The Little Words Mean the Most

Ya: it gives me, Walter Palmer, pleasure

To shoot the world's most beloved lion, except maybe that animated one. Which is paint. Shoot him with my arrow in -- OK, slightly outside -- his natural and protected habitat. Using cunning stuff and tons of ready cash. But I WAS WRONG! {instincts scream} Blame someone! "Unreliable guides. I'm an innocent victim. Just like Cedric. Walter = Cedric. Lion down. Hunter down. We're linked! Look, the reception...." Attorney: "Walter, you're breaking...." Dead.

Share this with every fundraiser you know

Here's a link to a hi-res downloadable PDF. Here's Ian's post explaining it all, because it's pretty f.ing brilliant.

I did not want to grow up a robot.

I was not fully ready for the acrimony in my head. Maybe a robot is best! For the prevailing worldview.

How have I missed it all these years?

My audience is misfits. Me too. Like everyone.

I LOVE YOU!!!

New team-building exercise

 

I've been introduced. Standing there. New audience. Staff at a monster-good nonprofit. Confident audience ("Hey, I work in NYC."). But still too f.ing polite.

Break the silence. "What do you know about me? I'm a donor."

Them. Hesitancy. Staring. Wish to say something. Don't want to be wrong. Brains screaming, "Tell me the boundaries?!"

So I say, "I'm overweight. Yes, I am. My house actually has mirrors. I'm fat ... like more than 50% of Americans. Skinny is the new minority. If your donors were all fat, which more than half are, would that bother you? You see what I'm saying. So I'm fat ... but then that makes me a verified trend. By the way: there is a nicer way to say 'you're fat' to your dearest friends: 'Maybe you're just too short for your weight.' I learn so much from my local NPR radio station, WGBH. Thank you! & yes, we give."

Look around: OK, now the audience gets it. Though still hesitant. ("Everyone says this beer is good but should I take a chance?")

Note to self: Until you get people working on some problem, there's no energy in the room.

Let's just plod a bit further.

I say, with hand gestures. "You can see I'm not stylish." Finally: couple of quick, cheerful nods.

"I wear fat clothes. Dark clothes, drapes to cover my belly. Until I got married ... ooh, warning footnote there ... I was slender as a reed. Now I'm slender as a 55-gallon drum. Simone has chosen not to say a thing about my weight gain throughout our marriage, which has lasted 31 years. In her kindness, she pretends to be fat in this place or that. And she's not."

We're getting there. I see minds escape the prisons of being kind and respectful and polite and neutral. You don't have to pretend the fat are skinny. You don't have to pretend the old are young. You don't have to pretend.

Perfect. NOW we can critique.

"I'm old. You'll be old too someday. When did that become a stamp of uselessness? The old are in their f.ing prime! They've seen every clusterf*ck you can possibly imagine." That's a first draft. I probably should trim the expletives deleted.

"You know what's great about being old? You really no longer give a shit about so many things. Minor things like your appearance drift off into space. 'Why did I care about that?' Of course, good hygiene makes friends. Do keep that in mind when you get that age. Talking personally here."

My father believed in leprechauns, due to personal experience

Some background information, to get you started.

[more to come]

on the ticker

"THE MARKET FOR BRUISED EGOS COLLAPSED TODAY. SOME BLAME THE GREEKS. SOME BLAME THE EURO." IN TRUTH, IT SEEMS TO BE GLOBAL. SEISMIC AND PLANETARY.

new T

Bruised egos. 10¢ a dozen

why i did not write your charity's direct mail appeal (thank god!)

1. You weren't serious. You mail fewer than 3 appeals a year to your base: classic under-soliciting. What's the point? Where did you people learn this stuff?
2. You needed a rush job. You recall that friendly old sign at the village copy shop? "Your lack of planning is not my emergency." Gosh, I loved that sign. Direct mail is stressful enough without artificial deadlines. I haven't had a drive-up window for years. It takes 6 months from inquiry to start of project.
   
3. You wanted to be on top. I insist that new direct mail clients abide by my perfectly sensible Verbatim Rule: "Amateurs will NOT fiddle. Unless you are an accomplished direct mail writer in your own right, you will not change one single glorious and embarrassing (to you) word I write, except to correct factual errors."

I don't kill mosquitoes in my office....

...I kill Post-It Notes. Every to-do gets its own note. Some days you can shingle a birdhouse roof with the number of things you get done. As all parents know. {signed, An Admirer}