TA #145: 🤘 What's the point of content? Plus: I met a longhorn.

Boston, Sunday, August 27, 2023

Hi, friend.

In Austin, Texas, I barely settle into the back seat before my driver starts telling me how much he hates his life.

He's been hired by the event I'm speaking at tomorrow, and before we are even out of the airport he starts complaining about the traffic. And the weather. And his wife, who won't leave the traffic or the weather behind to move back to Minnesota because she won't leave the grandson who also lives here, in this traffic and this weather.

"I'm Paul," he adds at last, a detail that probably should've come first.

Paul has a point. The traffic is ridiculous. The weather is, too. Outside the sealed windows of this Lincoln Town Car, it feels like the inside of an oven set to Bake.

I don't know if he's also right about his wife. But I'll take his word for it. "Moving was the stupidest thing I ever let her convince me to do," he says.

By now we are on the freeway on the way downtown. Paul announces that he is going to take the side roads to avoid the other cars. ("Idiots. Who don't know how to drive.")

We had just exited the highway when Paul suddenly turns down an empty side road. On either side are enormous fields hemmed with wire fencing. "I don't know why I'm doing this...," he says, adding, "I won't charge you for this part."

"This part."

I snap to. I'd been gazing out the window at the brutal Texas heat, half-heartedly listen to Paul complain about this town and this life when suddenly... "This part"?

What does Paul mean?

My skin pricks hot, even in the temperature-controlled interior. It felt... ominous? This man who hates his life is driving me down this desolate backroad...?

Is he planning to dump my lifeless body in the ditch by the fencing? (Of course there's a ditch.)

Rational-Me interrupts this narrative. "You just had to watch Law & Order: SUV on the flight, didn't you?" Rational-Me rolls her eyes. "Don't be absurd."

True. Deep breath. Rational-Me is right. I'm being absurd.

Then I glance at the interior of the Town Car and for the first time notice that it's seen better days. It's clean but shabby. Could it have been all that scrubbing away of the evidence?

Cleaned by a guy who hates his life. So what did he have to lose...?

He had greeted me back at the airport by holding open the door and handing me a bottled water. Was that his last generous act?

Paul slows the car, scanning the field on the right. Eyeballing the perfect body-ditching spot.

I will make a run for it. I can't judge how fit Paul is based on the back of his head alone. But he is wearing a three-piece black suit and dress shoes. In this heat, I'm certain I can outrun him. (Assuming I can open the door. Is this car like a police cruiser or minivan, which locks criminals and toddlers inside?)

Suddenly Paul stops the car. He points across the front seat, through the closed passenger-side window.

"Look!" he says. "There!"

I follow where he's pointing: Across the field, on the far side, are a herd of longhorn cattle. Longhorns—the patron saint of Texas—are a breed of cattle characterized by their enormous curved horns. From tip to tip, they're as long as a surfboard. Or maybe a coffin. (Stop it. You're being absurd.)

I drew you a picture:

They're cool, I guess. But not uncommon. So I say... well, "Cool." Voice flat. How do the cattle play into this plan?

"That one there," Paul says. "See? The one with the upside-down horn?"

I don't at first. Then I do: A massive longhorn steer standing by itself—far enough away to make a thousand-pound beast appear small, like a Happy Meal toy. But close enough to notice that one side of this steer's horn curved the opposite way. Not upward, like a coat hook. But downward, pointing toward the ground.

It looks like this:

"Look how he can't graze, really, without trouble," Paul says.

He's right. The downward horn prevents the steer from reaching the ground. He can't dip his head and graze the way other longhorns graze. The steer must turn his head to one side to accommodate that massive curlicue horn.

We watch him for a few minutes, Paul and I. (We're friends again.) The steer leans into the grass sideways, head cocked, the way your hard-of-hearing uncle leans in to favor his good ear.

He turns his face. He dips his head. (The steer, I mean.) (And maybe your uncle?)

Curlicue Horn (I name him on the spot) tears off a mouthful of grass. He saws it to and fro in his enormous jaws. He turns his head and dips again.

"He makes it work," Paul says. "Isn't that wonderful?"

That steer is a bit famous, Paul is now telling me. I notice two women leaning over the fence near him with their phones extended, probably trying to get an Instagram.

Curlicue Horn stands calmly. Casual-like. Swishing his tail and nodding his head. Turns face. Dips. Saws. Repeat.

Maybe he's unaware of his Influencer status. Or maybe he's fully aware.

Who's to say.

* * *

What's the thing that stops you from doing your best work?

It's the end of August. This week it'll be September, which is the actual start of a new year, no matter what the calendar says.

Lots of us are gearing up for big projects. Big plans.

New programs. New launches. New year. New you, maybe?

Last week a friend shared a book idea with me. But they were unsure, a little worried. Other books already populate the space. "It's not an original idea," they said. "I don't know. Maybe I should forget it."

I could sense them spiraling into that place we've all been...

• You have a great idea! A fresh take! Or you're excited about That Thing!
• Then you google That Thing only to see that—yep—been done.
• Worse, you scroll social media. Ugh. That Thing is there, too. It's been REALLY done.

It's easy to get caught in a trap of comparing yourself to others. In this algorithm-fueled age when nearly everyone is extremely online... it's hard not to.

It's easy to feel discouraged when you're served a steaming hot dish of Been Done Already with a side of What's-The-Point fries.

* * *

Or maybe we can look at things differently.

Google serves up results? GOOD. It's validation that a potential audience exists.

There's a lot of discussion already? GREAT. More validation. There's your audience. There's your market.

The challenge is only to ask yourself: What your own curlicue horn? (You knew this was coming, didn't you?) 😀

* * *

There are a few ways to think about a curlicue horn.

One is that what seemingly gets in the way of doing our best work is not a barrier, but something we need to find a way around. But I like to think that the curlicue horn is more special than that. 

The second way to think about the horn is to realize: Each of us has a curlicue horn. It's the very thing we should embrace.

In messaging. In positioning. In differentiating. Run straight at it. Use it. 

Curlicue Horn the steer has a gift.

He stands out from the herd precisely because he's not like the others.

We flock to see him because he is different, and to witness the quiet genius of how he lives his life.

* * *

After Paul introduces me to Curlicue Horn, he drives me to my hotel downtown.

The next day I give my talk. And when he picks me up at the hotel to deliver me back to the airport, we greet each other like old friends.

On the drive back he still complains a bit. I wondered whether Paul's complaining is just his own curlicue horn?

As he talks, I imagine him with a TikTok, @PaulsPeeves. His wife could be a recurring character. And those idiot drivers (their job is Traffic) occasionally cameo.

Then I put it out of my head, secure in the idea that, sure, he's cranky. But how great we're alive.

* * *

EVERYBODY WRITES TIP OF THE FORTNIGHT

👉 Your From line matters more than your subject line. 👈

The point of content is to generate leads, right? No. The point of content is to create a connection.

With an audience? No. With one specific buyer, prospect, individual whom you have created a cozy space for in your mind's eye.

.➡️ Write to one person. This is not new advice. But look around. Open your inbox. Read company blogs. Scroll LinkedIn. 

Why does so much of the content we generate in Marketing still feel like it's written to "Dear Valued Customers..." And not an actual person?

.➡️ Audit your assets. Does your email newsletter come from a name? Not info@ or newsletter@. A person. 

Does your social feed read like a conversation or a news alert?

.➡️ Does your customer or prospect recognize themselves in your copy?

Related: Pumpkin Spice Couches: The Case Study in the Power of Copywriting

.➡️ How you create a relevant connection with one person at a time is the key to content marketing success in the age of AI.

(Whispered aside: It always has been... but it's never been more true now in a world where "CREATE MOAR CONTENT 20X FASTER!" is the promise of countless generative AI companies.)

I'm dropping this again:

👉 Your From line matters more than your subject line. 👈

BTW: Everybody Writes 2 is 25% off this week at Amazon. Grab a copy.

DEPARTMENT OF SHENANIGANS

The pizza recipe you didn't know you needed.

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📅 September 19-21: NIO Summit, Dallas
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* * *

Thanks for reading this far.

Thanks for your kindness and generosity.

Stay sane. Stay healthy. See you again on September 10.