Power-Writing with Jeremiah the Bullfrog


Today’s Briefing is about a power-writing technique you can use immediately in all your communications, whether simple e-mails, websites, sales packages, technical reports, job applications, even arguments at the Supreme Court-- just about anything that you generate in order to get somebody to do something.

But first, about the song.

Joy to the World was song of the year in 1971, performed by Three Dog Night. The lyrics, quite frankly, didn’t make a lick of sense. But that doesn’t matter, because the song wasn’t meant to be an algebra lesson-- it was meant to get you dancing. And no matter how silly the words, they were full of playful imagery that made you laugh and move. “Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, and joy to you and me.” Seriously? But the words stuck in your head and wouldn’t go away. 

Here’s the thing: the song nailed you the first time you heard it. In fact, by the first line you were hooked, and therein is half the lesson. With the subtlety of a raging elephant, it assailed your ears and mind with JE-RE-MI-AH WAS A BULL-FROG, BONK! BONK! BONK! The raucous, screaming nonsense of the first line just nailed your attention. “What the heck was that?” you asked yourself.

And that is the first part of the brilliance of the song: right out of the gate, it nailed your attention to the wall. There was no chance you were going to turn away, because you now needed to know where this silly thing was going. 

Nothing in this song is Shakespearian, but that doesn’t matter. The opening gets you on your feet and the rest of the song keeps you laughing and dancing. That’s how and why it was written, deliberately to make you react and behave in a particular way, from beginning to end. And that’s the second part of the lesson.

Here is the complete lesson in a nutshell: if you want people to read your stuff and react as you wish, you need just two things. First, grab their attention like a bear-trap. Second, continuously control the mood and the purpose.

Don’t believe me? Try this simple experiment for a few days: Keep a scratchpad at hand and jot down notes about every lame e-mail you receive. Determine what it is that you hate about these things.

I‘m going to guess the first great evil will be the title-- too hackneyed, too histrionic, too cheesy, too long, too whatever. If you want the recipient to open the e-mail, your title needs the attention-getting appeal of a wad of cash on the sidewalk.

The second great evil you'll likely find is that you neither knew nor cared what the author was trying to say to you, or why. He lost you because he didn't control mood and purpose. And that's because he had no idea that it mattered.

(There’s often a third reason you don’t want to read the e-mail: the writer has formerly established himself in your mind as never having anything worthwhile to say. But that’s for another day.)

So, ask yourself this: if your exercise as a reader reveals these things, what do they teach you as a writer? And do these lessons also apply to, say, a Supreme Court brief or a marketing proposal?

Remember: first, an opener that grabs them by the throat, second, unrelenting attention to controlling mood and purpose.

Oh, yes, and here's the song! If you're not in the office, feel free to crank the volume right to 1970s ghetto blaster!


Forward to a friend


Can I help you or your organization? Contact me at norm@purposeful.ca or at 613-862-3489. 


Friday Briefing Archives