Author Archives: David Crampton

The Faded Color of Empty Words, from

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This was yoinked from who got it from who got it from a fark.com discussion. The comment thread in his journal is a really interesting read. I dig what this guy is saying, and I’m wondering what you think, especially those of you with backgrounds in advertising and marketing. So, without further ado…

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Advertising isn’t working like it did a few years ago. You’ve noticed this, right?

Most advertisers are convinced that technology is to blame.

TV advertisers will tell you that TiVo and her sister Digital Video Recorders are blocking their television ads. But according to a recent report released by Leichtman Research Group, only 12 percent of American households own a DVR.

But TV ad results are down far more than 12 percent.

Radio advertisers will tell you that everyone is listening to iPods and satellite radio. But in truth, most of radio’s loss has been in the 12to 17 year-old age group. These pre-adults are now spending only 51quarter-hours per week listening to commercial radio, down from a zenith of 65 quarter-hours per week during the pre-Internet 80s and early 90s. The rest of us are listening about as much as we ever did.We wake up to radio alarm clocks and listen at work and in our cars.Overall, the audience for commercial radio has declined only about 4percent over the past 3 years.

But Radio ad results are down far more than 4 percent.

Online news aggregators gather worldwide news for us and deliver it instantly to our desktops. Traditional Newspaper subscriptions are at an all-time low and so are Newspaper ad results. But the results are declining faster than subscriptions.

Yes, technology is to blame. But not in the way that you think.

I’m paid according to how much my clients grow, remember? So I don’t really care what the problem is. My job is to find it and fix it.

Here’s what I’ve discovered, tested and proved:

1: Internet surfing has trained us to disregard empty words.
2: Relevance has become more important than repetition.

Bottom line: Meaningful messages are working better than ever, especially when the fundamental premise of your ad is clearly stated in the opening line. Ads full of unsupported claims and overworked “image-building”phrases are being rejected before they ever enter the brain. So say what matters. Say it tight, say it true.

The audience is still there. What’s gone is their willingness to pay attention to drivel.

You spend about a minute each day going though the mail delivered by the Post Office, right? Before Yahoo and Google came along, those 6 minutes each week constituted your total weekly exercise in the high-speed evaluation of content. But now you’re spending more than a quarter-hour per day scanning search engine results and web pages for relevant,meaningful, salient information. These daily quarter-hours are teaching you – and your customers – to more quickly recognize and disregard word-fluff and other irrelevant information. We’re learning to filter out hyperbole and empty phrases.

Is this beginning to make sense to you?

To make your advertising work like it should, you’re going to have to:

1. Talk about things your customer actually cares about.
2. Write your ads in a style that rings true.
3. Avoid heroic chest thumping. “We are the number one…” is now considered gauche and passé.
4. Close the loopholes in your ads. Offer evidence to support what you say.
5. Be specific. Details are more believable than generalities.
6. Deliver a real message. Substance is more important than style.

Creativity and repetition can no longer cover up the fact that an advertiser has nothing to say. You’ve got to have a message that matters.

Do you?

Roy H. Williams

Waking up shouldn’t take six and a half hours.

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Something that my Dad used to say to me when he was frustrated with my behavior is running through my mind today. “You know better than this. You knew what you needed to do. Why didn’t you do it?” All that I could do was shrug my shoulders. I didn’t know why I hadn’t done the obvious thing, so there was no explanation to give.

I feel that way now. The house is a mess. Buddy has tracked mud from our back “yard” all over the place. I could have swept. I didn’t. There are a ton of dishes to do. I could have washed them. I didn’t. I could have made more effort to finish up the four classes that I have remaining at MSU. I still can. But I haven’t. I could push myself at work to achieve something above and beyond the expected. I haven’t. I could force myself to write every day, to use up the ideas that constantly flow into my head. I haven’t. I could have already started to burn teaser CDs for PenguiCon. I haven’t.

Why? *shrug* There’s no reason. I preach that all it takes to improve the world around you is to put your ideas about it into motion. I have had all sorts of ideas about the house, about the back yard, the front yard, things I could do… and I haven’t done them. I haven’t picked up a rake or a piece of trash from our lawn (damn kids) or repaired the hose (sprung a leak, possibly from getting run over by a mower), or moved the hose to someplace where it doesn’t make the whole porch look crappy. I haven’t picked up any of ‘s pots or plastic planter things from last year. No matter how many times I’ve looked at how the grass is encroaching on the sidewalk, I’ve never made an effort to get or borrow an edger to take care of that. No matter how many times I’ve complained about how muddy the driveway is, I have made zero effort in getting gravel or broken up pieces of concrete or the old brick that is scattered all over, half-buried, in the back “yard.”

…

As I wake up more fully, there at Theio’s, with the caffeine, ibuprofin, and acetaminophen all working to get rid of the headache that I had from sleeping like crap, and I’m thinking that things might not be as bad as they sound. Is it important to know why the bad behavior, or pattern of behavior, exists in order to change it fundamentally? If I try the “fake it ’till I make it” technique, will I be treating the symptoms instead of the disease, or will I be eradicating the disease through forming a new set of behavioral patterns? Will I be able to stand not knowing?

Is there always a why? Is it laziness for me to stop looking for the reasons, cut to the chase, and try to modify the end result? Or is it laziness to allow the bad patterns to continue while I search for the cause(s)?

…

If I say that I need to force myself to do them, then I am working against myself. If I say that I need to change my behavior, then there is a clear and forward progression of items that are clearly recognizable and can be dealt with. If I say that I need to discover the cause of the bad behavior patterns, then there is a quest that must be embarked upon, discovery must happen, followed by revelation, and then employing the results of that revelation into day-to-day life.

Is there something obvious that I’m missing?

Horoscope

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TAURUS (April 20-May 20): On the Internet’s Leonard Cohen Forum, Lizzy says she once thought that making “a joyful noise unto the Lord” was the highest expression of spiritual praise. Now she feels that *whispering* one’s appreciation for the majesty of creation is just as valid. Diane, going a step further, suggests that even silence can be a powerful form of homage–maybe even more so than raucous celebration. My opinion? I think Diane might be right when it comes to plants and animals, with which you can achieve easy telepathic communion. But when dealing with the divine works of art known as human beings, the best way to express praise is loud and clear. Your assignment in the coming week is to do that for everyone you care about. More than ever before, you need to dispense vociferous approval and articulate adoration.

Morbid and creepifyin’, I got no problem with.

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This game has got me all excited, on top of the Penguicon goodness. says that she won’t be a WoW Widow, but she just might be an URU widow. Definitely going to have to regimen my time in this game.

It may also not help that I’ve just ordered Myst III: Exile for the PS2 from a brand new local, non-chain, used video game, movie, music, and comic book store. I think I’m in heaven. Two blocks away, and I’ve got Replay Entertainment Exchange. Strangely enough, I’d been in the shop before, when it was Capitol Tattoo. Going in and finding out that there are now live bands every Friday where I got my ink done was kind of surreal. Especially since Replay was burned and then flooded (twice) out of their building in Old Town.

I also picked up a VHS copy of the Batman Beyond movie for two bucks. Score!

Afterward, I went to Gone Wired to write a story. I did, too. It’s a short-short, and I succeeded in creeping myself out. One should not personify cancer, especially not accidentally while attempting to draw on unexpressed ideas that are sitting in one’s own mind. CREEPY.

Back to work for me. Luckily, I’ve got tea.

Horoscope

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TAURUS (April 20-May 20): I’m betting on the imminent arrival of at least two of the following climaxes: (1) You’ll culminate a task or goal you’ve been working on for months. (2) You’ll remember an important intention you’d forgotten for a long time. (3) You’ll graduate from a crash course you’ve been taking since October 2006. (4) You’ll be reunited with a lost sheep or forsaken dream that’s ready for another chance.

Left to my thoughts.

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I have become addicted to having an internet connection.

Here I sit, in Gone Wired Cafe. I’ve sipped my delicious coffee. I’ve eaten my taco plate and chicken noodle soup (surprisingly good combination). I’ve updated the rough draft of The Glass Crown with the stuff I wrote at the very end of November, but never typed up. And, I’m stuck, because the internet service here is down.

Later the same day:

At work now. Happy Birthday, !

On a related note, our license plate has been renewed. This year, the State of Michigan is forcing us to buy a new plate, as they’ve phased out the blue background, white lettered plate. So, the old-school one is hanging in my cube, and a temp is in our window until they mail us the new plate. I was pissing and moaning about it quite a bit, but I think I’ve got it out of my system. The Buddhists say that life is change, and change is suffering. I think that license plate suffering is pretty low on the scale.

This announcement went out yesterday on my writery Google Group:

I’ve got terribly exciting news that I’ve been bubbling over with for about a week. And now that it’s finalized, I’m letting all of you in on it.

Penguicon 5.0 – http://penguicon.org – will be held April 20-22 this year at the Troy Hilton hotel. It’s a linux/sci-fi/fantasy/anime/ everything convention that I’ve been going to (save for 3.0) since Neil Gaiman showed up at 2.0.

This year, I will be sitting on six panels, and will be doing a shared reading session with two other writers.

The possibility of a signing exists, and we’re going to do our best to get copies of The Remembrance on the tables in the dealers’ room. Also, we will be armed with badge ribbons galore, and have come up with a neat way to spread them around.

I’m extremely excited, and hope to see you there. :)

[White Wolf] Ishmael – There’s a new Sherrif in town.

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Ishmael stood on the sidewalk and stared at the traffic light. Green, yellow, red. Green, yellow, red. The proper pattern. But something was wrong.

Cars streamed by, sparse at this hour and in this weather. Light from a few of the loft apartments in the old Motor Wheel factory streamed out onto the road behind him and across the street. A few flickering lights from Oak Park reached Ishmael, while he stood stock still and stared at the traffic lights.

Green, yellow, red. Green yellow, red. Green, yellow, red, blinking yellow. Midnight. Traffic was now officially thin enough to no longer require the more complex pattern of lights and behavior. At this hour of night, all that was needed was a simple pattern of caution and stop before you go. Still he stared at the scene above and ahead of him.

Ishmael tilted his head to the side, shifting his perspective ever so slightly. Cogs and gears ground, shifted, and churned in a slightly different layout. The light from a street light near the corner silhouetted a set of small cameras, each facing as if to measure traffic and detect whether the light needed to change. Those hadn’t been there yesterday. “This is bad.” The fingers of his right hand sought out and rubbed the cross pin on his shirt collar. Its strange warmth was always comforting to him.

Ishmael began his walk to one of his safe houses. After the attack on the club, the house owned by the pointy-eared war goddess wasn’t even close to safe. No, old patterns would serve him best in this situation. Moments ago, he had checked on the Beowulf cluster in the basement of the one-time-factory, one-time-warehouse, now loft building, and verified that it was in working order. Two NIC replacements and a rotation of IP addresses later, he had left by a completely different route than he had used to enter. He had come out the front door, after smiling warmly to an entering resident, and had come upon the changed street corner.

The last two weeks had seen a pattern that was unlikely to be disturbing to anyone but him. Warehouse after warehouse had reported missing electronic equipment. Radio Shack, Best Buy, Circuit City, CompUSA, and even Vertex had reported missing inventory. None had filed a single insurance claim. None could find any record of the stock ever having been in the places that were reporting the missing items. No serial number tracking, no delivery slips, no electronic or paper trail at all. Ishmael stuffed his right hand back into his pocket and frowned.

These “technocracy” people seemed as subtle as a bar full of rampaging Brujah. However, with how pervasive they seemed to be, it was likely that he had faced those members that were much like the brutal Clan. The rest might be like the Ventrue or the Tremere, and that was bad for everyone. Especially that wizard. Order of Hermes. Anyone who knew the Tremere had to be bad for continued existence.

This wasn’t their style. Neither the Illuminati of the wizards nor those Kindred that had been in Lansing in the past were subtle enough for something like this. None had encroached upon territory that had always been his. Ishmael used the key to open the deadbolt, entered the mediocre apartment, and closed the door behind him. He locked the door, and checked every window and set of blinds, moving in a clockwise circuit. Nothing had been disturbed.

Ishmael entered the master bedroom, which contained a milk crate serving for a stand for a used iMac. The plastic had “$45” written on it in permanent marker, followed by “No Hard Drive”. He plugged the power cord into the wall. He plugged an ethernet cable into the computer and into a new-looking jack in the wall.

The newest gimmick to lease crappy apartments – free high speed internet access.

He grinned and pressed the power button. After a “bong” and a few moments, a large question mark blinked on the screen. He nodded to the machine, as if he understood it, and went into the kitchen. He pulled out the silverware drawer (built-in slots for forks, spoons, and knives – how helfpul) and reached in. He pulled out a CD that had been taped to the underside of the counter, and headed back into the bedroom. He slid the CD into the slot-loading drive, and smiled again as a penguin appeared on the screen.

It took him hours to gather the information and sort it manually. With this kind of situation, he couldn’t trust his aggregation and sorting algorithms. This kind of subtlety was inherently designed to fool systems of that nature. No, this required a tilting of the head and hours of satisfying work. And, oh, did it pay off.

Cameras. Lenses. Coax cable, antenna wire, ethernet cable. Low light cameras, zooming cameras, DV cameras. Circuit boards, computer motherboards, resisters, capacitors, webcams, TV in and out cards… the “missing” equipment was nearly enough to set up a low-grade visual network that could spy effectively on an entire city the size of Lansing. Worse yet, most of the model numbers were unique, or at least inconsistent. Nearly impossible to trace, and each node in the network, each camera, each data-processing hub, everything… it would all be custom. Impossible to trace. On top of all of this, legislation had been shoved through City Council to install a network of camera-responsive lights, like they had in Detroit and its suburbs, at the major intersections of the city. The paperwork was all in perfect order, and had come upon absolutely zero resistance from anyone.

Brilliant.

But the patterns, oh God in heaven, the patterns. Ishmael set the keyboard on the floor. The growth patterns from each central hub were altered by geography, but once that factor was removed, each pattern was a synthetic version of a biological growth curve. An artificial attempt at organic growth. It was breathtaking. It was beautiful. It was the most dangerous thing that Ishmael had ever seen.

Someone in the city was as good as he was; had skills that rivaled his own. It was possible, even likely, that his recent activity had drawn this challenger. No! Conflict only ended one life, and let the other live. Conflict solved nothing! A quiet stirring of rage from deep within Ishmael made him stop and think. Old patterns would serve him best.

Lay low. Do not allow contact. Do not contact anyone. Let the danger pass. After all, as long as no one thought he was a danger, no one would spend the effort to end his life. And without that, he would live forever.

Lay low. Let the danger pass.