I dig beer. And if you’re going to concoct an advertising campaign with attendant brand building that appeals to my need for suds, please, for the love of the almighty marketing gods, tell me your pitch man is the most interesting man in the world. That’s audacious.
And better yet, tell me things about him that will make me think, at least for a moment, that what you’re pitching is infinitely better than other mass-produced beer.
Tell me the most interesting man in the world is allowed to touch the art at museums. Tell me he once had an awkward moment just to see how it feels. Tell me the police often question him, just because they find him interesting. Tell me sharks have a week dedicated to him.
Tell me his blood smells like cologne.
After all, he’s the most interesting man—and Dos Equis, the beer, has tied him to its brand like a big fake party beard. It’s not splitting-the-atom type of genius, but it sure is brilliantly fun.
It’s also culturally interesting in a branded-absurdist kind of way.
Someone, probably an English or Journalism major, wrote the copy for the Dos Equis ad. He or she surely understands the editorial zeitgeist delivered by what we all affectionately call new media.
The fact that an old guy with a Latino accent can be christened “most interesting” is a nod to the notion that each of us has the potential to channel our inner Hemingway or Amelia Earhart. And, of course, we can go on a crusade to tell (and show) the world about it via social media.
But let’s bring this back to you, the writer.
Everyone is preoccupied with the new tools we have at our disposal to share information. In fact, scores of new books either celebrate new media or declare them the most evil enterprises since the devil delivered light beer.
The New Yorker’s Adam Gopnik says not to worry. In a fascinating piece last week, Gopnik notes that people have been decrying new forms of communication for centuries, even the printed book and card-catalogue system for indexing titles (the forerunner of search engines, naturally):
“Everyone said that the flood of books produced a restless, fractured attention…that big good handmade books [would be] ignored, swept aside by printed works that are foolish, ignorant, malignant, libelous, mad.”
Sort of like the Internet.
What hasn’t been considered extensively is how people who write for a living—or those who simply live to write—have changed their editorial habits and styles to cater to the “beast” known as new media.
We’ve been taught how to write prose since we were old enough to hoist a pencil. We learned about sentence structure, style and voice, and we were told that transitions were the holy grail of narrative flow.
And then websites entered our world, along with blogs and Twitter feeds and all other forms of social media linked to websites and mobile apps. (You want a transition for your story? Hit the return key.)
So, how is this all going to shake out for writers? Better yet, how are you going to be the most interesting writer in world when writing short is almost required by Internet and social media law?
In the spirit of the most interesting man in the world, the most interesting writer for new media should make sure…
Every sentence has meaning and nothing is wasted or left to interpretation or clarified in the next sentence…because you will have cut the next sentence.
Every word is calculated, precise and doesn’t require a thesaurus (don’t give a reader an opportunity to ditch your words for dictionary.com).
Every post has gravitas, value and somehow solidifies you or your company as a distinct, engaging brand.
Every post doesn’t just consider the audience, but the audience’s potential to act on what you write (that is, to buy something, read something else, comment, tell others about your post).
And, above all, stay thirsty, my friends.
Michael McCarthy is editor-in-chief and content director for Washington Flyer Magazine & Media. He is in the process of growing a big, friendly beard and booking tickets to Bora Bora.
