An open letter to so-called SEO experts

Dear so-called “SEO Experts,”

As you may have noticed (since I’m sure you have carefully read through my website before attempting to contact me, rather than heading straight for the “Contact” page), I am a highly competent writer with many years of experience writing specifically for the web. While I appreciate your concern that my “SEO” might need help, and have received your ultra-spammy email indicating that, for a fee, you would be glad to help me out, you might want to address a few concerns I have regarding your tactics:

  1. When I say your email was “spammy,” I mean that it had a certain odor indicating a lack of professionalism. In fact, it reeked of the types of tactics employed by robots, which made me question your humanity altogether, and certainly did not make me want to further a conversation about search engine optimization.
  2. Speaking of which, please don’t ever use the term “SEO” on me again. I know what it stands for (see above), and despite the fact that I’m sure there are people out there who are properly trained to optimize websites for search engines, I doubt you are one of them. The term itself is associated with spammers and other scumbags, who seek to persuade people that there is a “quick fix” for getting your website ranked #1 at “the Google.”
  3. Certainly, there are good tools for optimization efforts out there (like the inexpensive SEO School by Naomi Dunford, which even has a money-back guarantee), but I would never buy them from someone who didn’t even take the time to address me by my proper name in the opening line of their email. If you don’t know what my name is, you aren’t even trying. Perhaps you are legally blind, and your computer’s Stephen Hawking voice has been temporarily muted? Seriously, it’s not like I’ve concealed my identity here. Your lack of personalization gives you away, spammer.
  4. Considering the possibility that you actually know anything at all about optimizing websites, you should be aware that I have many tags on my posts, some pretty eye-catching headlines, and some well-ranked pages, including one about writing scams and content mills. I am, in fact, the #3 page that comes up when searching for my (frightfully common) name on Google, and that suits me fine. The two that rank higher than me are Laura Roberts, MD and a consulting firm that has managed to capture my full name for their URL. It’s not like I’m behind loads of content aggregators and such, so I must have some idea about how to work the great Google machine, no?

In closing, no, I have no need of your supposed skills at this time. But even if I did, you should probably try sending me a personalized message first, asking if I might be interested in what you do, including a proper link to your website and some contact info that ventures into the real world (i.e. phone number, physical business address) that would make me feel like you are working at a reputable company that might actually have a clue.

Just my two-bucks worth (as time is money),
Laura Roberts, Professional Writer

Copywriting: J. Peterman’s style

I recently approached a previous client regarding the possibility of more copywriting work, emboldened by The Well-Fed Writer’s claims that cold calling works, but “lukewarm calling” is often more lucrative. The editor I queried wrote back to ask if I had any experience writing in the style of the inimitable J. Peterman.

I promptly went to the J. Peterman website, perused some of their copy, and set to work spinning a few Peterman-esque short tales of my own that might work for the client’s website, using some of their current merchandise as inspiration.

I also posted on Twitter about it, saying “One potential employer I contacted wants copy in the form of the J. Peterman catalogue. I’ve been browsing the monocle: http://bit.ly/65wW0l.” (Seriously, who can pass up a real, honest-to-goodness monocle?!)

J. Peterman is, naturally, on Twitter, and responded accordingly:

Unfortunately, I’m still in suspense myself. But I promise to let you all know if I do end up landing any work of this type, as I will clearly be shadowing the footsteps of genius.

And, of course, watching all of the old Seinfeld episodes with Peterman in them to serve as a secondary source of inspiration. Despite the show’s ribbing, they did manage to get Peterman’s sometimes overblown tone down, emphasizing the fine line between creative copy and impenetrably ridiculous wordsmithing (see, for example, the episode entitled “The Foundation,” where Elaine takes over for Peterman and puts the “urban sombrero” on the cover of the catalogue). Still, the real J. Peterman’s descriptions do work well: if you’ve ever read through the catalogue, you’ll find yourself agreeing with the company’s Twitter summary of what they do: “People want things that are hard to find. Things that have romance, but a factual romance, about them.”

In short, J. Peterman’s style is about both romantic product descriptions and the whiff of exclusion. Not everyone can afford the items for sale in the catalogue, and that’s what gives them an edge. It’s this idea that the product you are buying is, if not one-of-a-kind, then at least one-of-very-few. It’s that rarity that puts the item in demand, and the copywriter’s sexy description helps nudge the customer’s hand toward the “buy now” button. It’s an elegant form of salesmanship, and one that clearly gets results, as the company has been thriving since 1987.

It also makes for a great writing exercise, as demonstrated by this article in Writing Fix, “A Six-Trait Writing Lesson That Uses the J. Peterman Catalogue.” (Seriously, try it. You’ll be waxing lyrical in no time!)

In the meantime, if anyone would care to gift me with one of Peterman’s (discounted) Get Around Vespa Jackets, I promise to use this inspiration toward writing brilliant copy for the sender of said inspiration. Hey, J. Peterman: need any new writers for your site? Will work for designer duds*!

*Fee negotiable