No country for private men (and women)

Living in a small town reminds me of the differences between country people and city people.

The city is cold, impersonal, friendly but mostly distrusting. Even friends and neighbours are merely acquaintances. The neighbours can hear you fart in the shower. The streetlights light up the neighborhood and the same farting neighbours can see you naked through your window.

In a village, everyone knows everyone. You are so and so’s cousin, or you grew up with Jimmy’s son or daughter. You worked with my mom. You can't hide from your reputation and everyone knows the shit that kept your parents up at night. 

They even know your love interests...all of them since you were five...

If you grew up in a small town, there are few strangers. 

Those who move to town are outsiders but eventually someone nosey enough finds out who bought the Dave Johnson property.

Country folk do that. They name the property after the owner. The owner could be dead for 20 years but the house will still be referred to as the Dave Johnson property.

The newcomers are outsiders. Eventually they get indoctrinated into the community. Because there are no strangers in a community where everyone knows everyone.

I’m one of those newcomers. I come from the country but moved to a new town where I didn't grow up.  

No one knows me. 

They don't know my parents, grandparents, cousins, uncles or friends.

They don't know the shit I did when I was a youngster.

They know the house I bought. It's Sylvie's house, even though I have proof she sold it to us.

I love small towns. 

I witnessed the interactions between six people on this spring morning. We were waiting for the bank to open. Three people were giving each other hugs. They were joking, laughing, consoling and asking how each other’s parents were. The last time I witnessed something like this in the city was at Christmas. But on this April morning, it looks like this could be a daily occurrence in this small town. 

The sense of community was beautiful.

And that’s why I moved to a small town. No one sees me naked. No one hears me fart in the shower. And the sense of community inspires me to be a better person. Even though my house will always be referred to as someone else's.

Choice is all we have

Speaking with a young teen reminded me the importance of choice.

It's all we have.
Money comes and goes.
Material possessions break.
Even love wanders around like sunshine.

We choose,
Therefore we have or have not.

From the time we leave the protection of our parents,
The choices become real.

To buy or sell.
To move or stay.
To spend or save.
To walk or run.

Friends, jobs, businesses, partners.
It's all our choice.

Bad choices cause problems.
Bad choices layered on bad choices is called bad luck.
Bad choices twice layered on other bad choices warrant panic.

The life we live is ours and ours alone.
No one is responsible for our outcomes except us,
And the choices we make.

So the next time you are in a situation that isn't what you wanted,
Ask yourself what do you own in the problem?
Don't beat yourself up about poor choices.

Fix it. Find a good choice to make, then make it.
Good choices layered on a good choice is considered luck.
Good choices twice layered on good choice warrants celebration.

At the time, we don't always know what is a good choice and a bad one.
Unless we're hurting someone.

Ask yourself next time you're faced with a challenging decision, "What is the consequence of this decision on others".
If you're hurting more people than you are helping, it's probably a bad decision.

You are powerful in your choices.
Use it wisely.

Those you affect also have choices.
They have the power to hurt you too.

A selfish mentality generates turmoil as bad situations keep returning.
A selfless mentality powers happiness.

And happiness is the key to living a fulfilling life.

It's your choice: Be happy or not.

Depression through mine own eyes.

You decide
or You don't decide
The choice is yours
Or not yours,

You are, who you think you are
or You are who they think you are
You are both
or neither,

You are sad
or You are happy
You are both
or neither,

You are what you have
or You are what you want
You are both,
or neither,

You are your thoughts
or You are your actions
You are both
or neither,

You are Nothing
or You are Everything
You are both
or neither,

You are Mortal
or You are immortal
You are both
or neither,

You decide
Or Don't

Happy or Sad
Or neither

YOU choose.
Or don't.

The darkness is unbearable,
The light is unthinkable,
The consequence is unknowable,
The choice is unmentionable,

You are not ALONE.
Although you feel ALONE.

TOGETHER we can get through it.
TOGETHER we will survive.
TOGETHER we will be happy AGAIN.

TOGETHER...

You love drama, even if you won't admit to it...

Don't misinterpret Drama with Gossip. Drama in my vocabulary is the usage of storytelling to create a mental interpretation in the heads of the audience.

There is a gatekeeper in our human brains.
The Wizard of Ads calls this gatekeeper, Broca.
Broca doesn't like to be bored.
He will not let messages through to the brain unless you excite him.
There are four ways to get past the gatekeeper.

1. Subliminally
2. Using of anapestic metre
3. Humour
4. Drama

Today's blog is about Drama.

If you're trying to sell something, the usage of story has the power to pull a buyer into your world.  J. Peterman did it for years in his catalogues and you can too.

Here's an example of J. Peterman story for selling a pair of pants.

**************

1889.

A hurricane with gusts of eighty miles per hour tears through New York.

A crowd gathers to watch New York’s first skyscraper collapse.

The architect climbs up the scaffolding of the building.

Despite the hurricane, he reaches the top, jumps to his feet, waving his hat in triumph.

A gust knocks him over, skidding him to the edge of the scaffold.

At the very last moment, he grabs a rope and saves himself.

After climbing down he calmly stated, “The building stood as steady as a rock in the sea.”

Men’s Pure Wool Pants (No. 4898). Finely woven. A slightly bolder pattern than typical wool pants. Requires no exceptional acts of courage to wear. Looks particularly dashing with a black turtleneck. Classic fit, two front pleats. Lined to knee. Made in Portugal.

Please allow an additional 2-3 business days for alterations.

**********************

Tell a story, no different than when you were 10 years old.
You told anyone who would listen.
You rambled.
You embellished, slightly.
Your eyes widened and your words sped up with excitement.

And people listened. You captured an audience. Not because of the wild story but because of the way you told it.

I wrote an ad to sell a used blender on kijiji.
The story is true.
Aline and I used to make rum daiquiris to stay cool in the summer.
No where in the ad copy did I explain the age, features, benefits of the blender.
In the words of the Wizard of Ads Roy Williams, I left the unimportant "under water".

The original ad, "Blender, with ice crush function" $15 was up for a week, with 11 views.
And no sale.  
Not even a tweet of interest.

I changed the ad to play around with ad copy.
I was "farting around".

The best part of this ad is that I sold the blender the first day the new copy was used. And I received FULL asking price from the first courter.

Here's my "farting around" ad:

*********************************************************************

This blender was built for those lazy summer days. 
It's hard to imagine those dog daysi n the middle of March, when the temperature hovers around -4 degrees. 

You know it's coming. Those days when it's so hot outside, the sweat beads down your back the minute you go outside. 

You don't have a/c in the house so you depend on the floor fan to keep the air moving so you don't die of heat exhaustion. 

You don't feel like doing anything because the humidity is thicker than your mother in law's turkey gravy. Funny enough, you don't like moving after her gravy either. 

There are only two things you can do on those heat wrenched days. 

1. Get out of the house and go somewhere cooler (the mall, a friends house, the beach). 

2. Get some liquor, crush up some ice and serve rum daiquiris. 

We didn't have any friends with a/c. I hate the mall. And my body wasn't built for the beach. 

So we opted for number 2. This blender makes a mean strawberry daiquiri. It kept the wife and I cool for all those humid summers with its ice crush option. 

There are other options on it, but I only remember using the crush ice option. I probably used other options, but after a few of my daiquiries, the memory blurrs. 

One batch makes enough daiquiri to ward off all the sweat demons and helps you sleep through the heat infested evening. 

I don't know how I would have survived those summers without this blender. 

We moved and the new house had a/c. 

We don't use the blender anymore. 

So if you don't have a/c, hate the mall, don't have friends with a/c and don't have a beach body, I have the best option for you. 

Get a blender that crushes ice and have a few cold daiquiris.

***************************************************************

The usage of drama and storytelling pulls a reader into your world. Some won't care. 
In this case, I didn't need SOME. 
I needed ONE.

One of the biggest mistakes salespeople make is they think they need to appeal to EVERYONE.
That's not true.
They need a SMALL percentage of the market to have a more business than they can handle.

I found my ONE customer and now I have $15 where a blender once stood. 

Can you be honest and tell me you don't like drama? 

Think of all those stories from your childhood,
Or the stories you pay to see at the local theatre, 
Or the stories of an ad from J. Peterman.


If you want to use the power of DRAMA and storytelling to market your products, you can contact me at ricknicholson@wizardofads.com.

Get into their heads

You are busy.

The last thing you need is to be told you need that new gadget.

So you ignore the message.

You will not do something unless you've already gone there in your mind.

It's the job of the advertiser to get you there.

Marketing's job is to get in your customer's head.

Factual ads detailing features and benefits appeal to the left brain.

The left brain is responsible for logic and analysis.

Marketing's job is to get in your customer's head.

For them to remember the ad.

To recall the company.

To want the product.

Marketing's job is to create an emotion within the customer.

For them to remember the ad.

To recall the company.

To want the product.

Factual ads cannot do that.

The key to results based marketing is emotional based advertising.

Emotion is not linear or factual.

It's non linear.

It lives in the right hemisphere of the brain.

The right-brain wants to be entertained. It desires creativity. It thrives on ideas.

Will any old marketing work?

The simple answer is Yes.

But it means, that the customer has to ALREADY be in the market to buy when they hear the factual message.

They are ALREADY there.

Here's why you don't want to do any old marketing.

1. Your competitors are already doing it.

2. No one knows why you're better.

3. No one cares you exist.

4. They don't need you. They already have the product or service from someone else.

5. You'll waste a bunch of money and will think marketing doesn't work in your category.

6. If you haven't convinced them you are different, they will decide for themselves based on convenience, location and price. 

7. Price is a terrible marketing differentiator.

The key to get marketing to work is very simple.

1. Come up with a compelling message that no one else dares say.

2. Tell as many people as you can as effectively as you can.

3. Get in the customer's brain even when they don't see/hear your marketing.

4. Talk to your target audience a minimum of 3 times per week with a words that keeps changing but the message is the same.

If you do this, your cash register will be so full that you will need a bucket under the counter to throw in the extra cash to keep it from falling on the floor.

Tomorrow I'm going to show you an example of how to get in your customers' heads using Kijiji ads.

If you want to figure out how to get in your customers heads with your marketing, you can reach me at ricknicholson@wizardofads.com.

Witnessing a woman's pain

The empty face.
The wet eyes.
The dry voice.
The grey colour.

Emotional pain hurts,
Not only those inflicted,
Also the affected others.

There is no bandaid
Or a mother's kiss
That makes the pain
Disappear.

There is no magical cure
or wave of the wand
That makes the pain
Dissipate

There is only pain.
Deep, emotional, raw
Pain.

Life must go on,
Why?
No one knows how,
Except to take another step.

The heart is lured to quit
The soul is tantalized to wonder why
When the real question might be "Why not".

Why does this have to happen?
What purpose does it serve?
Except to hurt,
To pain,
To kill emotionally.

I've witnessed this pain four times.
Four STRONG women scammed by their emotions

Backstabbed by their Love.
Not of their fault.
That's why women are special,
Their ability to love,
Is unconditional!

Women are connected to their emotions.
So they cry...
Men cry too, but in a different way.

In my life,
Four times, women have been double crossed by their Love.
Four times... They wept uncontrollably
Four times... I cried for them uncontrollably
Four times... I cried with them uncontrollably
Four times... I hurt uncontrollably
Maybe I witnessed what it was like to be a woman.
For Four brief moments.

A cloudy, lonely pain,
As delicious as an uncooked steak.
As desirable as Disneyworld during a hurricane.

Four times, I sat and cried
Out loud,
Alone,
Hurt,
Uncontrollably,

Four times the image was the same.

Four times,
Empty.
Wet.
Dry.
Grey.

Four times...



This poem is dedicated to the four strong women who continue to influence my life. 

Your DNA will never forget, even after your gone

I am a product of my experiences. So are you.

Life has an ability to rip open our souls to teach us a lesson. When we don’t listen, the cut goes deeper and takes longer to heal.

Souls aren't worth one lifetime. They are the result of many lifetimes.  

Our DNA never forgets. It trains us like a herd of Pavlov dog’s to act predictably.

It is not only my experiences that dictates my actions and beliefs, it is also those of my parents, grandparents and great, great grandparents.

Their most important experiences created beliefs and thus their parenting styles. These styles are carried through generations and get fused into our DNA.

The lesser beliefs get lost. The unburdened get tossed. The strong ones gets carried to the next generation.

I don't think I'm like my dad, there's a cheapness about me that is easily recognizable in in my dad. I thought it ended there. My grandparents weren't cheap. They were poor. There's a difference between inability to pay and unwillingness to pay.

My friend David told me a story about a Scottish stereotype that they were cheap. 

Frugality is a trait found in Scottish families.  They aren’t lavish, show-offs. They keep their wallets close and save for the rainy day.  Nicholson is a Scottish clan.  So maybe, I come from a family that has been conditioned for centuries to be cheap. 

But what about my inability to accept authority?

Myers Briggs categorizes me an INFP: "Moderator". A moderator hates authority, needs to be included in decisions, does not like to be told what to do.

It is possible my INFP personality is something I learned and have been conditioned for.

I don't know where my hatred of authority comes from. My family wasn’t controlling.

In childhood, I wasn't overly controlled, except for two memorable times in school. There was the Jacket Judge of 1990 and the Detention Obstention of 1989

I was an A student, so the school rules seemed slacker for me. I would stand to defy the teacher, like a politician debating a writ into law. 

This story is about the Detention Obsention. The class was out of control. Jamie P was throwing erasers at Tommy B. Jason T was farting and making David H laugh uncontrollably. Even the girls were losing their minds with constant laughter and chitter chatter. In the midst of anarchy and full moons, literally, Ms Bourque lost her mind and put the entire class into detention at lunch time. 

I was laughing but not one of the antagonists. 
I thought the punishment wasn't appropriate for me. 
So I chose to boycott her detention. 

I went to the public library instead. The library was directly across the street from school and I had a general permission slip from my mom to leave school grounds at lunch time. I didn't need the books. I was hiding and silently objecting to Ms. Bourque's rule. After picking out two books, I made sure to catch the last moments of jail time. 

Ms. Bourque looked at me with the same disappointment my grandmother looked at me when I tormented my younger sister to tears. 
I argued the punishment didn’t fit the crime. 
I explained my plans trumped hers. 
And she didn’t have authority over my plans. 

But that day, I saw Ms Bourque’s face, under her mask of blush turn fire engine red. Her little orange-haired head bobbed back and forth like it was about to boil over the top. Her tongue was wrapped around her molars so tight that she barely squeezed out six words, “The rest of you can go”. 

I sat there for seconds, but it felt like an hour. Not a word was spoken until the bell blasted through the silence, signalling the end of lunch. She murmured while glaring into my soul with, “We have another date tomorrow”.  In which I quipped, “Not if I have something better planned”.  The next day, I decided it was in my best interest to spend time with Ms Bourque, so I did it.  

I lost her respect that day. Our relationship never healed. I wasn't a bad kid. I was a good student. 

I wasn’t a punk rebel. 
I didn’t like heavy metal or the t-shirts the rebels liked to wear. 

I didn’t smoke, drink or do drugs. 

Ms Bourque has reappeared in my life many times, in different forms. Punishment does not work on me. It makes me bitter, angry, vindictive and vengeful. Anyone who tries to tell me what to do loses me. I won’t contribute. I rebel, sabotage and defy...usually in silence.

I hate myself when I’m like that. It doesn’t solve anything.

But it is who I am. And I accept it.

Maybe that’s how the Scots felt under English rule.

It's impossible to know what your DNA holds, but it isn't so hard to know your MBTI personality profile. It has taught me a lot about who I am as a parent, worker, friend, spouse and child.

What is your MBTI? You can find out for free at 16personalities.com.