I can’t remember much of what my first-grade teacher said.
But I can still remember those school bus mornings.
Back then, school buses didn’t have seatbelts. At least ours didn’t.
When the driver made a sharp turn, you’d better have a firm grip on the seat. Otherwise, you’d find yourself sprawled on the floor.
And then there was breakfast.
Parents would fill their children’s stomachs with sugary cereal before shoving them onto a bus that bounced and rattled like a paint shaker.
Just about every morning, somebody threw up.
It was practically a rite of passage.
Here’s the thing:
I couldn’t tell you what my teacher taught us on any particular morning. But decades later, I can still picture that bus, feel the turns, and remember the unfortunate fate of somebody’s bowl of Frosted Flakes.
There’s a useful copywriting lesson hiding in all that childhood misery:
๐ฃ๐ฒ๐ผ๐ฝ๐น๐ฒ ๐ฟ๐ฒ๐บ๐ฒ๐บ๐ฏ๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐๐ถ๐๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ถ๐บ๐ฎ๐ด๐ฒ๐ ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ฟ ๐ฏ๐ฒ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ป ๐๐ฎ๐ด๐๐ฒ ๐ฎ๐ฏ๐๐๐ฟ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐๐ถ๐ผ๐ป๐.
Suppose you’re selling a rugged wristwatch. You could tell people it’s extremely durable.
Or you could describe how it survived a three-story fall onto concrete without missing a second.
One is a claim. The other puts a little movie in the reader’s head. That’s the difference between making a statement and planting an image in someone’s head.
One disappears almost immediately. The other can stick around for decades.
RW
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