thinking about getting termite protection anyway, I’d truly appreciate the opportunity to earn your business.
Same cruise.
Different posture.
One says:
Help me get what I want.
The other says:
If you already need what I provide, I’d appreciate the opportunity to serve you.
That’s a small change in language.
But it’s a huge change in first impression.
Then Make the Next Step Easy
We ended with:
Send me a message or text me, and let’s see what we can do to protect your home.
Nothing fancy.
No seventeen-step sales funnel.
No manufactured scarcity.
No countdown clock.
Just a conversation.
Because that’s all the post needed to accomplish.
It didn’t need to sell termite protection.
It needed to make the right person comfortable enough to send a message.
That’s another mistake I see constantly in business writing.
We ask one piece of writing to do too much.
Your Facebook post doesn’t necessarily need to close a $1,000 sale.
Your homepage doesn’t need to answer every possible question about your company.
Your brochure doesn’t need to tell the complete history of the business.
Each piece has a job.
Know the job.
Then write toward it.
For my friend’s post, the job was simple:
Make homeowners care enough about termite protection to start a conversation.
Once we understood that, the words became much easier.
He Used It
I sent him the rewrite.
He liked it.
And he used it.
That little exchange stuck with me more than I expected.
Because it helped me put language around something I’ve been doing in one form or another for years.
I don’t particularly enjoy changing words just for the sake of changing words.
I’m not interested in making a sentence sound fancier.
And I certainly don’t believe every piece of writing needs clever copywriting tricks.
What interests me is the moment on the other side of the words.
What does the reader think?
What does she feel?
What does she understand?
What question enters her mind?
Does she keep reading?
Does she trust the person speaking?
Does she recognize herself?
Does she know what to do next?
In other words:
What first impression did those words create?
That’s the real work.
Your Words Are Usually Meeting People Before You Do
Think about how often this happens.
Someone hears your name and looks up your website.
Before they shake your hand, they’ve read your homepage.
A potential customer finds your business on Google.
Before they call you, they’ve read your business description.
Someone recommends you on Facebook.
Before sending you a message, they scroll through your last five posts.
A company receives your proposal.
A church reads your ministry biography.
A conference organizer reads your speaker page.
A reader opens your book and reads the first paragraph.
Your words walked into the room before you did.
And within seconds, they’re creating an impression.
Professional.
Cold.
Warm.
Confusing.
Trustworthy.
Generic.
Human.
Corporate.
Interesting.
Forgettable.
The reader is forming an opinion before you’ve ever had the opportunity to explain yourself.
That’s why this work matters.
Most Bad Writing Isn’t Actually Bad
Here’s something else I’ve learned.
Most of the business writing I see isn’t terrible.
It’s just unfinished.
The person who wrote it knows too much.
They know their company.
They know the service.
They know the history.
They know the industry terminology.
They know why customers should care.
And because all of that is obvious to them, they assume it’s obvious to everyone else.
It isn’t.
That’s why an outside set of eyes can be so valuable.
I don’t know what you meant.
I only know what you said.
That’s exactly where your customer starts.
When I look at a piece of writing, I’m asking questions like:
Where did I lose interest?
What am I confused about?
Why does this matter?
Who is this for?
What problem are we actually solving?
What do you want me to do next?
And perhaps the most important question:
Does this sound like a real human being?
Those questions matter far more to me than whether you’ve used the perfect marketing formula.
The Same Principle Works Almost Everywhere
Take an About page.
Most begin something like:
ABC Company was founded in 1987 and has proudly served the tri-state area for more than 35 years.
Nothing wrong with that.
But imagine instead:
When your heat goes out at two o’clock in the morning, you don’t care how many trucks we own. You want to know somebody is coming.
Now I want to know more.
Or a professional biography:
Dr. Smith received her degree from…
Maybe that’s important.
But perhaps the reader first needs:
Dr. Smith became a pediatric dentist because she remembers exactly what it felt like to be afraid of the dentist as a child.
Now I’ve met a person.
Or the martial arts school homepage:
We teach traditional martial arts to children and adults.
Fine.
But compare that with:
Build confidence. Learn real self-defense. Become your best.
One explains the service.
The other begins creating the experience.
That’s what I mean when I say I rewrite first impressions.
Clear Beats Clever
There’s a temptation when someone hires a writer to believe we’re supposed to sprinkle magic words over everything.
We’re not.
At least I’m not.
Sometimes the best rewrite is shorter.
Sometimes it’s longer.
Sometimes the original sentence is already perfect and should be left alone.
Sometimes all we need to do is move the third paragraph to the beginning.
That’s essentially what happened with the termite post.
The ingredients were already there.
Termite protection.
Homeowners.
A personal sales goal.
A way to contact him.
I didn’t invent the substance.
I changed the order in which the reader encountered it.
That’s an important distinction.
Because good writing doesn’t always require saying something new.
Sometimes it requires helping people see what’s already there.
This Goes Beyond Marketing
I’ve seen the same thing in counseling.
Someone sits across from me and talks for twenty minutes.
They tell me what happened.
They tell me what somebody said.
They tell me what they’ve been thinking.
Then they stop.
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
But somewhere inside everything they’ve just told me is usually a sentence.
A sentence they’ve been circling around.
Sometimes I’ll say it back to them.
They get quiet.
Then:
“Yes.”
That’s it.
That’s what I’ve been trying to say.
Those moments have taught me a lot about writing.
People often know more than they think they know.
They have the raw material.
They just need help finding the thread.
Businesses aren’t that different.
The owner usually knows exactly why the company matters.
The pastor knows what he’s trying to communicate.
The author knows the story.
The contractor knows why his approach is different.
The counselor knows how she helps people.
The problem isn’t always a lack of ideas.
Sometimes they simply can’t see the message because they’re standing too close to it.
That’s where another writer can help.
Bring Me the Rough Stuff
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to the smaller writing jobs other people seem to hate.
The awkward email.
The outdated About page.
The Facebook post that isn’t getting any response.
The brochure that’s been sitting unfinished for six months.
The biography that sounds like it was written by a committee.
The homepage that technically explains everything but somehow says nothing.
The half-written newsletter.
The notes for a speech.
The bullet points for a sales letter.
The voice memo that begins:
“Okay, I don’t really know how to say this, but…”
Bring me that.
I love that stuff.
Because I don’t need you to hand me a finished piece of writing.
That’s rather the point.
Give me the raw material.
Tell me who needs to hear it.
Tell me what you want them to understand.
Tell me what you hope happens next.
Then we can find the words.
What Are Your Words Saying Before You Arrive?
That’s the question I’d encourage you to consider today.
Pull up your business website.
Read the first paragraph.
Look at your most recent Facebook post.
Open the email you’ve been meaning to send.
Read your About page.
Don’t ask:
“Is this grammatically correct?”
Ask:
“What first impression does this create?”
Does it sound like you?
Does the reader know why she should care?
Have you begun with what’s important to you, or what’s important to her?
Does she understand what you actually do?
Does she know what to do next?
Would you keep reading if this weren’t your business?
Those questions can be uncomfortable.
They’re also useful.
Because sometimes you don’t need a new website.
You don’t need another marketing campaign.
You don’t need more content.
You don’t need to post seven times a day.
Sometimes you just need to look at the words you’re already using and ask whether they’re creating the impression you intended.
That’s the kind of writing work I want to do more of.
Not making businesses sound like marketers.
Making them sound more like themselves.
Only clearer.
More intentional.
More understandable.
More human.
Because whether you’re selling termite protection, teaching karate, counseling someone through anxiety, introducing your company, writing a book, or sending an important email…
Your words are often going to arrive before you do.
Make sure they’re introducing you well.
And if you’ve ever looked at something you wrote and thought,
“It just doesn’t sound right,”
that’s exactly the kind of work I love.