A Love Story in Words and Pictures
Most days, as I sort through my mail, I hope something surprises me amid the sea of old standards most everyone relies on. It's hard to get excited about another handful of white No. 10 packages, although yes, they have their place, and yes, for most mailers "boring" usually works better than something "design-y" or "creative."
I tend to toss the lot of sameness into a basket to open and look through later, but there are a few rare exceptions — like everything I receive from Best Friends Animal Society. Those mailings are like a treat, an irresistible feast of cuteness and an infallible pick-me-up.
The obvious: What's not to love?
Best Friends' mail looks like a photo album and reads like a storybook in the very best way. Yes, it works because of what the organization is and what it does — give homeless pets happy, fulfilled lives. But there's something to learn from it no matter what your mission, because stories help make the most compelling case for support for all kinds of organizations, including those with zero cute factor.
Stories engage us. They help us relate to others with whom we may share little or nothing in common. Stories stir emotions, and giving decisions begin in the heart. So it's wise to pay attention to how different stories are crafted and the use of small details bring them to life.
One Best Friends appeal tells the story of Rhubarb, a pup seized in a cruelty case who wasn't only hungry and neglected but also pretty much a train wreck of a dog. He needed heart surgery and a custom-made cart to help him walk, along with physical therapy and round-the-clock care.
The entirety of page one is Rhubarb's story told in long form, how he was thriving at first, but then took a turn for the worse until, "It seemed there was nothing that could be done. It was time to start saying goodbye. Rhubarb was now officially a hospice case here at Best Friends.
"It was a heartbreak, watching him decline.
"But then, the strangest thing happened. Rhubarb … lived.
"Nobody could believe it. His pneumonia went away. He stopped deteriorating. He defied all medical predictions. It was as though he simply decided that he was too happy to pass away. He wanted to keep cuddling with his caregivers, he wanted to keep seeing his dog friends, he wanted to keep practicing his walking with the cart. Embraced by the Sanctuary, and by your love and support, he wanted to keep going. In fact … "
And that's how page one ends, with a nice little push to keep reading.
Some small details in that copy illustrate how the words you use to tell a story can close the distance between subject and reader. More than just a dog, Rhubarb is written about like family. He "defied all medical predictions." Medical, not veterinary. He was "a hospice case." Rhubarb "decided" not to die, and he "wanted" very emotional things — to cuddle with caregivers, see his friends, and be independent and not a burden. This wasn't about more doggie-like wants such as to chase squirrels, bark at the mailman, dig holes in the yard or roll around in stinky, disgusting stuff.
I'm all for anthropomorphizing when it works for fundraising, and in this case I believe it definitely does. Last year Americans spent an estimated $50.84 billion on their pets, according to the American Pet Products Association. We pamper them and consider them family, so it resonates when copy like Best Friends' acknowledges that mind-set.
And finally, a shout-out for some excellent donor-centered language amid the storytelling: "Embraced by the Sanctuary, and by your love and support, he wanted to keep going."
The not-so-obvious: Where's the story?
One of my favorite Best Friends packages is seemingly story-less and contains not one picture of an adorable puppy or kitten. Instead, it appeals to anyone who has ever experienced the heartbreak of a pet's death.
The package's offer is an invitation "to honor a beloved, departed pet at our special ceremony to recognize the joy animals bring to our lives — and to help more homeless pets feel the same love you've shared with your own pet."
A "Tribute Card" is enclosed to have my pet included in a blessing ceremony, and in a delightful donor-engagement strategy, it invites me to attach a photo or share whatever I'd like about my pet. And — smart, smart move! — the tribute card is very quietly personalized with my name and member ID in tiny type at the bottom.
The package also includes three sympathy cards for me to send "a friend, child or co-worker who is hurting because of the loss of a pet." One for a dog person, one for a cat person and one for any kind of pet person. Each is inscribed, "So sorry to hear that your beloved [dog/cat/pet] has crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. May time and happy memories of your years together help heal your heart."
But maybe the most brilliant thing about this appeal is how it endeavors to make me the center of the story. (Emphasis mine in italics below.)
"Last year, thousands of you shared your memories with us, and we shared those with everyone who came to the September Blessing at Angel's Rest.
"The notes we read were witty and filled with joy. They were also heartbreaking. We cried with you and held your memories close as we honored each and every one. Of course, we couldn't read every memory aloud at the ceremony, but the collective spirit of your memories was visually stunning and will forever permeate the red canyon walls. …
"We will hang the cards like prayer flags around Angels Rest, infusing the canyon with your love and compassion …"
That right there is how you weave storytelling into your copy when you don't have a Rhubarb to talk about. Instead of an unemotional "we'll hang up your Tribute Card for the ceremony," paint a mental picture for me. Tell me the story of how it will be like a prayer flag fluttering in a beautiful red canyon, something visually stunning in a spirit of remembrance that will last forever. With an earlier promise to cry with me and hold my memories close, that's a really wonderful, unique offer. FS
Kimberly Seville is a creative strategist and freelance copywriter. Reach her at kimberlyseville@yahoo.com