Last night I’m sitting by the campfire, drinking whiskey from my flask, listening to the river next to me roll along.

My entertainment for the evening: a breathtaking autobiography titled Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey.

It’s an account of the author’s time spent as a ranger for the U.S. National Park Service in southeastern Utah.

And wow, is it a breath of fresh air.

Both beautiful and heart wrenching at the same time.

Anyways. I’m really not sure if it was just the fact that I was in nature, or if it was the whiskey I was drinking … but after months of “conversion” copy behind the eyes, I was emotional at the beauty of Abbey’s words.

Read this line about cactus flowers and tell me you’re not sucked in:

“The prickly pear, for example, produces a flower that may be violet, saffron, or red. It is cup-shaped, filled with golden stamens that respond with sensitive, one might almost say sensual, tenderness to the entrance of a bee. This flower is indeed irresistibly attractive to insects; I have yet to look into one and not find a honeybee or bumblebee wallowing drunkenly inside, powdered with pollen, glutting itself on what must be a marvelous nectar. You can't get them out of there — they won't go home.”

So very different from the short, punchy style I’ve crafted over the last half a decade writing copy.

And as I gobbled up page after page just like this, I noticed a pattern.

A pattern that I think could apply to copy, too.

It’s the idea of taking the smallest, most minute detail — in this case, the flower of a prickly pear cactus — and blowing up a highly detailed story around that detail.

Would it not work with copy, too?

Let’s try with foot arch pain … something I know all too well.

You could just say “The arch of your foot isn’t getting the support it needs. Our patented foot arch protector will help support your arch and reduce the pain.”

Booooooooring.

How about this instead:

“The arch of your foot isn’t just there for looks, you know.

It has a much more important purpose: to support the delicate balance of your entire body. The arch — a clever design of evolution — adds spring to your step like the spring of a mattress and shields you from injury.

Having a working, pain-free arch is what lets you walk freely across blades of dewy summer grass … allows you to run unencumbered across sandy beaches … and keeps you balanced as you tiptoe to reach the last bag of cookies at the supermarket.

But left unsupported, that spring can wear down … until eventually, it springs no more.”

Idk. If I were selling a foot arch product, I’d be willing to bet that the bottom copy would do much better.

David Patrick