The Danger of Content Sounding Like A Sales Pitch

Have you noticed how it seems everyone is trying to sell you something?
All day.
Every day.

It gets tiresome.
Especially this time of year.

Email solicitations.

Sponsored Facebook posts.

Interstitial ads that you have to sit through before getting to where you wanted to go.

Commercial breaks on TV and Radio that include five advertisers in one pod.

Direct mailers stuffing your mailbox.

Pop up ads at the bottom of that FREE phone App.

It's hard not to shut off and stop listening to the noise.

Which is what most of us do. 

According to McKinsey until some trigger sets us off on the path to purchase we are pretty much not paying attention to anything. 

Which is the big challenge for marketing in the digital age. To create that trigger so we start paying attention.

Content marketing is today's first pick to set the customer journey in motion.  As Jay Baer, author of Youtility Marketing says "Content is the fire. Social media is the gasoline." That's how today's word of mouth referrals work.

But you need to be careful. 

Content is not a sales pitch. 

Yes, a call to action at the end of a blog post is a good idea. But a call to action is not necessarily a sales pitch. It could be something as simple as asking people who like what you wrote to share it.  

The danger occurs when every blog post starts out as good, useful, perhaps even thought provoking content and quickly turns into a pitch to get you sign up for something that costs money.

The result - your message as an authority gets diluted.  

The one we get is that what is most important to you is making money. Your message is merely the vehicle.

I will never dispute that making money is important. It is after all, the end game to all this marketing. 

But when everything sounds like a sales pitch it's not content marketing. 

It feels pushy. 

It gets annoying. 

It sounds inauthentic.

It creates distrust.

It's so last century.

It's not even a very good sales pitch. 




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Where I Was The Day Kennedy Was Shot

It would be my stage debut in a Friday morning assembly in which my fourth grade class would perform our play. The premise was that a martian comes to earth and an entire school class goes on a trip to Mars. A far fetched idea in 1963. A man had not yet landed on the Moon much less considered Mars. But a clever and funny idea for a fourth grade school play at P.S.186. 

We were off to rehearse when we were interrupted. The voice came through the PA system. Our principal had an important announcement to make. 

I wasn’t happy about waiting. I liked rehearsals. I liked we got to finish the work part of the day and go to the auditorium where I could practice my lines. 

“We must be home before 3 O’Clock!”

I had landed the part of the teacher, most likely because I was the tallest of anyone in the class. But I didn’t care. I had a part. It was exciting. I practiced my lines incessantly.

We all stood behind our desks, our chairs already on top of them, waiting for whatever announcement was so important to interrupt the flow of our day. Announcements were reserved for the morning after the Pledge of Allegiance, not for the afternoon. 

Then we heard the voice of our principal, Mr. Poliakoff.  He said something  terrible had happened and we were being sent home. 

“The President has been shot.” 

But that couldn’t be! He had to be wrong. Presidents didn't get shot. Not in America. Yes, I knew Lincoln had been shot, but that was something for a more barbaric time. Not now. Not in modern day America. 

He told us we were to go directly home and we were to stay there. Mr. Poliakoff emphasized directly. We were not to stop anywhere.

No one said a word. Including Mrs. Axelrod, a petite, slim woman who wore high heels and silk stockings with seams that always stayed straight. 

Mrs. Axelrod was different than the other teachers in the school. She seemed to really like her job and her students. She dressed more fashionably,  favoring straight skirts and silk blouses that always managed to stay tucked in. And she smiled. A lot.

Except for now. Now she wasn’t smiling. It reinforced what we had heard the Principal say. Something terrible had happened. Something unfathomable. 

I watched her wipe away a tear from behind her cat eye glasses before she gathered herself and told us to line up in size place order and get ready to leave.

The quiet with which we were ushered into the halls, down the stairs and out of the school was eerie. The kind of quiet I  would experience years later as an adult on September 11, 2001 walking up Sixth Avenue among herds of people. Faces numb. In shock. Not wanting to believe. 

I found my little brother waiting for me outside of the red brick building that stood at the corner of Little Neck Parkway and 72^nd Avenue. He had that look that everyone had. Scared. Something bad was going on and it was more than any of us understood how to process.

 We didn’t walk home. We ran.  Along with all the other kids in the neighborhood. In and out of the complex of two story garden apartments that made up Glen Oaks Village, a haven for a post war generation raising their kids. No one really sure what had happened or the enormity of the event that would shape all of our lives.

She was waiting for us. At the door. As were all the other mother’s in our court. They all had that same look - one I had never seen on an adult before. 

Fear. Real fear. 

They were trying to hold it together. To be strong. This generation that had lived through WWll, the war that was supposed to end all wars, was now faced with the news that the President had been shot. The young, handsome President with the beautiful young family who was supposed to represent Camelot. Shot. In our own country. On our own soil. 

The television was on when I walked in the living room. It was never on when I came home.  And it stayed on. 

Life was already different.

I still remember the look on my father’s face when he walked in the door. The big man with the enormous smile and hearty laugh never looked so serious. He headed for his chair and sat in front of the polished blonde wood of the big Crosley television console that was the centerpiece of our living room, moving only  to empty the ashtray overflowing with cigarettes or fill his glass of scotch.

I sat next to my father on the floor - watching. It made me feel safer. I kept looking up at him for some reassurance that it would be okay. We would all be okay. But I don’t remember getting it or even if it was there to give. 

What I do remember most about that day and the ones that followed was that television. It was the first time it was on non-stop and the first time I was glued to it.

When my mother decided I had watched enough for one day my father told her to let me be.

My mother wanted to protect me from the hours of televised coverage and my father wanted me to feel it. 

We were watching history. But we were living it too.

November 22, 1963 signaled the beginning of a turbulent time in this nation's  history in which there would be riots, more shootings and a daily death toll scrolled on the  evening news - lest we might forget there was a war going on in Vietnam. 

    It was the first time in our nations history that television held our collective hands through a tragedy. In many ways a glimmer of the digital age was set in motion. 

   For me it was a day that fifty years later I can still remember in minute detail and when I allow myself - still evoke fresh emotions. It defined the rest of my youth. It was my first brush with the undeniable. Bad things can happen in the world. And sometimes there is nothing we can do to stop them. 

  

When They Don't Get It And You Do

Earlier this week I was checking my Google Analytics and noticed more traffic than usual to my site. I clicked the links to discover that a blog I wrote  on what to do if you get a pink slip that also appeared on The Huffington Post had been repurposed for The Sydney Morning Herald, The Brisbane Times  and The Canberra Times.  In Australia!

I was pretty excited. I was living one of those miracle moments of the digital world. My "sagely advice" was being quoted in Australia - literally halfway around the world! As a blogger and as a writer that is a very good day. 

That evening I was having dinner with some friends. I was still bursting with my unexpected discovery when I arrived at the restaurant, so I shared. 

The first response I got was "Are they paying you for that?"

I kept what I wanted to say inside of my head - which was  - are you #@!##!! kidding me? I just tell you that my post is picked up in a major paper in Australia and all you want to know is if I got paid for it!!??


What I did let out of my mouth was this.

"No, they didn't pay me. But they certainly credited me. And really - I got picked up in Australia!"

"Yeah, but they should pay you for it."

I found myself starting to defend the whole thing. To explain to this man who spends his days locked inside a corporate office the value of exposure to an entirely new audience - for my writing and for my business. That allowing sharing on the web as long as it is attributable to the author can ultimately result in more money than being paid for the article. (Not that being paid wouldn't be nice). I told him in the world of marketing this is called earned media.  I explained what a Creative Commons License meant.  I tried to make him see that I get to do what I love, and someone on the far side of the globe noticed it's value.

But then I noticed the vacant look in his eyes. 

He didn't get it. He wasn't going to get it. In fact I'm not sure he wanted to.

He is a part of the old way of doing business in which the cardinal rule is to never do anything unless  there is a direct and clear money line attached. The idea of being generous with your ideas is foreign to them. They are not sure how to spell 'free' much less offer it. They don't understand the value of online connection unless they see immediate monetization. The only metric of success they value is money.

I took a long sip of my wine. I smiled and let the conversation go elsewhere. It didn't matter that he didn't get it. I do. And for that I am very grateful.



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That First Impression

One thing that has not changed in the age of digital is the importance of a  first impression. It still counts. 

But what has changed is the amount of time we have in which to make one.

Our average attention span is purported to be that of a goldfish - less than nine seconds. That makes the idea of the elevator pitch sound like an eternity of time in which to capture someone's attention.

Photo-shopped pictures. Catchy headlines. Slick video. Podcasts that can come on a walk with me.

All vie for our attention amidst the sea of chatter that washes over our lives each day - feeding our impatience as we all fall victim to systemic ADD.

Don't have what I like and I'm gone. 
Don't make it easy for me to find and I'm gone sooner.

It would be easier for me to snag more than the requisite nine seconds of your time if we happen to meet in person. 

Human connection still rules above all.  


But your first impression - your first clue to my personality or that of my brand or that last item you plunked down your American Express card to buy- most likely happened here.

On line. 
More and more - on your smartphone or tablet.  


The question is does yours match up? 


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Somewhere

Today was my friend Joe's birthday. At least it used to be. Joe passed after a long and arduous battle with cancer last Fourth of July. He never liked to do anything in a small way so it seemed fitting that the day he chose to leave this world was one in which he could exit with fireworks.

I was reminded of his birthday this morning on Facebook. Not that I would have forgotten. While our lives had taken different trajectories in recent years, the two days we were always certain to talk was on our respective birthdays. We were those kinds of friends. The kind you make when you are young enough and foolish enough to think you might live forever. The kind that no matter how long it's been since last you talked, when you pick up the phone it feels like it was just yesterday. The kind that no matter what, remembers to call and wish you a happy birthday.

Except this year, for the first time I can't do that. I'm missing that conversation. I'm missing him.

I'm missing my friend with the smiling Irish eyes who took pleasure in making everyone around him smile. Who loved to tell jokes that somehow made you laugh even when they weren't funny. Who loved his family and friends, especially his wife and his boys. Who knew what it meant to be in the moment and relish the joy. Who was always the last one to leave the party. 

Except for this one. This one he left too soon.  

I know I'm not alone today. His Facebook page is proof. New posts filled with love and remembrance for the bright light he was. You see you couldn't be Joe's friend and not have at least one story to remind you how lucky you were to have known him.

That's life in the digital age. We are reminded of birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, weddings, births and now deaths.  Joe would make a joke about that. He would notice as I have that Facebook seems more mercenary than usual today - suggesting I give Joe a Starbucks card for his birthday when he would rather a beer and a good party.  He would question as I do if they're tracking our actions so well how did they not notice his inactivity the past eleven months or at least remember Joe didn't drink coffee. He drank tea and not the fancy herbal kind Starbucks sells. 

I always tell people that they need to think before they post. Because once it is out there, it lives forever. 

Somewhere.

Kind of like Joe. 

The Live Experience As A Premium

Last week I attended a panel discussion on The Future of Media. It was one of those great conversations that if it wasn't for the fact the temperature of the room resembled a meat locker, I could have listened for another hour.

Moderated by Patrick Phillips of I Want Media, it included Roy Sekoff, President and Co-Creator of HuffPost Live, Jonah Peretti, Founder and CEO of Buzzfeed, Mark Thompson, CEO, NewYork Times Company, Cindy Jeffers, CEO and CTO of Salon Media Group, and Henry Blodget, Editor and CEO of Business Insider.

A pretty impressive group, the talk ranged from:  is it more important to be right or first when it comes to reporting the news, are legacy organizations more worried about what's next than what made them great to begin with, the intersection of big data and storytelling and the increased use of the visual in telling the story.

One of my favorite take-a-ways was this from Roy Sekoff.

And then there was this nugget from Mark Thompson.

Mark Thompson has an uncanny resemblance to Kelsey Grammer's Frasier character. So the seriousness in which he said that almost made me want to laugh. 

Except it was so true.  

It's the strange paradox of living in an increasingly digital world. Everyday there are more and more ways to interact - virtually. Yet in the end what we all crave is that in-person, live experience. It is part of our basic human nature to want to be physically seated next to another living, breathing person as opposed to a piece of technology. It's how we're designed. 

And now it has become a premium.

It's why there was standing room only for last Thursday's panel discussion. Why the Times Talk series are so popular. Why in person seminars still sell out.

The point of digital is to connect - more often, more seamlessly and more far reaching than ever before. But none of it means much if there isn't humanity involved - the living, breathing kind. It's the premium I'm willing to pay for.

It Will Never Be Enough

When I was deciding what to write in this post for Mother's Day, I almost opted not to. Over the year's I've written a lot of posts that include and honor my mother. What more could there be to say - not to mention what does the subject really have to do with living and working in the digital age?

I've expressed my gratitude for her laughter, warmth, generosity, sense of style and  the way we can laugh and be silly together. 

I've told the story of how her arthritis now gets in the way of her baking and so I was forced  a few years ago to learn how to bake her special Greek sweet bread and discovered I actually like to bake! 

I've told the tale of my desire to dye the perfect red Easter eggs and her voice telling me, "Honey, don't worry. They'll come out perfect. Everything you do always does."

I wrote about how she was always receptive to trying something new and being trendy and so one year bought a silver aluminum Christmas tree, despite my begging her not to.

I've told the story of  how I grew up listening to her sing along with Doris Day, "Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, the future's not ours to see, que sera, sera." 

I've shared her obsession with worrying and belief she was born with two worry birds, one sitting on each shoulder and her wise advice that one should always think before you speak.

Most recently I celebrated her in honor of her 90th birthday in October.

That seems enough. But it's not.

There will always be something more for me to say about my mother, about her fierceness and strength, her humor -  when she remembers to laugh at herself - and the courage in which she faces the physical limitations of growing old. 

Now that she needs us to watch out for her, she is constantly telling my brother and I how lucky she is to have us. That she doesn't know what she did to deserve two children who are so there for her. 

But I know what she did. She gave us the gift of love. Unconditional love. If there was ever anything we doubted, it was never that we were loved.

And for that, there will never be enough words said. 

As for what this post has to do with living and working in the digital age - at the end of the day all the technology in the world will not connect us as much as holding the hand of someone we love and who loves us. Which is what I will be doing this Mother's Day.

Mom's newest adventure - learning how to use the go-kart
in the grocery store.

The Not So Surprising Truth About Selling

When I first got into sales, non-sales types would tell me they didn't know how I could do that. Talk to strangers and get them to listen me. Earn their trust so they might buy commercials on the radio or television station I was offering at the moment.

Sales, I would tell them, is not for everyone. At the time I believed it.

But that's all changed. In today's digital world, everyone is selling. If not a product or an idea, they are selling themselves as a brand through something as simple as a LinkedIn Profile. Understanding that process and how to apply it is critical for anyone interested in earning a living. Sales has to be for everyone, at least those of us who want to succeed.

I've been telling clients that since I left the corporate world in 2008. Most don't want to hear it. They have trouble buying into the notion that they need to learn and understand the process of selling to further their careers. They hear sales and they think sleazy sales person a la Alec Baldwin in Glengary Glen Ross. 

Which is what intrigued me to read To Sell Is Human, The Surprising Truth About Moving Others, by Dan H. Pink, "a fresh look at the art and science of selling."

So what is this "fresh look"?  

Dan Pink takes a subject, unfriendly and scary to so many and makes it approachable and yes, human. He creates a new ABC of sales. Instead of Always Be Closing, he applies the new attributes of Attunement, Buoyancy and Clarity. He offers some great exercises to practice these skills, several of which I have been using in the class in Digital Marketing I teach at NYU, for the explicit purpose of reinforcing how selling must be understood to be a better marketer. He makes a very good case for what is inherently human in the selling process and how all of us, every day are using these skills to some degree.

But is "the surprising truth" surprising? Not to me. 
As a seasoned sales professional, I could not help noticing that so much of what the author speaks to as new to the sales process in the 21st Century, was what I had learned  in my early days in Radio when we had something called the RAB Consultancy Sell. 

That approach to selling taught us to listen more than speak, to unearth the client's problems before offering solutions, to be an expert resource for their business and ours, to personalize our presentations and be real, to be agile and think on our feet, to earn their trust, and to build relationships with these people.

Of course over the years, the trend, certainly in media was not for management to reinforce that approach but to try and get it all on the same cookie cutter PowerPoint deck and to push the sales person to get the deal. At any cost. Something that ties back to big companies being pressured to foster policies driven by keeping the stock price up rather than what is best for the clients.

Nevertheless, this is a fresh look and a much needed one especially for those resistant to accepting that selling is a part of the human experience and an art and science worth honing your skills. It is also a worthwhile read for the sales professional and the heads of corporations who may have forgotten the very skills that got them success in the first place.

But surprising? Not so much.

Six Things You Should Know About Blogging

The other day a friend who is relatively new to blogging asked me if my blog had helped me professionally.  I could tell by the look on her face that she still wasn't sold on the idea of blogging, nor were her posts flowing freely. I could also tell that she was wondering just exactly how a blog equated to paying the rent.

The thing is, there is no direct line to the cash. Which is the dirty truth that no one wants to speak about for most marketing.  But that doesn't make it any less important. In a digital age, a blog can serve as an interactive platform for who you are or who your business is. If you approach it right, a blog can lay the groundwork that will eventually translate into revenue for whatever products or services you offer. But if you think that every time you post an article, a new client will appear, think again.

I like to think of blogging as I do most social media. It's free marketing. I'll repeat that. FREE. And because I like to write. No, slash that,  LOVE to write, blogging for me is fun. Which is very important to mention if you are of the ilke that believe there is no reason to do anything if you are not making money. Fun is a reason to do a lot of things. Carol Burnett was recently interviewed on The View. She was asked if she had any idea in 1967, the first year it aired,  the impact The Carol Burnett Show would have on television. Her answer was no. All that had been agreed upon with the cast was that no matter what, they were going to have fun with each other. See what can happen when you're having fun!

If you are having fun, chances are the voice you are writing in will be much more authentic. Authenticity is how you build your following, your audience or in the words of Seth Godin, your tribe. And by authentic, I mean authentic. Not artificially authentic.

I started this blog almost four years ago. It hasn't made me rich. At least not yet. But it has worked for me. This is what I know that might help you.

1. It's a stake in the ground that says who or what you are. I launched this blog on November 18, 2008,  just three months into my non-corporate life. I was on unsteady feet, not sure exactly what my life moving forward was going to look like. Creating this blog was symbolic for me. It was a place for me to come to, every day, to evaluate, to think and to shout to the world that I was on a new adventure. No, I did not blog every day, but I did hang out here quite a bit when I was trying to figure out what to write.

2. A blog is a platform, a calling card, a giant billboard if you will, of who you are. Whether you are a CEO or an entrepreneur, a blog that you consistently contribute to is part of your digital platform. It is a chance for you to share expertise, ideas and information. Somedays, but never every day, it will include shameless self-promotion.  When I meet someone new,  I invite them to stop by.  It's a chance for them to get a better idea of who I am, how I think and what I have to offer that they might need.

3. Blog because you have something to say that you think is worth sharing. A lot of people  approach blogging as a chore. Something they should be doing instead of wanting to do.  Many start blogging with the intention of getting attention. Or new customers. Or people to sign up for their latest  class or buy their latest widget. Yes, I have that fantasy that the next blog I write might be the one that goes viral or soars my books to the #1 spot on the New York Times Best Seller List. But trust me, when I have tried to make that happen, it's a disaster.  What I have found works best is to blog when I have an idea that I think might be helpful and shareworthy. (and yes, I do try and have those ideas at least once a week!)

4. Write for you first. If you write to please others, that's exactly how you will come across.  Don't over think. As a writer, I consider my blog writing practice unleashed. I never think it my best writing, because I don't give it as much time as I would a full length article or book. But it is my writing. And I try to make it good writing. Plus it does give me the thrill of hitting that publish button as often as I like.

5. Blog because you can. Less than one hundred years ago women were not allowed to vote in this country. Today not only can I vote, but blogging has given me the freedom to voice whatever I am thinking without censure. I don't need a big corporation behind me to fund my writing (although I am always opening to funding ;))  My blog is my contribution to the greater good. Hopefully. A place where I can say what I want and trust that at least one other person, somewhere, benefits from that.

6. Sometimes my blog goes on vacation.  Like these last few weeks. It gets tired. It needs a break from all this on-line interaction. The writer in me gets involved in other writing projects, not to mention coaching.  Sometimes I can get so in the writing flow of that project, that I can't stop.  Even though I know consistency is important in the care and feeding of a blog, I take the gamble that I won't lose too many readers in its absence.

I hope I didn't lose too many while I was gone.

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