TOTAL INCOMING RANT: I write case statements for part of my comfortable six-figure income. I teach how to write case statements for another part. And for the unmatched excitement of receiving a small royalty check every quarter, I've even written a book about case statements (out soon; one of my four titles on donor communications).
I didn't guess at any of it. I read every major textbook on capital campaigns. I snagged training from two of America's leading capital campaign consulting firms; and continue to work as a contract writer of cases for one (the better-paying one). And I seek out and interview top fundraisers, people who commonly raise millions. Why? Fundraisers use case statements in face-to-face solicitations. I need to know how.
As I mentioned, I teach this topic, mostly at fundraisers' conferences, more than a dozen times this year alone. Today, for instance, I gave a webinar. Listening and watching online were development staff from 70 or so education, health care, and other organizations, many of them brand names; with 30 North American universities among them.
And here's what comes up at every workshop I do, without exception, without fail -- including today: "Well, that's fine, Tom; and I agree with you. But my dean/president/boss will never approve. He/she thinks more verbiage is better; and that jargon and lofty language are the best."
Look, we all know what we know. But sometimes people in unassailable positions (think tenured) fall into an eerie intellectual trance. They start to assume they know everything; and that what they don't know, they can easily guess at, using the mighty instrument of a big brain stamped Ph.D. Common human failing? Absolutely. Tolerable human failing in a capital campaign attempting to raise $1 billion? Please.
A case statement is a sales document. As a sales document, its success depends on many things: an understanding of applied psychology, eye-motion studies, best practices in advertising, journalistic training. To name just the cream.
A case hopes to sell a generalist, not a specialist. The University of Toronto's $1 billion campaign convinced more than 112,000 to make gifts; about half were first-time donors; 95,000 gave less than $1,000, 217 gave $1 million or more. A vast throng; most were not specialists.
Jargon-crusted, lofty-leaning, and tedious writing does not impress this crowd. It fatigues this crowd. It frustrates this crowd. It confuses this crowd. And pity the poor solicitor in a face-to-face solicitation (97% of the money is raised from 3% of the donors) who ends up blurting, "Look, I know; it's kind of vague. Here's what they're trying to say."
A competent, professional approval loop for case statements includes no one but (1) solicitors; (2) their designated writers; and (3) content experts.
Content experts check facts; that's all. They do not rewrite for style. That's not their job. That's not their expertise. A case statement is nothing like a grant proposal or a peer-reviewed article, the things a dean might in fact know how to write. Those items share no common ground with a case statement. They do not share similar target audiences.
Specialists vs. generalists, remember?
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