How does a worm feel when it’s dredged from its damp, dark premises and into the sun?

Quite a few unfortunate invertebrates found out yesterday as I prepared a garden bed for my Ma, digging out the last of the spinach to make way for broad beans.

While I tugged at grass tufts and excavated dandelion, worm folk were hauled up on roots and clods of earth, experiencing sunshine (for the first time?) on their tender little torsos. Must have been a shock, poor buggers.

Their discomfort wasn’t for nought, as they inspired this post.

I wondered, who’d expect a blog about earthworms? No one. Yet, here you are reading, anthropomorphising, and holding out for a copywriting insight.

And the lesson? Be unexpected.

If everyone in your industry is writing the same old posts, in the same old tone, and the same old story, wriggle in the opposite direction.

Find a new angle. Tell an original tale. Start your post with a paragraph that’s so deliciously bizarre, curious eyeballs have no choice but to keep reading.

Whether it’s worms or something weird you saw in the crisper, weave the unexpected into your content and watch engagement soar.

Take it out. It’s shameless.

This was one of my oldest clients, suggesting I remove the cheesy call-to-action at the end of a recent article. And I couldn’t have been happier to oblige, since overt selling usually makes me squirm.

Usually. But for once I’d second guessed my disdain for telling readers what to do (‘book now!’, ‘don’t delay!’, ‘appointments limited!’) and thought maybe I should get with the times and wrap up the blog post with a pitch. Something that segued from the ideas presented in the post to the hard sell.

After all, aren’t marketers told to state the obvious? Aren’t we reminded to hit consumers over the head with their own shortcomings, then present the solution? Doesn’t every piece of content have to pull its own weight and sell?

I’ve always questioned this approach.

In an age of bullshit awareness, most people know when you’re trying to manipulate them. Or trying too hard at all. If you’ve ever seen someone get wasabi in their eye, you’ll know the kind of face readers pull when the article they were just reading suddenly turns into a self-promotion show.

In truth, if someone’s reading something they like, they’ll seek out who wrote it.

If someone vibes with a post on Facebook, they’ll stalk the shit out of that business.

If you’re an expert showing your expertise, in one way or another, enchanted readers/listeners/viewers will hunt you down. And they will book.

I momentarily misstepped in my ‘defy idiotic marketing’ march, but have my client - a practitioner of great integrity - to thank for nudging me back into line.

You’re welcome to join the parade.

This...

He swept a palm towards a non-descript acoustic on the wall.

This is a guitar worth spending time with.

Reaching up to flip the price tag, only one eyelid twitched as I revealed a series of zeros.

The monobrowed muso went on.

The sound you get out of it is something else - soft lows, strong mids, balanced highs. Here, have a strum.

He handed it to me.

That tone, hey? Oh, and it’s made from African Mahogany and maple. Abalone rosette, too. Real nice. Take as long as you want; yell if you have any questions.

I wedged the instrument between armpit, thigh and fingertips and proceeded to spend quality time with a hunk of wood and steel.

He was right - it was a beauty.

And even though I hung it back on the hook and slunk past the shop assistant with ‘I can’t afford it’ avoidance, what he said struck a chord.

A guitar worth spending time with.

What a lovely, odd sentiment - like the instrument had a life of its own, a character, a will. Less a commodity and more a living part of the transaction. 

I wondered:

What if we all created products and services worth 'spending time with’?

Courses and workshops people loved being a part of. Food, drink and artisan goodies with a story to tell and ingredients that give back. Brands you want to be around.

There’ll always be a market for cheap, one-dimensional products.

But consumers increasingly crave craftsmanship - products, services and experiences with passion as their main ingredient, and depth you can savour.

Is your product, service or brand worth spending time with?

And should I just buy the damn guitar?

Let me know in the comments. 

How often do you do something for nothing?

Would you sit around a rickety perspex table sewing reusable shopping bags - for free? 

Last week at the greengrocer, with arms full of apples and fibrous matter, I picked up a Boomerang Bag - after realising my usual shopping tote was at home filled with decomposing socks. 

The bags were hanging by the counter, along with the happy instructions to ‘Take me home, then bring me back!’. Loose produce crisis averted. 

They're made from recycled materials and the goodwill of volunteers, stitching together solutions to the world’s plastic problem. 

Doing something for nothing. 

That is, if it’s money you’re after.

As I hitched my snazzy new Boomerang Bag over one shoulder, I thought of Jan or Pam or Neville who lined up the sides and sewed straight lines for hours at a time - so I could avoid using plastic.

They don’t do it for financial reward, I’m sure, but a different kind of profit - one that can be multiplied ad infinitum. 

In working for free, they grow rich in personal satisfaction. In giving good things away, they seed goodwill in their community. In saving my ass, they save a plastic bag. 

Doing something is never for nothing - especially when it comes to volunteering - and I reckon the Boomerang Brigade will be paid karmic dividends for years. 

Unlike me, who’s never giving this bag back.