Which type of B2B copywriter are you?

I read whatever’s closest. Like, maybe, the words on my coffee cup. (These days, I really don’t mind what I read, just as long as it’s easy to find.)

I catch up on the latest posts from the CMI. I spend a lot of my evenings doing this. I once shouted ‘Pulizzi!’ when shouting my partner’s name would have been a significantly smarter idea.

I review the new threads on my Debian Linux forum. Monolithic libraries of open-source wisdom don’t just moderate themselves.

I pick up The Economist, and get sucked into a fascinating dissection of Swedish banking regulations. I emerge ten minutes later, blinking, informed and empowered.

I get swept up in the latest enthralling piece of investigative reporting from the New York Times.

I fire up Hootsuite, then sigh audibly at people’s terrible Twitter etiquette.

I reach for my pocket Hemingway. I love those short, spare sentences.

*Sigh* How long is the free trial? And what will I get out of it? And hey, talk to me like a rational adult, ‘cowboy’.

*Sigh* Don’t they know ‘my free trial’ is at least 90% more effective than ‘your free trial’?

*Sigh* Come on. I haven’t paid for video content since 2004.

*Sigh* Did anyone think about how ugly this would look on my smartphone screen?

*Sigh* Are you sure ‘cowboy’ is one of your keywords, partner?

*Sigh* Another free trial I’ll forget to cancel, and that’ll hang off my finances like a blood-sucking tick for the next year – hey, maybe I could pitch a piece about that to the Sunday papers? ‘How I Discovered the True Cost of Free Trials’? Not bad…

*Sigh* That CTA’s at least seven words longer than it needs to be.

Superman. I just wish he’d spend a little less time thwarting Lex Luthor, and a little more pulling his weight at the Daily Planet.

Ultron. I can live within the internet too.

Batman. He’s so punchy and effective.

The Flash. I have to work almost as fast just to keep a roof over my head.

Larry Ellison. Did I say Larry Ellison? I meant Tony Stark.

Ah, any supervillain. I love the bit where the hero’s incapacitated, and they get to really talk out their evil plans.

Professor Xavier. I like to get inside people’s heads, figure out what makes them tick, and exploit that knowledge to save the world. Or just sell them stuff.

Explain the benefits of a product or service to the people who are going to buy it.

Win attention by making an immediate emotional connection.

Explain exactly how a product works, to the people who are going to use it.

Contain as many keywords as possible, as many times as possible.

Be snappy, persuasive and visible.

Tell an engaging story.

Incite action.

Can you give me a human example? I mean, has this software-defined network helped a data centre manager spend more time with her three-year-old son?

So, do we want to get into how leap seconds affect precise time distribution in 4G mobile networks?

Do you have a wireframe for the page? I need to see where the copy’s going to appear.

It’s not my job to ask questions. Any that I have can usually be adequately answered by Wikipedia.

Who’s our target audience, and what do they want?

What’s the angle here?

So, solving [insert complex technical challenge] is a lot like making lasagne, right?

Mostly I just see screens. Even when I close my eyes.

Posters of my childhood heroes: Albert Einstein, Carl Sagan, Richard Feynman… y’know, the usual.

All the marketing awards I won in the early 90s. And my pinboard collage of the greatest direct mail I’ve ever received.

The interior of my local Starbucks. And *a lot* of dead espressos. And no escape from my Sisyphean existence.

The interior of the Shoreditch Grind. I’m grabbing some lunch before waiting to interview some hot new start-up’s CIO.

My Cherry MX brown switch mechanical keyboard. How do people type with that membrane trash?

A bright, open plan office, with glass-fronted meeting rooms we’re encouraged to refer to as ‘Idea Cubes’. On the office’s longest opaque wall, written in a bespoke, italicised typeface, are quotes from Gandhi, Ogilvy and our CEO.

Up. For sheer time-to-first-cry.

Titanic. I haven’t seen it, but at £2.49, three and a half hours of anything seems damn fine value for money.

Any number of mind-expanding YouTube channels. Minute Physics, Mental Floss, Vsauce.

Hooking the projector up to my phone, and running these lucky people through my all-time favourite Vines.

Tron. It seems I need to educate my friends a little so they can appreciate just how cool I look on my self-built Light Cycle.

Amy. A compelling real-life tale, expertly told.

The Village of the Damned. Did I mention I like it when people do exactly what I want them to?

Egyptian Blue. Not because it’s the earliest known artificial pigment, but because the near-infrared it gives off could revolutionise medical imaging and laser technology.

Blue. It’s so often how I feel at the end of the day. And the start of the day. And right now.

International Klein Blue. How many colours are also a work of art?

Blue. Give me a blue room, the Sunday papers, and something on Blue Note Records, and I’ll be over the (blue) moon.

Indian Ocean Blue. I read some research suggesting people like fancy names, and an ‘Indian Ocean Blue’ product will sell better than a plain old ‘Blue’ one.

Blue. It’s a safe bet. Wherever you go in the world, people love blue .

Blue. I love a clear spring sky. I also love telling people – my wife, my children, fortunate passers-by – exactly why it’s blue. (You don’t? Really? Well, it’s really all to do with blue light’s comparatively short wavelength…)