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“Tell me, Carmen, do you know what foreplay is?”
“No.”
“Good! Neither does El Guapo.”
…and apparently neither does Google.
One of the first lessons that hit home for me in writing was the concept of the introduction. The lede. The hook. Those crucial first few seconds that a writer has to catch the reader’s attention, get her to taste the bait long enough for the claws to sink in, gain traction and snatch her up for the ride.
To accomplish this, I try to use interesting metaphors, analogies and anecdotes in the introductions that can appear to have nothing to do with the subject at hand and then find a way to tie it creatively to my main points. The rule I follow for most feature stories says that the reader should be captivated and interested in the first paragraph, but not realize what the story is really about until the end of the second paragraph.
The problem, unfortunately, with following this rule is that if you’re sneakily walking your reader down a winding path, you’re probably not going to use the major keywords that align with your subject matter very often in the beginning. After all, you don’t want to scare her off, and the punch line is nothing without an efficient set-up.
But sadly, search engine optimization (SEO) techniques frown on any fooling around, even during the courting stages, and encourage you to get the point early and often.
This is because writing that has keywords in the titles, headings and lead paragraphs of the text will have increased visibility in searches for related content, and thus, usually increased views. This strategy plays nicely with news stories, since the most important information in a news story is concentrated in the lead paragraph. But what about stories that don’t blow their load in the first three lines?
Isn’t the chase half the fun? I think so, and I’m afraid of having to choose between SEO and quality content. I prefer the seductive, methodical ledes that serve the story rather than the search and think that increased exposure to compromised content is counter productive.
But is there a way to accomplish both?
What role does the introduction play in your writing?
Learning to practice the preachings from Blink.
He has dark, slicked-back hair that looks like it hasn’t moved in three weeks. The faded tone of his black pants doesn’t match that of his black, button-downed shirt. Neither appear to be wrinkled, yet at the same time, neither appear to be ironed or fit quite right. He’s made eye contact with you and is gliding over from across the department store.
You’re waiting in line at the check-out counter, immobile, arms full of clothes, happy with your selection but uneasy about something. He whisks by you, sets up behind the counter and asks you if you’re all set, in one fast, fluid motion.
You notice that he’s wearing a wedding band and guess that he’s probably pushing 50. The creases on his face say smoker, and where there’s smoke there’s fire: everything inside of you is screaming, “Watch out!”
But, you drown out these warnings and feel yourself pulled by some kind of magnet toward his newly opened register where he scans your items in a blur, sedates you with small talk and finds a way to make his smirk appear to be a smile.
The salesman finishes ringing up the items and congratulates you on taking advantage of so many deals. He says that, yeah, the prices are low, but the value is in the quality of the product. Genius. He complimented your savvy spending habits, corrected the focus of your satisfaction, added value to the transaction and established his own credibility, in one fell swoop.
Now, you’re lame and dazed and limping through the last leg of the purchase. The salesman has you right where he wants you and dives in for the kill.
You have your card on you?
Um, no. I don’t think I have one.
We can check for you. It takes five minutes and you’ll save another 15 percent today.
Are there any fees?
Nothing. Clean. No charges. Type in your social and we’ll check.
Alright.
The voice in your head is whispering that giving out your social security number shouldn’t be done so frivolously, but he quells that fear by showing you that he doesn’t see any of the numbers and they only show as X’s on his screen.
You’re still uneasy, but now you just want this to be over. He assures you there is no risk, that you can cancel the card anytime and as long as there is no balance, there won’t be a fee. Smoke, mirrors, flashing lights, shiny objects. Next thing you know you have applied for and been approved for a new American Express card, when you thought you were signing up for a store membership club card.
You’ve been sold and it tastes rotten.
What’s worse is that your poor decision wasn’t out of stupidity or confusion. It was ignorance. You didn’t know that you were signing up for a credit card, but you did know that something wasn’t right. Your adaptive unconscious was throwing up red flags every step of the way: the immediate feeling of distrust; the shyster profile; the social security number unease; the confusion; the scent of an impulse transaction at the point-of-purchase.
You are much smarter than you think. You knew better, and should have listened to yourself, but more importantly, to your gut.
I recently read the book “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell and was captivated by the studies, stories and examples that speak on “The Power of Thinking Without Thinking.” No more than a week after I finished the book, with the values of “Blink” still fresh in my head, did I experience the story you just read, during a shopping excursion at a department store.
In this story, I was the sucker, and was kicking myself the whole way home for being such an idiot. Even though it’s probably not the end of the world, and my credit score should be alright, it was poor judgement. And, as mad as I am for letting myself get duped, I am even more fascinated by “Blink,” and how the lessons can apply to nearly every aspect of your life. They reveal themselves when you least expect them and stick with you far down the road. All we have to do is listen, and learn.
Over the years, I’ve gotten pretty sharp at negotiating with scalpers. Waiting until the last minute has resulted in deals and adventures at concerts and sporting events of all kinds. It’s gotten to the point where sometimes, the search for tickets is as much a part of the experience as the event itself.
Back in April of this year, three friends and I went to see Muse perform at US Airways Center. We met in downtown Phoenix about an hour before the show, with no tickets and no desire to pay face value. We took our time, had some beers and made a couple laps around the arena to gauge the market. An active number of scalpers roamed the sidewalks and the box office had plenty of tickets still available.
When the band took the stage, tickets started to burn holes in pockets and it was time for us to make some moves.
We got things going by low balling a scalper right outside the main entrance. He used standard scare tactics, slight of hand and swift talking to raise the price and to get us to concede for face value. I could see the wheels turning in my friends’ heads and that they were about to give in. So I stepped in, rejected his offer and threatened to take our business elsewhere. The scalper knew the game, acted insulted and told my friends that I was ruining this opportunity for them.
My buddies were drinking the Kool Aid and leaning toward accepting the man’s offer. Fortunately, I was aware enough to act quickly and stopped them from reaching for their wallets. I led the group down the street, looking for another seller.
When the scalper saw the cash flying away he snapped into survival mode and gave in, offering us the tickets for about half of face value. I gave the fellas the green light, we pooled our money together and had the guy walk up to the gate with us to make sure the tickets were legit. The salesman gave us the tickets and I had the money in my hand. But right before I handed it over, something crazy happened.
Chris Volpe, one of the guys in our group, shoved an extra five dollars into my hand and said something like, “Give him a tip man.”
My jaw dropped, pupils dilated and hands started sweating. Was he serious? He must’ve been drunk. Tipping isn’t part of the dance. So, I rejected this preposterous notion.
Volpe insisted though, and stuck the five back into my hand. What could I do? It was his money. So I gave the scalper the money, he got the heck out of dodge and we walked into the show.
My head was spinning, trying to find the logic in what just happened. After all, who tips a scalper? Volpe smiled in stride and shrugged it off with a laugh.
We ended up snagging killer seats, smooth talking some free beers and taking in a spectacular show. It was my first time seeing Muse and the shock of “the tip” eventually wore off for me. We all had a great time, but when I look back on that concert now, I don’t think about the seats, the discounts or the music.
I smile and think of Volpe tipping the scalper five bucks.
A month after that concert, Chris Volpe was hit and killed by a car while riding his bike in Tempe. He was 24 years old, had just completed the last final exam of the semester and was on his way home to start the summer.
When tragedies strike, I never know how to react, and usually, they bounce off me at first and sink in much, much later.
In this case, I got the call from a friend, a day after the accident, while I was on my lunch break. He told me that Volpe had died the night before and that a few of our friends were hanging out at his house. I drove over, spent an hour there numb, sitting on the couch talking a bit with the others. Then went back to the office.
I’ve never had to deal with death at work, didn’t know how to handle the situation and reacted by going about my business. It hadn’t sunk in yet.
I had known Chris for about a year, but it was only within the few months before his death that we grew close and started hanging out regularly on the weekends. Our group was having a great time and it felt like our friendship was just taking off.
Crazy how quickly things can change.
But what fascinates me most now, is how much I am learning about him in the short time after his death. It seems so backwards that only after he was gone did I meet his family, hear so many stories and get to know so many different sides of him. I started to appreciate what a caring, kind and giving person Chris was. The candle light vigil, the ghost bike memorial dedication, the honorary toast at Casey Moore’s and the funeral warmly celebrated his life and offered glimpses at the type of man Chris was. It’s so sad, tragic even, that it took death to generate such attention to a life. Would I have learned about any of these wonderful sides of Chris, if he was still alive?
It made me wonder, “What else is out there?” So I started searching.
I found out that he had a Twitter account and I’m following him now, over a month after the accident. He created a series of movie-review videos on YouTube with his brother and on Facebook his profile is memorialized. People have been posting messages to Chris on his wall regularly since his death. They tell him that they miss him. They fill him in on what they are up to in life. They write about things in their day that remind them of Chris.
These loving, personal and caring messages are not scribbled in journals and tucked away in closets. They’re shared, beautifully, and are a constant sign of life, celebration and continued love for Chris and everyone who cares about him.
I thought his death finally hit me at the reception when I started to focus on the brotherly aspect of it all. But no. It hadn’t hit me yet back then.
It did just now, when I checked Chris’s Facebook profile for the first time in over a month and read the latest comment: “Good night buddy, miss you and love you!” posted by his brother two hours after I started writing this.
Thanks to these messages, stories, videos and support, my relationship with Volpe continues to grow and I feel so privileged to have known such a fun, kind and caring person. I finally understand why he threw in that extra five bucks for the scalper back in April. And to me, that tip will remain a vivid symbol of who he was, a model of how to treat people and one of the many reasons he will always be sorely missed.
Rest in peace my friend.
Chris Volpe
August 29, 1985 – May 10, 2010
Every group has that one quirky person that gets messed with and laughed at constantly. Think Johnny Drama from Entourage or Milhouse from the Simpsons. Despite all the jokes, put-downs and abuse, this quintessential role player rarely gets upset and remains content, rolling with the punches and accepted among the pack.
What is fascinating about this person is that as much crap as they take, they are a pillar of the group’s structure and are sorely missed when they are gone. Think about the times when that fall-guy is absent from your group. When the jokester at the office goes on vacation. When the dorky kid at the lunch table is home sick. What happens? Things go way off kilter and the group does not function as it should. There are lulls in conversations, awkward pauses, few jokes and no zen.
In my family the quirky, lovable, blunt of our jokes was Ginger: our golden retriever lab mutt. She was the oldest dog of four in our pack, had one eye removed due to a tumor, part of her liver removed due to another ailment and had been through a lot in her 15 years.
As a puppy she was tied up in blankets, dunked under water and given batteries to lick. We put peanut butter on her nose and laughed hysterically at how long it would take her to lick it all off. And you know what? She loved every minute of it, relishing in her role.
Ginger, who also went by Gin-Gin, Geebye, YanYaWooz, Coorglios and Girgenhelper, loved chasing leaves when she went swimming and barking at planes flying overhead.
When she got excited, she would smile and show her teeth, shake her behind and bury her head in her front paws, almost out of embarrassment for being so excited. She loved being scratched (as most dogs do) and meeting new people. But the irony was that given how excited she got and the amount of fur she shed, most people hesitated before petting her.
Once you dug in though, she let you know she liked it. Groaning, twisting, wagging, nudging for more…she remains to this day the best dog to scratch behind the ears I have ever met.
On March 6, 2010 we had to put Ginger down.
The old age, arthritis and osteosarcoma in her leg took their toll. She was in bad shape for about two weeks before she broke her infected leg on a routine misstep in the middle of the night. The doctors said that she would not have been a good candidate for amputation or chemotherapy.
This was the first time we had had to pull the plug on one of our pups and it was one of the most painful and difficult experiences our family has gone through in a very long time. But as gut wrenching as it was, when I think about how she went out, I cannot help but smile because it went right along with how Ginger did everything else in her life.
Prior to Ginger’s departure, my brother and sister, who live out of state, came back home for the weekend. We knew the end was getting near and they wanted to see her in case something happened. When Ginger’s leg broke, it was only hours after we were all back together. Like she knew the pack was complete again and the time was right for her to go. Her exit was also her most beautiful act: she brought the pack together one last time, to say goodbye.
So today, take note and give thanks to the Ginger in your pack. Buy your buddy a beer in between insults. Take the office spaz out to lunch. Or, just give that funny, tail-wagging, fur-shedding family member an extra cookie and a nice scratch behind the ears to let her know how much she means to you.
All dogs go to heaven, and Ginger is up there smiling, helping everybody get along.
Are you a writer?
Think about the question before you answer it. Yes? No? Kinda?
Most professional or former journalists, authors, poets, communicators and all those in between, respond with a brisk and emphatic “yes.” They roll their eyes at the audacity of such an indictment, contemplating whether they have time to keep reading this post.
People in other trades either say “no” because they don’t write for a living, or “kinda” when they remember the creative writing class they took in college, the journal they kept while backpacking through Europe or the mommy blog they just launched.
Whatever category you fall into, “Yes,” “No” or “Kinda,” you’re more of a writer than you think, and thus, very much a writer.* Unfortunately, this often gets overlooked.
Many motivated individuals get consumed by their careers. It’s not necessarily a bad thing and usually comes with the territory of having a strong work ethic and a drive to succeed. That being said, don’t forget about your writing at work. How do you come off in emails? What kind of thought do you put into post-it notes stuck to co-worker’s desks, birthday-card signatures or text messages? Are they conveying the messages you want? Your writing represents you, so make sure it’s acting appropriately on your behalf.
While your day job brings home the bacon, your extracurricular activities set the table.
A ton of valuable writing takes place outside of the workplace and gets lost in the shuffle. For example, when I was a full-time journalist, I struggled to keep a personal journal, write funny letters to friends or maintain a steady stream of posts on my travel blog. After agonizing over a story, hunched in front of a laptop all day, the last thing I wanted to do when I got home was spend the next 30 minutes blogging or scribbling in my journal. As a result my news- and feature-story writing grew stronger, while my creative and familiar writing weakened.
We, as writers (of every kind), need to exercise, embrace and most importantly, exhaust every channel. Staying up all night, skipping lunches and ignoring personal hygiene to complete a project, prepare a presentation or finish a story is commendable, but it’s what you do when you’re done that makes the difference. Feed that writing need with another hundred words instead of sedating it with a break on the couch.
Assign a goal, direction and priority to each of your writing avenues. Take 15 minutes to let loose and vent in your journal every day. Start a weekly blog for your small business to keep clients informed and up-to-date. Keep in touch with long-distance friends through annual letters. Every word you write affects every other word you write and the sooner you nourish all the branches, the stronger the tree will be.
“You always have to realize you are constantly in a state of becoming.” – Bob Dylan
So when a new writing opportunity presents itself, treat it as you would any other branch on the tree. These days, you can’t go an hour without coming across some reference to social media. Dig into it. How strong and effective are your tweets? Are you getting what you want from your Facebook status updates? Do you speak leet? WordPress says, “CODE IS POETRY.” What kind of poems do you write? These new branches might grow to produce fruit or whither and get pruned, either way, you’ve got to give them a chance.
Angelo Pierattini, one of my favorite Chilean musicians, told me “I want…to never be content with where I am. I always want to have the drive to create something new.” Words to live by, but easier said than done.
For example, my home “office” (pretty much a desk and a chair in an otherwise empty spare bedroom) grew stale after a few months of use. I began to avoid it because it equaled work for me. So now, when I set up my laptop to grind away at home, I make a concerted effort to change rooms. For the past few weeks, all my notes were laid out on the kitchen table. This week I’ve taken over the living room couch and coffee table. Next week it’s probably back up to the spare bedroom or maybe the balcony. How do you keep things fresh when it’s so easy to get comfortable and settle into a routine?
Trees, like people, have various sizes, shapes, colors and lifespans. You may have a perfectly-manicured bonsai, a newborn ficus or a sprawling cyprus. But whatever kind of writing tree you’ve got, the fact remains that it needs constant attention. So, care for every branch, give it fresh water daily and expose it to plenty of sunlight. Then, watch it grow.
How healthy is your writing tree?
*Not everyone agrees with this notion.
Tri for Les 2012: Lavaman
