As a copywriter, I know how to do my job. I wouldn’t still be around after 27 years if I didn’t.

With over 22 years’ experience of stretching and pummeling people back to a pain-free life, I trust my physiotherapist implicitly to deliver the very best and most effective treatment for my herniated lumbar disc (caused by a bike accident in August). And I trust her to give me expert advice on what I should and shouldn’t do to aid recovery. Slowly but surely, I am getting better. Yet, what if I’d come to her and said, “No, no, no… I believe I need a treatment programme where I cycle 30 miles a day, hike up and down the Three Peaks and go crazy at the gym with massive dumbbells”? No doubt she would have refused to treat me knowing that it wouldn’t achieve the results I desired.

I think you may be able to see what I am getting at here…

The vast majority of businesses that approach me for marketing advice and copywriting services trust me to know what I am doing. After all, I’ve been copywriting successfully for some 27 years.

Before I went freelance I worked for top advertising and direct marketing agencies on a whole shedload of leading brands. And, as anyone who’s worked in mainstream advertising (and especially direct marketing) will know, if your copywriting doesn’t get great results, then you are shown the door very quickly.

Yet there will always be potential clients who are convinced that their own particular approach will work better. Usually they have a piece of copywriting that they’ve written themselves but which isn’t generating sales. So they’ve decided to bring in a professional copywriter.

But, for some reason, they continue to believe that their approach is the best way forward and that the copywriter’s recommendations are wrong. This is kind of strange, because if their approach really was the right one then they wouldn’t need a copywriter, would they?

The trouble is, if I were to produce some copywriting in an alien style which my gut instinct insists is wrong, then – when it doesn’t work – they’d doubtless come back and complain.

So, the moment the alarm bells begin to ring (and 27 years of copywriting have fine-tuned my hearing quite a lot), I usually resign the job. It simply isn’t worth the time and effort.

With nearly three decades of copywriting experience, I trust my instinct.

And when other copywriters get in touch to say they’ve experienced the same problems with the same client, it reinforces that hunch.

It’s so sad, really, because they could have had a great piece of copywriting that’s winning business as we speak.

Just like I am having great physiotherapy that’s doing wonders for my back.


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