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When You Sit Down To WRITE
PART I—PREPARING TO WRITE THE LETTER—CHAPTER 4
The weakness of most letters is not due to ungrammatical sentences or to a poor style, but to a wrong viewpoint:
the writer presents a proposition from his own viewpoint instead of that of the reader.
The correspondent has gone far towards success when he can VISUALIZE his prospect, see his environments, his
needs, his ambitions, and APPROACH the PROSPECT from THIS ANGLE.
This chapter tells how to get the class idea; how to see the man to whom you are writing and that equally important
qualification, how to get into the mood for writing actual methods used by effective correspondents.
* * * * *
When you call on another person or meet him in a business transaction you naturally have in mind a definite idea
of what you want to accomplish. That is, if you expect to carry your point. You know that this end cannot be
reached except by a presentation which will put your proposition in such a favorable light, or offer such an
inducement, or so mould the minds of others to your way of thinking that they will agree with you. And so before
you meet the other person you proceed to plan your campaign, your talk, your attitude to fit his personality and the
conditions under which you expect to meet.
An advertising man in an eastern mining town was commissioned to write a series of letters to miners, urging upon
them the value of training in a night school about to be opened. Now he knew all about the courses the school
would offer and he was strong on generalities as to the value of education. But try as he would, the letters refused
to take shape. Then suddenly he asked himself, “What type of man am I really trying to reach?”
And there lay the trouble. He had never met a miner face to face in his life. As soon as he realized this he reached
for his hat and struck out for the nearest coal breaker. He put in two solid days talking with miners, getting a line on
the average of intelligence, their needs—the point of contact. Then he came back and with a vivid picture of his
man in mind, he produced a series of letters that glowed with enthusiasm and sold the course.
A number of years ago a printer owning a small shop in an Ohio city set out to find a dryer that would enable him
to handle his work faster and without the costly process of “smut-sheeting.” He interested a local druggist who was
something of a chemist and together they perfected a dryer that was quite satisfactory and the printer decided to
market his product. He wrote fifteen letters to acquaintances and sold eleven of them. Encouraged, he got out one
hundred letters and sold sixty-four orders. On the strength of this showing, his banker backed him for the cost of a
hundred thousand letters and fifty-eight thousand orders were the result.
The banker was interested in a large land company and believing the printer must be a veritable wizard in writing
letters, made him an attractive offer to take charge of the advertising for the company’s Minnesota and Canada
lands.
The man sold his business, accepted the position—and made a signal failure. He appealed to the printers
because he knew their problems—the things that lost them money, the troubles that caused them sleepless
nights—and in a letter that bristled with shop talk he went straight to the point, told how he could help them out of
at least one difficulty—and sold his product.
But when it came to selling western land he was out of his element. He had never been a hundred miles away from
his home town; he had never owned a foot of real estate; “land hunger” was to him nothing but a phrase; the
opportunities of a “new country” were to him academic arguments—they were not realities.
He lost his job. Discouraged but determined, he moved to Kansas where he started a small paper—and began to
study the real estate business. One question was forever on his lips: “Why did you move out here?” And to
prospective purchasers, “Why do you want to buy Kansas land? What attracts you?”
Month after month he asked these questions of pioneers and immigrants. He wanted their viewpoint, the real
motive that drove them westward. Then he took in a partner, turned the paper over to him and devoted his time to
the real estate business. Today he is at the head of a great land company and through his letters and his
advertising matter he has sold hundreds of thousands of acres to people who have never seen the land. But he
tells them the things they want to know; he uses the arguments that “get under the skin.”
He spent years in preparing to write his letters and bought and sold land with prospects “face to face” long before
he attempted to deal with them by letter. He talked and thought and studied for months before he dipped his pen
into ink.
Now before he starts a letter, he calls to mind someone to whom he has sold a similar tract in the past; he
remembers how each argument was received; what appeals struck home and then, in his letter, he talks to that
man just as earnestly as if his future happiness depended upon making the one sale.
The preparation to write the letter should be two-fold: knowing your product or proposition and knowing the man
you want to reach. You have got to see the proposition through the eyes of your prospect. The printer sold his ink
dryer because he looked at it from the angle of the buyer and later he sold real estate, but not until he covered up
his own interest and presented the proposition from the viewpoint of the prospect.
Probably most successful letter writers, when they sit down to write, consciously or unconsciously run back over
faces and characteristics of friends and acquaintances until they find someone who typifies the class they desire to
reach. When writing to women, one man always directs his appeal to his mother or sister; if trying to interest young
men he turns his mind back to his own early desires and ambitions.
Visualize your prospect. Fix firmly in your mind some one who represents the class you are trying to reach; forget
that there is any other prospect in the whole world; concentrate your attention and selling talk on this one
individual.
“If you are going to write letters that pull,” says one successful correspondent, “you have got to be a regular
spiritualist in order to materialize the person to whom you are writing; bring him into your office and talk to him face
to face.”
“The first firm I ever worked for,” he relates, “was Andrew Campbell & Son. The senior Campbell was a
conservative old Scotchman who had made a success in business by going cautiously and thoroughly into
everything he took up. The only thing that would appeal to him would be a proposition that could be presented
logically and with the strongest kind of arguments to back it up. The son, on the other hand, was thoroughly
American; ready to take a chance, inclined to plunge and try out a new proposition because it was new or unique;
the novelty of a thing appealed to him and he was interested because it was out of the ordinary.
“Whenever I have an important letter to write, I keep these two men in mind and I center all my efforts to convince
them; using practical, commonsense arguments to convince the father, and enough snappy ‘try-it-for-yourself’ talk
to win the young man.”
According to this correspondent, every firm in a measure represents these two forces, conservative and radical,
and the strongest letter is the one that makes an appeal to both elements.
A young man who had made a success in selling books by mail was offered double the salary to take charge of the
publicity department of a mail-order clothing house. He agreed to accept—two months later. Reluctantly the firm
consented.
The firm saw or heard nothing from him until he reported for work. He had been shrewd enough not to make the
mistake of the printer who tried to sell land and so he went to a small town in northern Iowa where a relative owned
a clothing store and started in as a clerk. After a month he jumped to another store in southern Minnesota. At
each place—typical country towns—he studied the trade and when not waiting on customers busied himself near
some other clerk so he could hear the conversation, find out the things the farmers and small town men looked for
in clothes and learn the talking points that actually sell the goods.
This man who had a position paying $6,000 a year waiting for him spent two months at $9 a week preparing to
write. A more conceited chap would have called it a waste of time, but this man thought that he could well afford to
spend eight weeks and sacrifice nearly a thousand dollars learning to write letters and advertisements that would
sell clothes by mail.
At the end of the year he was given a raise that more than made up his loss. Nor is he content, for every year he
spends a few weeks behind the counter in some small town, getting the viewpoint of the people with whom he
deals, finding a point of contact, getting local color and becoming familiar with the manner of speech and the
arguments that will get orders.
When he sits down to write a letter or an advertisement he has a vivid mental picture of the man he wants to
interest; he knows that man’s process of thinking, the thing that appeals to him, the arguments that will reach right
down to his pocket-book.
A man who sells automatic scales to grocers keeps before him the image of a small dealer in his home town. The
merchant had fallen into the rut, the dust was getting thicker on his dingy counters and trade was slipping away to
more modern stores.
“Mother used to send me on errands to that store when I was a boy,” relates the correspondent, “and I had been in
touch with it for twenty years. I knew the local conditions; the growth of competition that was grinding out the
dealer’s life.
“I determined to sell him and every week he received a letter from the house—he did not know of my connection
with it—and each letter dealt with some particular problem that I knew he had to face. I kept this up for six months
without calling forth a response of any kind; but after the twenty-sixth letter had gone out, the manager came in
one day with an order—and the cash accompanied it. The dealer admitted that it was the first time he had ever
bought anything of the kind by mail. But I knew his problems, and I connected them up with our scales in such a
way that he had to buy.
“Those twenty-six letters form the basis for all my selling arguments, for in every town in the country there are
merchants in this same rut, facing the same competition, and they can be reached only by connecting their
problems with our scales.”
No matter what your line may be, you have got to use some such method if you are going to make your letters pull
the orders. Materialize your prospect; overcome every objection and connect their problems with your products.
When you sit down to your desk to write a letter, how do you get into the right mood? Some, like mediums, actually
work themselves into a sort of trance before starting to write. One man insists that he writes good letters only when
he gets mad—which is his way of generating nervous energy.
Others go about it very methodically and chart out the letter, point by point. They analyze the proposition and out
of all the possible arguments and appeals, carefully select those that their experience and judgment indicate will
appeal strongest to the individual whom they are addressing. On a sheet of paper one man jots down the
arguments that may be used and by a process of elimination, scratches off one after another until he has left only
the ones most likely to reach his prospect.
Many correspondents keep within easy reach a folder or scrapbook of particularly inspiring letters, advertisements
and other matter gathered from many sources. One man declares that no matter how dull he may feel when he
reaches the office in the morning he can read over a few pages in his scrapbook and gradually feel his mind clear;
his enthusiasm begins to rise and within a half hour he is keyed up to the writing mood.
A correspondent in a large mail-order house keeps a scrapbook of pictures—a portfolio of views of rural life and
life in small towns. He subscribes to the best farm papers and clips out pictures that are typical of rural life,
especially those that represent types and show activities of the farm, the furnishings of the average farm house—
anything that will make clearer the environment of the men and women who buy his goods. When he sits down to
write a letter he looks through this book until he finds some picture that typifies the man who needs the particular
article he wants to sell and then he writes to that man, keeping the picture before him, trying to shape every
sentence to impress such a person. Other correspondents are at a loss to understand the pulling power of his
letters.
A sales manager in a typewriter house keeps the managers of a score of branch offices and several hundred
salesmen gingered up by his weekly letters. He prepares to write these letters by walking through the factory,
where he finds inspiration in the roar of machinery, the activity of production, the atmosphere of actual creative
work.
There are many sources of inspiration. Study your temperament, your work and your customers to find out under
what conditions your production is the easiest and greatest. It is neither necessary nor wise to write letters when
energies and interest are at a low ebb, when it is comparatively easy to stimulate the lagging enthusiasm and
increase your power to write letters that bring results.
How To Begin A BUSINESS Letter
PART II—HOW TO WRITE THE LETTER—CHAPTER 5
From its salutation to its signature a business letter must hold the interest of the reader or fail in its purpose. The
most important sentence in it is obviously the FIRST one, for upon it depends whether the reader will dip further
into the letter or discard it into the waste basket. IN THAT FIRST SENTENCE THE WRITER HAS HIS CHANCE.
If he is really capable, he will not only attract the reader’s interest in that first sentence, but put him into a receptive
mood for the message that follows.
Here are some sample ways of “opening” a business letter:
* * * * *
No matter how large your tomorrow morning’s mail, it is probable that you will glance through the first paragraph of
every letter you open. If it catches your attention by reference to something in which you are interested, or by a
clever allusion or a striking head line or some original style, it is probable you will read at least the next paragraph
or two. But if these paragraphs do not keep up your interest the letter will be passed by unfinished. If you fail to
give the letter a full reading the writer has only himself to blame. He has not taken advantage of his opportunity to
carry your interest along and develop it until he has driven his message home, point by point.
In opening the letter the importance of the salutation must not be ignored. If a form letter from some one who does
not know Mr. Brown, personally, starts out “Dear Mr. Brown,” he is annoyed. A man with self-respect resents
familiarity from a total stranger—someone who has no interest in him except as a possible customer for his
commodity.
If a clerk should address a customer in such a familiar manner it would be looked upon as an insult. Yet it is no
uncommon thing to receive letters from strangers that start out with one of these salutations:
“Dear Benson:”
“My dear Mr. Benson:”
“Respected Friend:”
“Dear Brother:”
While it is desirable to get close to the reader; and you want to talk to him in a very frank manner and find a point
of personal contact, this assumption of friendship with a total stranger disgusts a man before he begins your letter.
You start out with a handicap that is hard to overcome, and an examination of a large number of letters using such
salutations are enough to create suspicion for all; too often they introduce some questionable investment
proposition or scheme that would never appeal to the hard-headed, conservative business man.
“Dear Sir” or “Gentlemen” is the accepted salutation, at least until long correspondence and cordial relations justify
a more intimate greeting. The ideal opening, of course, strikes a happy medium between too great formality on the
one hand and a cringing servility or undue familiarity on the other hand.
No one will dispute the statement that the reason so many selling campaigns fail is not because of a lack of merit in
the propositions themselves but because they are not effectively presented.
For most business men read their letters in a receptive state of mind. The letterhead may show that the message
concerns a duplicating machine and the one to whom it is addressed may feel confident in his own mind that he
does not want a duplicating machine. At the same time he is willing to read the letter, for it may give him some new
idea, some practical suggestion as to how such a device would be a good investment and make money for him. He
is anxious to learn how the machine may be related to his particular problems. But it is not likely that he has time or
sufficient interest to wade through a long letter starting out:
“We take pleasure in sending you under separate cover catalogue of our latest models of Print-Quicks, and we are
sure it will prove of interest to you.”
* * * * *
The man who has been sufficiently interested in an advertisement to send for a catalogue finds his interest cooling
rapidly when he picks up a letter that starts out like this:
“We have your valued inquiry of recent date, and we take pleasure in acknowledging,” and so forth.
* * * * *
Suppose the letter replying to his inquiry starts out in this style:
“The picture on page 5 of our catalogue is a pretty fair one, but I wish you could see the desk itself.”
* * * * *
The reader’s attention is immediately gripped and he reaches for the catalogue to look at the picture on page five.
To get attention and arouse interest, avoid long-spun introductions and hackneyed expressions. Rambling
sentences and loose paragraphs have proved the graveyard for many excellent propositions. Time-worn
expressions and weather-beaten phrases are poor conductors, there, is too much resistance-loss in the current of
the reader’s interest.
The best way to secure attention naturally depends upon the nature of the proposition and the class of men to
whom the letter is written.
One of the most familiar methods is that known to correspondents as the “mental shock.” The idea is to put at the
top of the letter a “Stop! Look! Listen!” sign. Examples of this style are plentiful:
THIS MEANS MONEY TO YOU--BIG MONEY.
LET ME PAY YOUR NEXT MONTH’S RENT.
READ IT—ON OUR WORD IT’S WORTH READING.
STOP SHOVELING YOUR MONEY INTO THE FURNACE.
NOW LISTEN! I WANT A PERSONAL WORD WITH YOU.
CUT YOUR LIGHT BILL IN HALF.
* * * * *
Such introductions have undoubtedly proved exceedingly effective at times, but like many other good things, the
idea has been overworked. The catch-line of itself sells no goods and to be effective it must be followed by trip-
hammer arguments. Interest created in this way is hard to keep up.
The correspondent may use a catch-line, just as the barker at a side show uses a megaphone—the noise attracts
a crowd but it does not sell the tickets. It is the “spiel” the barker gives that packs the tent. And so the average
man is not influenced so much by a bold catch-line in his letters as by the paragraphs that follow. Some
correspondents even run a catch-line in red ink at the top of the page, but these yellow journal “scare-heads” fall
short with the average business proposition.
Then attention may be secured, not by a startling sentence but by the graphic way in which a proposition is stated.
Here is an opening that starts out with a clear-cut swing:
“If we were to offer you a hundred-dollar bill as a gift we take it for granted that you would be interested. If, then,
our goods will mean to you many times that sum every year isn’t the proposition still more interesting? Do you not
want us to demonstrate what we say? Are you not willing to invest a little of your time watching this demonstration?”
* * * * *
This reference to a hundred-dollar bill creates a concrete image in the mind of the reader. The letters that first
used this attention-getter proved so effective that the idea has been worked over in many forms. Here is the
effective way one correspondent starts out:
“If this letter were printed on ten-dollar bills it could scarcely be more valuable to you than the offer it now contains.
You want money; we want your business. Let’s go into partnership.”
* * * * *
Here is a letter sent out by a manufacturer of printing presses:
“If your press feeders always showed up on Monday morning; if they were never late, never got tired, never
became careless, never grumbled about working overtime, you would increase the output of your plant, have less
trouble, make more money—that is why you will be interested in the Speedwell Automatic feeding attachment.”
* * * * *
This paragraph summarizes many of the troubles of the employing printer. It “gets under his skin,” it is graphic,
depicting one of the greatest problems of his business and so he is certain to read the letter and learn more about
the solution that it offers.
This same paragraph might also be used as a good illustration of that effective attention-getter, the quick appeal
to the problems that are of most concern to the reader. The one great trouble with the majority of letters is that
they start out with “we” and from first to last have a selfish viewpoint:
“We have your valued inquiry of recent date and, as per your request, we take pleasure in enclosing herewith a
copy of our latest catalogue,” and so forth.
* * * * *
Don’t begin by talking about yourself, your company, your business, your growth, your progress, your improved
machinery, your increased circulation, your newly invested capital. The reader has not the faintest interest in you
or your business until he can see some connection between it and his own welfare. By itself it makes no play
whatever to his attention; it must first be coupled up with his problems and his needs.
Begin by talking about him, his company, his business, his progress, his troubles, his disappointments, his needs,
his ambition.
That is where he lives day and night. Knock at that door and you will find him at home. Touch upon some vital
need in his business— some defect or tangle that is worrying him—some weak spot that he wants to remedy—
some cherished ambition that haunts him—and you will have rung the bell of his interest. A few openings that are
designed to get the reader’s attention and induce him to read farther, are shown here:
“Your letter reached me at a very opportune time as I have been looking for a representative in your territory.”
* * * * *
“By using this code you can telegraph us for any special article you want and it will be delivered at your store the
following morning. This will enable you to compete with the large mail-order houses. It will give you a service that
will mean more business and satisfied customers.”
* * * * *
“You can save the wages of one salesman in every department of your store. Just as you save money by using a
typewriter, addressograph, adding machine, cash register and other modern equipments, so you can save it by
installing a Simplex.”
* * * * *
“Don’t you want to know how to add two thousand square feet of display to some department of your store in
exchange for twenty feet of wall?”
* * * * *
“Yes, there is a mighty good opening in your territory for hustling salesmen. You will receive a complete outfit by
express so you can start at once.”
* * * * *
Keep the interest of the reader in mind. No matter how busy he is, he will find time to read your letter if you talk
about his problems and his welfare.
Some correspondents, having taken only the first lesson in business letter writing, over-shoot the mark with a lot of
“hot air” that is all too apparent. Here is the opening paragraph from one of these writers:
“By the concise and business-like character of your letter of inquiry we know that you would be very successful in
the sale of our typewriters. This personal and confidential circular letter is sent only to a few of our selected
correspondents whom we believe can be placed as general agents.”
* * * * *
As a matter of fact, the gentleman to whom this letter was sent had written with a lead pencil on a post card asking
for further particulars regarding propositions to salesmen. It is a good illustration of the form letter gone wrong.
The inquirer had not written a concise and business-like letter and there was not the slightest reason why the firm
should send him a personal and confidential proposition and if the proposition were really confidential, it would not
be printed in a circular letter.
Here is the opening paragraph of a letter typical in its lack of originality and attention-getting qualities:
“We are in receipt of yours of recent date and in reply wish to state that you will find under separate cover a copy
of our latest catalogue, illustrating and describing our Wonder Lighting System. We are sure the information
contained in this catalogue will be of interest to you.”
* * * * *
Not only is the paragraph devoid of interest-getting features, but it is written from the wrong standpoint—“we”
instead of “you.”
Re-write the paragraph and the reader is certain to have his
interest stimulated:
“The catalogue is too large to enclose with this letter and so you will find it in another envelope. You will find on
page 4 a complete description of the Wonder System of Lighting, explaining just how it will cut down your light bill.
This system is adapted to use in stores, factories, public halls and homes—no matter what you want you will find it
listed in this catalogue.”
* * * * *
Then it is possible to secure attention by some familiar allusion, some reference to facts with which the reader is
familiar:
“In our fathers’ day, you know, all fine tableware was hand forged—that meant quality but high cost.”
* * * * *
The opening statement secures the assent of the reader even before he knows what the proposition is. Sometimes
an allusion may be introduced that does not come home so pointedly to the reader but the originality of the idea
appeals to him. By its very cleverness he is led to read further. Here is the beginning of a letter sent out by an
advertising man and commercial letter writer:
“The Prodigal Son might have started home much sooner had he received an interesting letter about the fatted
calf that awaited his coming.
“The right sort of a letter would have attracted his attention, aroused his interest, created a desire and stimulated
him to action.”
* * * * *
Then there is the opening that starts out with an appeal to human interest. It is the one opening where the writer
can talk about himself and still get attention and work up interest:
“Let me tell you how I got into the mail order business and made so much money out of it.”
* * * * *
“I wish I could have had the opportunity thirty years ago that you have today. Did I ever tell you how I started out?”
* * * * *
“I have been successful because I have confidence in other people.”
* * * * *
“I was talking to Mr. Phillips, the president of our institution, this morning, and he told me that you had written to us
concerning our correspondence course.”
* * * * *
These personal touches bring the writer and reader close together and pave the way for a man-to-man talk.
Then there is a way of getting attention by some novel idea, something unusual in the typography of the letter,
some unusual idea. One mail-order man puts these two lines written with a typewriter across the top of his
letterheads:
“EVEN IF YOU HAD TO PAY TO SECURE A COPY OF THIS LETTER—OR HAD TO TAKE A DAY OFF TO READ
IT—YOU COULD NOT AFFORD TO FAIL TO CONSIDER IT.”
* * * * *
Few men would receive a letter like that without taking the time to read it, at least hurriedly, and if the rest of the
argument is presented with equal force the message is almost sure to be carried home.
Another mail-order house sending out form letters under one-cent postage, inserts this sentence directly under
the date line, to the right of the name and address:
“Leaving our letter unsealed for postal inspection is the best proof that our goods are exactly as represented.”
* * * * *
The originality of the idea impresses one. There is no danger that the letter will be shunted into the waste basket
without a reading.
There are times when it is necessary to disarm the resentment of the reader in the very first paragraph, as, for
instance, when there has been a delay in replying to a letter. An opening that is all too common reads:
“I have been so extremely busy that your letter has not received my attention.”
* * * * *
Or the writer may be undiplomatic enough to say:
“Pardon delay. I have been so much engaged with other matters that I have not found time to write you.”
* * * * *
The considerate correspondent is always careful that his opening does not rub the wrong way. One writer starts
out by saying:
“You have certainly been very patient with me in the matter of your order and I wish to thank you for this.”
* * * * *
Here are the first five paragraphs of a two-page letter from an investment firm. The length of the letter is greatly
against it and the only hope the writer could have, would be in getting the attention firmly in the opening paragraph:
“My dear Mr. Wilson:
“I want to have a personal word with you to explain this matter.
“I don’t like to rush things; I believe in taking my time. I always try to do it. I want you to do the same thing, but there
are exceptions to all rules: sometimes we cannot do things just the way we want to and at the same time reap all
the benefits.
“Here is the situation. I went out to the OIL FIELDS OF CALIFORNIA and while there I DID DEVOTE PLENTY AND
AMPLE TIME TO PROPER INVESTIGATION. I went into the thing thoroughly. I went there intending to INVEST MY
OWN MONEY if I found things right.
“My main object in leaving for California was to INVESTIGATE FOR MY CLIENTS, but I would not advise my clients
to invest THEIR money unless the situation was such that I would invest MY OWN money. That’s where I stand
first, last and all the time.
“I don’t go into the torrid deserts in the heat of the summer and stay there for weeks just for fun. There is no fun or
pleasure to it, let me tell you. It’s hard work when one investigates properly, and I surely did it right. I guess you
know that.”
* * * * *
The letter is not lacking in style; the writer knows how to put things forcibly, but he takes up half a page of valuable
space before he says anything vital to his subject. See how much stronger his letter would have been had he
started with the fifth paragraph, following it with the fourth paragraph.
The great weakness in many letters is padding out the introduction with non-essential material. It takes the writer
too long to get down to his proposition. Here is a letter from a concern seeking to interest agents:
“We are in receipt of your valued inquiry and we enclose herewith full information in regard to the E. Z. Washing
Compound and our terms to agents.
“We shall be pleased to mail you a washing sample post-paid on receipt of four cents in two-cent stamps or a full
size can for ten cents, which amount you may subtract from your first order, thus getting the sample free. We
would like to send you a sample without requiring any deposit but we have been so widely imposed upon by
‘sample grafters’ in the past that we can no longer afford to do this.”
* * * * *
The first paragraph is hackneyed and written from the standpoint of the writer rather than that of the reader. The
second paragraph is a joke. Seven lines, lines that ought to be charged with magnetic, interest-getting statements,
are devoted to explaining why ten cents’ worth of samples are not sent free, but that this “investment” will be
deducted from the first order. What is the use of saving a ten-cent sample if you lose the interest of a possible
agent, whose smallest sales would amount to several times this sum?
It is useless to spend time and thought in presenting your proposition and working in a clincher unless you get
attention and stimulate the reader’s interest in the beginning. Practically everyone will read your opening
paragraph—whether he reads further will depend upon those first sentences.
Do not deceive yourself by thinking that because your proposition is interesting to you, it will naturally be
interesting to others. Do not put all your thought on argument and inducements—the man to whom you are writing
may never read that far.
Lead up to your proposition from the reader’s point of view; couple up your goods with his needs; show him where
he will benefit and he will read your letter through to the postscript. Get his attention and arouse his interest—then
you are ready to present your proposition.
PART I—PREPARING TO WRITE THE LETTER—CHAPTER 4
The weakness of most letters is not due to ungrammatical sentences or to a poor style, but to a wrong viewpoint:
the writer presents a proposition from his own viewpoint instead of that of the reader.
The correspondent has gone far towards success when he can VISUALIZE his prospect, see his environments, his
needs, his ambitions, and APPROACH the PROSPECT from THIS ANGLE.
This chapter tells how to get the class idea; how to see the man to whom you are writing and that equally important
qualification, how to get into the mood for writing actual methods used by effective correspondents.
* * * * *
When you call on another person or meet him in a business transaction you naturally have in mind a definite idea
of what you want to accomplish. That is, if you expect to carry your point. You know that this end cannot be
reached except by a presentation which will put your proposition in such a favorable light, or offer such an
inducement, or so mould the minds of others to your way of thinking that they will agree with you. And so before
you meet the other person you proceed to plan your campaign, your talk, your attitude to fit his personality and the
conditions under which you expect to meet.
An advertising man in an eastern mining town was commissioned to write a series of letters to miners, urging upon
them the value of training in a night school about to be opened. Now he knew all about the courses the school
would offer and he was strong on generalities as to the value of education. But try as he would, the letters refused
to take shape. Then suddenly he asked himself, “What type of man am I really trying to reach?”
And there lay the trouble. He had never met a miner face to face in his life. As soon as he realized this he reached
for his hat and struck out for the nearest coal breaker. He put in two solid days talking with miners, getting a line on
the average of intelligence, their needs—the point of contact. Then he came back and with a vivid picture of his
man in mind, he produced a series of letters that glowed with enthusiasm and sold the course.
A number of years ago a printer owning a small shop in an Ohio city set out to find a dryer that would enable him
to handle his work faster and without the costly process of “smut-sheeting.” He interested a local druggist who was
something of a chemist and together they perfected a dryer that was quite satisfactory and the printer decided to
market his product. He wrote fifteen letters to acquaintances and sold eleven of them. Encouraged, he got out one
hundred letters and sold sixty-four orders. On the strength of this showing, his banker backed him for the cost of a
hundred thousand letters and fifty-eight thousand orders were the result.
The banker was interested in a large land company and believing the printer must be a veritable wizard in writing
letters, made him an attractive offer to take charge of the advertising for the company’s Minnesota and Canada
lands.
The man sold his business, accepted the position—and made a signal failure. He appealed to the printers
because he knew their problems—the things that lost them money, the troubles that caused them sleepless
nights—and in a letter that bristled with shop talk he went straight to the point, told how he could help them out of
at least one difficulty—and sold his product.
But when it came to selling western land he was out of his element. He had never been a hundred miles away from
his home town; he had never owned a foot of real estate; “land hunger” was to him nothing but a phrase; the
opportunities of a “new country” were to him academic arguments—they were not realities.
He lost his job. Discouraged but determined, he moved to Kansas where he started a small paper—and began to
study the real estate business. One question was forever on his lips: “Why did you move out here?” And to
prospective purchasers, “Why do you want to buy Kansas land? What attracts you?”
Month after month he asked these questions of pioneers and immigrants. He wanted their viewpoint, the real
motive that drove them westward. Then he took in a partner, turned the paper over to him and devoted his time to
the real estate business. Today he is at the head of a great land company and through his letters and his
advertising matter he has sold hundreds of thousands of acres to people who have never seen the land. But he
tells them the things they want to know; he uses the arguments that “get under the skin.”
He spent years in preparing to write his letters and bought and sold land with prospects “face to face” long before
he attempted to deal with them by letter. He talked and thought and studied for months before he dipped his pen
into ink.
Now before he starts a letter, he calls to mind someone to whom he has sold a similar tract in the past; he
remembers how each argument was received; what appeals struck home and then, in his letter, he talks to that
man just as earnestly as if his future happiness depended upon making the one sale.
The preparation to write the letter should be two-fold: knowing your product or proposition and knowing the man
you want to reach. You have got to see the proposition through the eyes of your prospect. The printer sold his ink
dryer because he looked at it from the angle of the buyer and later he sold real estate, but not until he covered up
his own interest and presented the proposition from the viewpoint of the prospect.
Probably most successful letter writers, when they sit down to write, consciously or unconsciously run back over
faces and characteristics of friends and acquaintances until they find someone who typifies the class they desire to
reach. When writing to women, one man always directs his appeal to his mother or sister; if trying to interest young
men he turns his mind back to his own early desires and ambitions.
Visualize your prospect. Fix firmly in your mind some one who represents the class you are trying to reach; forget
that there is any other prospect in the whole world; concentrate your attention and selling talk on this one
individual.
“If you are going to write letters that pull,” says one successful correspondent, “you have got to be a regular
spiritualist in order to materialize the person to whom you are writing; bring him into your office and talk to him face
to face.”
“The first firm I ever worked for,” he relates, “was Andrew Campbell & Son. The senior Campbell was a
conservative old Scotchman who had made a success in business by going cautiously and thoroughly into
everything he took up. The only thing that would appeal to him would be a proposition that could be presented
logically and with the strongest kind of arguments to back it up. The son, on the other hand, was thoroughly
American; ready to take a chance, inclined to plunge and try out a new proposition because it was new or unique;
the novelty of a thing appealed to him and he was interested because it was out of the ordinary.
“Whenever I have an important letter to write, I keep these two men in mind and I center all my efforts to convince
them; using practical, commonsense arguments to convince the father, and enough snappy ‘try-it-for-yourself’ talk
to win the young man.”
According to this correspondent, every firm in a measure represents these two forces, conservative and radical,
and the strongest letter is the one that makes an appeal to both elements.
A young man who had made a success in selling books by mail was offered double the salary to take charge of the
publicity department of a mail-order clothing house. He agreed to accept—two months later. Reluctantly the firm
consented.
The firm saw or heard nothing from him until he reported for work. He had been shrewd enough not to make the
mistake of the printer who tried to sell land and so he went to a small town in northern Iowa where a relative owned
a clothing store and started in as a clerk. After a month he jumped to another store in southern Minnesota. At
each place—typical country towns—he studied the trade and when not waiting on customers busied himself near
some other clerk so he could hear the conversation, find out the things the farmers and small town men looked for
in clothes and learn the talking points that actually sell the goods.
This man who had a position paying $6,000 a year waiting for him spent two months at $9 a week preparing to
write. A more conceited chap would have called it a waste of time, but this man thought that he could well afford to
spend eight weeks and sacrifice nearly a thousand dollars learning to write letters and advertisements that would
sell clothes by mail.
At the end of the year he was given a raise that more than made up his loss. Nor is he content, for every year he
spends a few weeks behind the counter in some small town, getting the viewpoint of the people with whom he
deals, finding a point of contact, getting local color and becoming familiar with the manner of speech and the
arguments that will get orders.
When he sits down to write a letter or an advertisement he has a vivid mental picture of the man he wants to
interest; he knows that man’s process of thinking, the thing that appeals to him, the arguments that will reach right
down to his pocket-book.
A man who sells automatic scales to grocers keeps before him the image of a small dealer in his home town. The
merchant had fallen into the rut, the dust was getting thicker on his dingy counters and trade was slipping away to
more modern stores.
“Mother used to send me on errands to that store when I was a boy,” relates the correspondent, “and I had been in
touch with it for twenty years. I knew the local conditions; the growth of competition that was grinding out the
dealer’s life.
“I determined to sell him and every week he received a letter from the house—he did not know of my connection
with it—and each letter dealt with some particular problem that I knew he had to face. I kept this up for six months
without calling forth a response of any kind; but after the twenty-sixth letter had gone out, the manager came in
one day with an order—and the cash accompanied it. The dealer admitted that it was the first time he had ever
bought anything of the kind by mail. But I knew his problems, and I connected them up with our scales in such a
way that he had to buy.
“Those twenty-six letters form the basis for all my selling arguments, for in every town in the country there are
merchants in this same rut, facing the same competition, and they can be reached only by connecting their
problems with our scales.”
No matter what your line may be, you have got to use some such method if you are going to make your letters pull
the orders. Materialize your prospect; overcome every objection and connect their problems with your products.
When you sit down to your desk to write a letter, how do you get into the right mood? Some, like mediums, actually
work themselves into a sort of trance before starting to write. One man insists that he writes good letters only when
he gets mad—which is his way of generating nervous energy.
Others go about it very methodically and chart out the letter, point by point. They analyze the proposition and out
of all the possible arguments and appeals, carefully select those that their experience and judgment indicate will
appeal strongest to the individual whom they are addressing. On a sheet of paper one man jots down the
arguments that may be used and by a process of elimination, scratches off one after another until he has left only
the ones most likely to reach his prospect.
Many correspondents keep within easy reach a folder or scrapbook of particularly inspiring letters, advertisements
and other matter gathered from many sources. One man declares that no matter how dull he may feel when he
reaches the office in the morning he can read over a few pages in his scrapbook and gradually feel his mind clear;
his enthusiasm begins to rise and within a half hour he is keyed up to the writing mood.
A correspondent in a large mail-order house keeps a scrapbook of pictures—a portfolio of views of rural life and
life in small towns. He subscribes to the best farm papers and clips out pictures that are typical of rural life,
especially those that represent types and show activities of the farm, the furnishings of the average farm house—
anything that will make clearer the environment of the men and women who buy his goods. When he sits down to
write a letter he looks through this book until he finds some picture that typifies the man who needs the particular
article he wants to sell and then he writes to that man, keeping the picture before him, trying to shape every
sentence to impress such a person. Other correspondents are at a loss to understand the pulling power of his
letters.
A sales manager in a typewriter house keeps the managers of a score of branch offices and several hundred
salesmen gingered up by his weekly letters. He prepares to write these letters by walking through the factory,
where he finds inspiration in the roar of machinery, the activity of production, the atmosphere of actual creative
work.
There are many sources of inspiration. Study your temperament, your work and your customers to find out under
what conditions your production is the easiest and greatest. It is neither necessary nor wise to write letters when
energies and interest are at a low ebb, when it is comparatively easy to stimulate the lagging enthusiasm and
increase your power to write letters that bring results.
How To Begin A BUSINESS Letter
PART II—HOW TO WRITE THE LETTER—CHAPTER 5
From its salutation to its signature a business letter must hold the interest of the reader or fail in its purpose. The
most important sentence in it is obviously the FIRST one, for upon it depends whether the reader will dip further
into the letter or discard it into the waste basket. IN THAT FIRST SENTENCE THE WRITER HAS HIS CHANCE.
If he is really capable, he will not only attract the reader’s interest in that first sentence, but put him into a receptive
mood for the message that follows.
Here are some sample ways of “opening” a business letter:
* * * * *
No matter how large your tomorrow morning’s mail, it is probable that you will glance through the first paragraph of
every letter you open. If it catches your attention by reference to something in which you are interested, or by a
clever allusion or a striking head line or some original style, it is probable you will read at least the next paragraph
or two. But if these paragraphs do not keep up your interest the letter will be passed by unfinished. If you fail to
give the letter a full reading the writer has only himself to blame. He has not taken advantage of his opportunity to
carry your interest along and develop it until he has driven his message home, point by point.
In opening the letter the importance of the salutation must not be ignored. If a form letter from some one who does
not know Mr. Brown, personally, starts out “Dear Mr. Brown,” he is annoyed. A man with self-respect resents
familiarity from a total stranger—someone who has no interest in him except as a possible customer for his
commodity.
If a clerk should address a customer in such a familiar manner it would be looked upon as an insult. Yet it is no
uncommon thing to receive letters from strangers that start out with one of these salutations:
“Dear Benson:”
“My dear Mr. Benson:”
“Respected Friend:”
“Dear Brother:”
While it is desirable to get close to the reader; and you want to talk to him in a very frank manner and find a point
of personal contact, this assumption of friendship with a total stranger disgusts a man before he begins your letter.
You start out with a handicap that is hard to overcome, and an examination of a large number of letters using such
salutations are enough to create suspicion for all; too often they introduce some questionable investment
proposition or scheme that would never appeal to the hard-headed, conservative business man.
“Dear Sir” or “Gentlemen” is the accepted salutation, at least until long correspondence and cordial relations justify
a more intimate greeting. The ideal opening, of course, strikes a happy medium between too great formality on the
one hand and a cringing servility or undue familiarity on the other hand.
No one will dispute the statement that the reason so many selling campaigns fail is not because of a lack of merit in
the propositions themselves but because they are not effectively presented.
For most business men read their letters in a receptive state of mind. The letterhead may show that the message
concerns a duplicating machine and the one to whom it is addressed may feel confident in his own mind that he
does not want a duplicating machine. At the same time he is willing to read the letter, for it may give him some new
idea, some practical suggestion as to how such a device would be a good investment and make money for him. He
is anxious to learn how the machine may be related to his particular problems. But it is not likely that he has time or
sufficient interest to wade through a long letter starting out:
“We take pleasure in sending you under separate cover catalogue of our latest models of Print-Quicks, and we are
sure it will prove of interest to you.”
* * * * *
The man who has been sufficiently interested in an advertisement to send for a catalogue finds his interest cooling
rapidly when he picks up a letter that starts out like this:
“We have your valued inquiry of recent date, and we take pleasure in acknowledging,” and so forth.
* * * * *
Suppose the letter replying to his inquiry starts out in this style:
“The picture on page 5 of our catalogue is a pretty fair one, but I wish you could see the desk itself.”
* * * * *
The reader’s attention is immediately gripped and he reaches for the catalogue to look at the picture on page five.
To get attention and arouse interest, avoid long-spun introductions and hackneyed expressions. Rambling
sentences and loose paragraphs have proved the graveyard for many excellent propositions. Time-worn
expressions and weather-beaten phrases are poor conductors, there, is too much resistance-loss in the current of
the reader’s interest.
The best way to secure attention naturally depends upon the nature of the proposition and the class of men to
whom the letter is written.
One of the most familiar methods is that known to correspondents as the “mental shock.” The idea is to put at the
top of the letter a “Stop! Look! Listen!” sign. Examples of this style are plentiful:
THIS MEANS MONEY TO YOU--BIG MONEY.
LET ME PAY YOUR NEXT MONTH’S RENT.
READ IT—ON OUR WORD IT’S WORTH READING.
STOP SHOVELING YOUR MONEY INTO THE FURNACE.
NOW LISTEN! I WANT A PERSONAL WORD WITH YOU.
CUT YOUR LIGHT BILL IN HALF.
* * * * *
Such introductions have undoubtedly proved exceedingly effective at times, but like many other good things, the
idea has been overworked. The catch-line of itself sells no goods and to be effective it must be followed by trip-
hammer arguments. Interest created in this way is hard to keep up.
The correspondent may use a catch-line, just as the barker at a side show uses a megaphone—the noise attracts
a crowd but it does not sell the tickets. It is the “spiel” the barker gives that packs the tent. And so the average
man is not influenced so much by a bold catch-line in his letters as by the paragraphs that follow. Some
correspondents even run a catch-line in red ink at the top of the page, but these yellow journal “scare-heads” fall
short with the average business proposition.
Then attention may be secured, not by a startling sentence but by the graphic way in which a proposition is stated.
Here is an opening that starts out with a clear-cut swing:
“If we were to offer you a hundred-dollar bill as a gift we take it for granted that you would be interested. If, then,
our goods will mean to you many times that sum every year isn’t the proposition still more interesting? Do you not
want us to demonstrate what we say? Are you not willing to invest a little of your time watching this demonstration?”
* * * * *
This reference to a hundred-dollar bill creates a concrete image in the mind of the reader. The letters that first
used this attention-getter proved so effective that the idea has been worked over in many forms. Here is the
effective way one correspondent starts out:
“If this letter were printed on ten-dollar bills it could scarcely be more valuable to you than the offer it now contains.
You want money; we want your business. Let’s go into partnership.”
* * * * *
Here is a letter sent out by a manufacturer of printing presses:
“If your press feeders always showed up on Monday morning; if they were never late, never got tired, never
became careless, never grumbled about working overtime, you would increase the output of your plant, have less
trouble, make more money—that is why you will be interested in the Speedwell Automatic feeding attachment.”
* * * * *
This paragraph summarizes many of the troubles of the employing printer. It “gets under his skin,” it is graphic,
depicting one of the greatest problems of his business and so he is certain to read the letter and learn more about
the solution that it offers.
This same paragraph might also be used as a good illustration of that effective attention-getter, the quick appeal
to the problems that are of most concern to the reader. The one great trouble with the majority of letters is that
they start out with “we” and from first to last have a selfish viewpoint:
“We have your valued inquiry of recent date and, as per your request, we take pleasure in enclosing herewith a
copy of our latest catalogue,” and so forth.
* * * * *
Don’t begin by talking about yourself, your company, your business, your growth, your progress, your improved
machinery, your increased circulation, your newly invested capital. The reader has not the faintest interest in you
or your business until he can see some connection between it and his own welfare. By itself it makes no play
whatever to his attention; it must first be coupled up with his problems and his needs.
Begin by talking about him, his company, his business, his progress, his troubles, his disappointments, his needs,
his ambition.
That is where he lives day and night. Knock at that door and you will find him at home. Touch upon some vital
need in his business— some defect or tangle that is worrying him—some weak spot that he wants to remedy—
some cherished ambition that haunts him—and you will have rung the bell of his interest. A few openings that are
designed to get the reader’s attention and induce him to read farther, are shown here:
“Your letter reached me at a very opportune time as I have been looking for a representative in your territory.”
* * * * *
“By using this code you can telegraph us for any special article you want and it will be delivered at your store the
following morning. This will enable you to compete with the large mail-order houses. It will give you a service that
will mean more business and satisfied customers.”
* * * * *
“You can save the wages of one salesman in every department of your store. Just as you save money by using a
typewriter, addressograph, adding machine, cash register and other modern equipments, so you can save it by
installing a Simplex.”
* * * * *
“Don’t you want to know how to add two thousand square feet of display to some department of your store in
exchange for twenty feet of wall?”
* * * * *
“Yes, there is a mighty good opening in your territory for hustling salesmen. You will receive a complete outfit by
express so you can start at once.”
* * * * *
Keep the interest of the reader in mind. No matter how busy he is, he will find time to read your letter if you talk
about his problems and his welfare.
Some correspondents, having taken only the first lesson in business letter writing, over-shoot the mark with a lot of
“hot air” that is all too apparent. Here is the opening paragraph from one of these writers:
“By the concise and business-like character of your letter of inquiry we know that you would be very successful in
the sale of our typewriters. This personal and confidential circular letter is sent only to a few of our selected
correspondents whom we believe can be placed as general agents.”
* * * * *
As a matter of fact, the gentleman to whom this letter was sent had written with a lead pencil on a post card asking
for further particulars regarding propositions to salesmen. It is a good illustration of the form letter gone wrong.
The inquirer had not written a concise and business-like letter and there was not the slightest reason why the firm
should send him a personal and confidential proposition and if the proposition were really confidential, it would not
be printed in a circular letter.
Here is the opening paragraph of a letter typical in its lack of originality and attention-getting qualities:
“We are in receipt of yours of recent date and in reply wish to state that you will find under separate cover a copy
of our latest catalogue, illustrating and describing our Wonder Lighting System. We are sure the information
contained in this catalogue will be of interest to you.”
* * * * *
Not only is the paragraph devoid of interest-getting features, but it is written from the wrong standpoint—“we”
instead of “you.”
Re-write the paragraph and the reader is certain to have his
interest stimulated:
“The catalogue is too large to enclose with this letter and so you will find it in another envelope. You will find on
page 4 a complete description of the Wonder System of Lighting, explaining just how it will cut down your light bill.
This system is adapted to use in stores, factories, public halls and homes—no matter what you want you will find it
listed in this catalogue.”
* * * * *
Then it is possible to secure attention by some familiar allusion, some reference to facts with which the reader is
familiar:
“In our fathers’ day, you know, all fine tableware was hand forged—that meant quality but high cost.”
* * * * *
The opening statement secures the assent of the reader even before he knows what the proposition is. Sometimes
an allusion may be introduced that does not come home so pointedly to the reader but the originality of the idea
appeals to him. By its very cleverness he is led to read further. Here is the beginning of a letter sent out by an
advertising man and commercial letter writer:
“The Prodigal Son might have started home much sooner had he received an interesting letter about the fatted
calf that awaited his coming.
“The right sort of a letter would have attracted his attention, aroused his interest, created a desire and stimulated
him to action.”
* * * * *
Then there is the opening that starts out with an appeal to human interest. It is the one opening where the writer
can talk about himself and still get attention and work up interest:
“Let me tell you how I got into the mail order business and made so much money out of it.”
* * * * *
“I wish I could have had the opportunity thirty years ago that you have today. Did I ever tell you how I started out?”
* * * * *
“I have been successful because I have confidence in other people.”
* * * * *
“I was talking to Mr. Phillips, the president of our institution, this morning, and he told me that you had written to us
concerning our correspondence course.”
* * * * *
These personal touches bring the writer and reader close together and pave the way for a man-to-man talk.
Then there is a way of getting attention by some novel idea, something unusual in the typography of the letter,
some unusual idea. One mail-order man puts these two lines written with a typewriter across the top of his
letterheads:
“EVEN IF YOU HAD TO PAY TO SECURE A COPY OF THIS LETTER—OR HAD TO TAKE A DAY OFF TO READ
IT—YOU COULD NOT AFFORD TO FAIL TO CONSIDER IT.”
* * * * *
Few men would receive a letter like that without taking the time to read it, at least hurriedly, and if the rest of the
argument is presented with equal force the message is almost sure to be carried home.
Another mail-order house sending out form letters under one-cent postage, inserts this sentence directly under
the date line, to the right of the name and address:
“Leaving our letter unsealed for postal inspection is the best proof that our goods are exactly as represented.”
* * * * *
The originality of the idea impresses one. There is no danger that the letter will be shunted into the waste basket
without a reading.
There are times when it is necessary to disarm the resentment of the reader in the very first paragraph, as, for
instance, when there has been a delay in replying to a letter. An opening that is all too common reads:
“I have been so extremely busy that your letter has not received my attention.”
* * * * *
Or the writer may be undiplomatic enough to say:
“Pardon delay. I have been so much engaged with other matters that I have not found time to write you.”
* * * * *
The considerate correspondent is always careful that his opening does not rub the wrong way. One writer starts
out by saying:
“You have certainly been very patient with me in the matter of your order and I wish to thank you for this.”
* * * * *
Here are the first five paragraphs of a two-page letter from an investment firm. The length of the letter is greatly
against it and the only hope the writer could have, would be in getting the attention firmly in the opening paragraph:
“My dear Mr. Wilson:
“I want to have a personal word with you to explain this matter.
“I don’t like to rush things; I believe in taking my time. I always try to do it. I want you to do the same thing, but there
are exceptions to all rules: sometimes we cannot do things just the way we want to and at the same time reap all
the benefits.
“Here is the situation. I went out to the OIL FIELDS OF CALIFORNIA and while there I DID DEVOTE PLENTY AND
AMPLE TIME TO PROPER INVESTIGATION. I went into the thing thoroughly. I went there intending to INVEST MY
OWN MONEY if I found things right.
“My main object in leaving for California was to INVESTIGATE FOR MY CLIENTS, but I would not advise my clients
to invest THEIR money unless the situation was such that I would invest MY OWN money. That’s where I stand
first, last and all the time.
“I don’t go into the torrid deserts in the heat of the summer and stay there for weeks just for fun. There is no fun or
pleasure to it, let me tell you. It’s hard work when one investigates properly, and I surely did it right. I guess you
know that.”
* * * * *
The letter is not lacking in style; the writer knows how to put things forcibly, but he takes up half a page of valuable
space before he says anything vital to his subject. See how much stronger his letter would have been had he
started with the fifth paragraph, following it with the fourth paragraph.
The great weakness in many letters is padding out the introduction with non-essential material. It takes the writer
too long to get down to his proposition. Here is a letter from a concern seeking to interest agents:
“We are in receipt of your valued inquiry and we enclose herewith full information in regard to the E. Z. Washing
Compound and our terms to agents.
“We shall be pleased to mail you a washing sample post-paid on receipt of four cents in two-cent stamps or a full
size can for ten cents, which amount you may subtract from your first order, thus getting the sample free. We
would like to send you a sample without requiring any deposit but we have been so widely imposed upon by
‘sample grafters’ in the past that we can no longer afford to do this.”
* * * * *
The first paragraph is hackneyed and written from the standpoint of the writer rather than that of the reader. The
second paragraph is a joke. Seven lines, lines that ought to be charged with magnetic, interest-getting statements,
are devoted to explaining why ten cents’ worth of samples are not sent free, but that this “investment” will be
deducted from the first order. What is the use of saving a ten-cent sample if you lose the interest of a possible
agent, whose smallest sales would amount to several times this sum?
It is useless to spend time and thought in presenting your proposition and working in a clincher unless you get
attention and stimulate the reader’s interest in the beginning. Practically everyone will read your opening
paragraph—whether he reads further will depend upon those first sentences.
Do not deceive yourself by thinking that because your proposition is interesting to you, it will naturally be
interesting to others. Do not put all your thought on argument and inducements—the man to whom you are writing
may never read that far.
Lead up to your proposition from the reader’s point of view; couple up your goods with his needs; show him where
he will benefit and he will read your letter through to the postscript. Get his attention and arouse his interest—then
you are ready to present your proposition.
| BUSINESS CORRESPONDENCE. Pt 2. |
