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I miss my story

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He’d barely gotten home, sat down, cracked a beer, and I asked my husband, what are those two-wheeled carts called? The things delivery guys stack beer on and push into places. A handcart? No, he said, that’s something else. A dolly? A hand truck? Yes, that sounds right.

And he knew right away: Are you writing your story? he asked.

Yes. I miss it, I said.

I missed my story. It had been awhile. I found myself reading stuff I had, to my great interest, forgotten I’d written. It was easy to visualize the first couple of scenes. The locations were right there in my head.

I briefly acknowledged the all-too-familiar first scene, then turned my attention to the new-ish second scene. Its first sentence bounced_it was a better book opener. Moved the scene up. I tried to smile and grimaced instead_I’d been to the dentist earlier in the day_and read a little further.

A couple months or so ago I’d used a technique from How to Write Killer Fiction, by Carolyn Wheat. I thought it would appeal to my tendency to compartmentalize and list-make: print out the doc, cut it up by scene, and rearrange the pieces. The process revealed contradictions. I saw ridiculous, overwritten tripe. I detected some order and a bit of lovely pacing.

I ended up with two piles: one for discards, and one for keepers. I found surprising satisfaction in placing my words_some babies among them_into the let-it-go stack.

I marked each pile so I had no excuse for revisiting the discards, at least for this book. I started a new doc and pasted the keepers in my new order, albeit inelegantly. And the stacks sat on the end table by the couch. Eventually they got buried by the style guides of various publishers I do freelance editorial work for.  The new, patchwork, clumsily and variously formatted  manuscript sat on my hard drive. And occasionally I thought about where the story goes from here.

A couple weeks ago I had a quiet moment with my story and made the formatting uniform. It was filler activity, but it was needed. OK, so the stroll I took through all the Word typefaces to find a compelling one for my creativity_the ms didn’t need it, but I did.

Today, then, that impulse to open up my manuscript was rewarded with a pleasing presence of words. It was nice to see them again. Let’s not wait so long the next time.

Writing like you mean it…

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…is something I don’t do. I know I can write, and a few others know it, too, which maybe is why I don’t, because I don’t have to prove it.

That’s no excuse for not writing, however. Neither is being too busy with work. We don’t even have kids. My sister-in-law asked last night, what if you don’t feel like writing? If you want to write, I told her, all the literary observers say you have to write every day. (I didn’t use the words literary observers in the conversation; in reality, I just stumbled through my little speech, hoping it made some sense.)

More pointed, where my writing is concerned, is that my sister-in-law asked this of my husband, her brother. He’s the writer in our family. He writes like he means it.

The meaning comes or goes with every word I write or ignore. I don’t know exactly what that means–haha–but it might be significant. Compelling, even. How compelling? Well, I’m writing a blog post, aren’t I? And I’m even going to publish it without rereading and revising it 15 or 102 times. A measure of fearlessless has to be another part of the writing life, I think.

There. I meant it this time.

In the end

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It’s all about books. Dying industry or no, I have an obligation to be who I am: a book producer, a mystery writer, a reader. Maybe a blah-blah-blah moment, but here I am anyway. Shifting gears yet again, I’d be happy this time to be stuck in neutral, not necessarily coasting through a career in books but not going off-road again, either. Let’s see if it sticks.

If you happened to enjoy the travel pieces, chances are, they’ll crop up again from time to time. I like places, and I expect they’ll be a focus of my writing in the future.

So I’m raising a glass to my enlightened resignation. Cheers, and happy reading.

New Orleans’ Canine Connection: Bring your dog to NOLA, even if she can’t stay with you at the hotel

I was just exchanging tweets with the New Orleans Convention & Visitors Bureau_love those guys!_about pet-friendly hotels in NOLA. The CVB enthusiastically suggested we bring our dog the next time we’re in New Orleans, and there’s almost nothing I appreciate more when chatting about our dog than enthusiasm.

Our little girlie

We always drive to New Orleans when we visit, and we always bring the dog. But we have a habit of booking our room later rather than sooner and miss out on availability at the dog-friendly hotels. Because we want to have the little girlie with us for at least part of the trip, we board her at Canine Connection, located at 4920 Tchoupitoulas Street in the Uptown neighborhood, while we’re in New Orleans.

It’s really tough to release your pet to another’s care for even a short time, especially if your pet is like ours. She tries to dig in, entrench her paws into the floor, resisting the takeaway. Every single time, a staff member has to pick her up and carry her from the front area. We watch as her little legs splay out away from her body for fearful balance and her tail tucks tight, up and in.

But the whole time the staff are cooing, oohing, and aahing over the dog. One by one, they break out into a deep smile as soon as they see her and launch into enthusiastic, high-pitched but calm hellos. That’s what I_the dog’s human_need to experience, and they know this.

We found the front counter area to the doggie daycare and boarding facility to be bright, clean, well maintained, and welcoming. And we were particularly, completely smitten by the large laughing dog paintings. Hanging on the wall behind the counter, the dog portraits are commissioned artwork by Aidi Kansas, a New Orleans native. In them she captures the brightest, most poignant features of the dogs.

The policies at Canine Connection are well considered, professional, and reasonable. They allow for us to leave with our dog a toy, her pillow, and her blanket_a big deal to me. The facility is equipped with web cams in the common play areas so we can check in on our little girlie during the day. (We’re pleased to report that she gets along with the other dogs and seems to behave herself.) The hours of operation are generous and accommodating; even more generous is the fact that we can pick her up on a Sunday, even before the place has opened for the day.

The article tweeted by the New Orleans CVB, picked up from the NewOrleans.com blog and titled ”Lucky dogs! Pet-friendly hotels in New Orleans,” showcases_complete with fabulous photos_several New Orleans hotels that allow dogs and the pampered treatment the pets are afforded. I encourage you to take these establishments up on their offer to accommodate you and your dog. But when you can’t, don’t hesitate to get in touch with Canine Connection, where your dog can socialize under the staff’s attentive supervision and receive the kind care our dog enjoys throughout her stay.

The Resortist in San Juan

The first magical feature of Puerto Rico I experienced was the mist. The sun was out and bright, bright, bright, yet the air was dense with moisture following a rainstorm we had just missed, the only rain we came close to encountering during our three-day stay. We had arrived at the Conrad San Juan Condado Plaza resort via shuttle from the airport, stepped out onto our very private balcony and were engulfed by rain-that-wasn’t-rain. It was a bizarre moment to have just been out in the sun only to be enveloped by the heavy mist lounging on our balcony.

On our balcony at the Conrad Condado

And once the dampness left, I noticed a second enchanting feature of Puerto Rico: the pelicans. Gliding in prehistoric grandeur from palm tree to palm tree to ocean and back up to tree level, the pelicans, beast-like yet graceful, provided a soul-fetching experience.

Unlike with many hotels, the website for the Conrad Condado accurately translates the look and feel of the property to the two-dimesional screen through its glittering rotating images and tourist-friendly but true-north descriptions. We couldn’t have had an easier time recognizing the place and its amenities from the website’s depiction. The recognition was far from disappointing.

The resort is tucked in alongside Condado Lagoon and overlooks the Atlantic Ocean. Visitors may choose either the city view or the ocean view. I highly recommend the ocean view.

The ocean view from our room at early evening

As far as I could tell, you can’t get a poor ocean view from any seaside room in the resort. The Atlantic stretches out from you unobstructed to meet large ships and barges in the far distance. From our room, which was situated at the end nearest the lagoon, we also could view the oceanside-edge of the rock-rimmed lagoon, the lush observation area and, farther off, a cluster of neighboring resorts jutting out into the ocean.

The interior of the Conrad Condado is clean and contemporary; it has an electric, hip freshness that can be attributed to the recent renovation undergone by the property. At first blush it might have seemed too young for us. But we quickly noted the wide variety in guests’ ages. The resort also is pet friendly. As an aside, we chatted with a women who had her dog with her. She was a frequent visitor from the East Coast who had in fact adopted her pooch from a rescue in Puerto Rico that relocates dogs from the infamous Dead Dog Beach. (For more information on this effort, check in with Pets Alive.)

Once in the room, the decor and setting are duly lovely and pleasant, but the main attraction is the out-of-doors view. A glass doorway flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows opens out to the balcony; the window space spans the width of the room. It is an experience worthy of deep-breathing contentment to wake up to the sound and sight of surf crashing against the rocks below. Our room’s decor was comfortable, sharply coordinated, clean and well maintained. The bathroom was large, gorgeous and highly functional_an unquestioned spa feeling pervaded it.

Among the resort’s amenities are a pool whose centerpiece is a swim-up bar; a separate saltwater pool, which provides a wonderful natural exfoliation experience; and an exclusive beach, which curves along the lagoon. The property also includes a casino, which seemed to be an afterthought given the appeal of the rest of the resort.

We found the desk staff to be pleasant. We also observed their well-trained patience as we waited in line to check in. Staff took all the time the situations required with guests who seemed to have tricky, unusual problems to be resolved.

The service response time in other areas was spotty. We and other patrons at the swim-up bar waited more than 30 minutes to be acknowledged, then another 20 or so to receive our drinks. Given the lush, warm surroundings, it was tough for anyone to be angry about the lack of attention to service, but we all came away knowing to manage our own expectations next time. Similarly, we made a game of watching to see how long it would take for housecleaning staff to remove a lone, used wine glass from outside the neighboring room_it had finally disappeared when we were preparing to check out of the resort.

We split our time between the Condado area of the city, where the resort is located on Ashford Avenue, and Old San Juan. Ashford Avenue runs through Condado and is billed variously as the Rodeo Drive and the Fifth Avenue of Puerto Rico. You certainly will find the most upscale clothiers and accessories shops on Ashford, but the area, while not shabby, is stark in its attention to storefront appeal. The high-end stores do not stand out from the office buildings, restaurants, service shops and condos that also populate the street. It is nonetheless an interesting, highly tactile avenue to walk along. You’ll also find a charming independent coffee shop, in addition to the Starbucks located next door to the resort.

And then there’s Old San Juan. The color, the light, the vibrancy and the history of the place contrasts with the contemporary urban streets of Condado.

Old San Juan, uphill

The drive from Condado to Old San Juan takes several scenic minutes; it’s not a walkable trek. Taxis are generally available across the street from the resort, and drivers may offer to drive you for the day; the fee is negotiable. Be savvy in this situation. One duo tried to tag-team us into hiring one of them for the next day, but the more they talked, the more we knew we were being hustled. We arrived back at the hotel safely and more knowledgeable for the experience. Another option is the local bus, which we never seemed to be able to catch.

Old San Juan, downhill

In some ways Old San Juan reminded us of the French Quarter in New Orleans. We ducked into small souvenir shops and art galleries that could easily have been found on rue Royale, and ornate facades and wrought iron balconies recalled New Orleans as well. We enjoyed a very good meal our first night in San Juan at a place called Mojito’s, located near the theater venues on Recinto. I had become ill after eating at a local bar-restaurant on Ashford and didn’t begin to feel well until eating the shrimp gumbo at Mojito’s_it had a rehabilitative impact on my system. The wait staff brought us a number of dishes to try_my husband is an excellent cook and always interested in breaking down the chefs’ approach. The waiter removed from our bill one dish we disliked and didn’t finish.
Our main goal in traveling to sunny resort destinations is to avoid a few days of bad weather up north. Our timing for this trip wasn’t ideal for that purpose, but the warmth stayed with us in a sense during the rest of the winter. It was satisfying to knew we can travel with relative ease to a resort that offers warm, beautiful luxury at a truly reasonable price.

Destination Book Review: McCaffety’s French Quarter

This book review is a revised and expanded version of a review I originally wrote and posted in August 2009 at my blog Dunne by the Book.  I was inspired to revisit the book, and the review, when we began planning our trip to New Orleans for the 2012 Jazz Fest.

The Majesty of the French Quarter (Pelican, 2000, 192 pages) is an artfully designed, high-calorie dessert of a book. It carries the reader on a deliciously absorbing journey of French Quarter architecture, interiors and courtyards through the photographs and narrative of Kerri McCaffety. From the opening spread, McCaffety links us to historic New Orleans as though we might be seeing it, hearing it, experiencing it ourselves but with a point of view few of us may be privileged to access.

The author-photographer’s lens observes the rooms, porches, balconies and buildings both in motion and at rest, finding them simultaneously grand and intimate. It is clear that McCaffety is most accomplished at her craft, and the images are well edited to travel along a concise progression through the French Quarter.

The book’s layout is fresh and varied, and the page design is nicely suited to the material. One particularly graceful series of photos appears on page 76, where eight photos, representing all of two subjects, glide across and along the page. While the caption calls attention to “166 years of weather and ruin,” I come back to the images again and again and see not destruction but motion and vibrancy.

The occasional photo may trip you up as seeming overly staged. One that snags my attention is that of a nearly empty studio, shown on page 73. A white vase with muted flowers sits on the undressed wood floor next to a faded yet fabulous rouge-upholstered high-back bench. The lone piece of furniture fronts an ages-old fireplace, against which an empty picture frame rests. Stagey, yes. But the more often I visit the page, the more I am drawn into the set.

And strangely, what might seem at first blush to be contrived settings are soon recognized to be likely photographed as is, a come-as-you-are beckoning to experience living on a world stage. Chief among these scenes is that shown on pages 74-75, in which the piano is the least of the props indicating life’s performance.

Often, the images discover slight imperfections in detail, such as on page 77, where the side table’s carefree, branch-like legs poke against the fabric of a chair skirt. I love the idea that this artistic hiccup may or may not be intentional.

Initially I had glossed over the photographs of shuttered windows and doorways. I’d seen these fixtures on plenty of occasions in real time. But as I considered them again in the overarching context of the book, I came to understand their dual function as absolutely necessary and at home in this collection and as a template for the contrast between what is observed from the street and what is lived by the buildings’ inhabitants, or was lived by the historical figures who once occupied them.

Similarly, the balconies. Those photographs that merge shadow with light are particularly affecting. The bottom-left photo on page 67 almost makes you shield your eyes as you move from the dim balcony doorway out to a bright shining day to face a red brick building whose tiers of wrought iron practically smile back at you.

While many of the scenes evoke a lived-in grandeur and often feature draped and overlapping, sometimes overwhelming, color (witness the irrepressible spread on pages 78-79), a few photos take the breath away for their stark recall_the shadow of a lamppost against a scarred terra-cotta wall (p. 44) or the corner shot of a typical French Quarter structure nearly subsumed in dusk behind an eerily empty street (p. 103).

These are the types of photos I’ve always wished I knew how to take. They nudge themselves off the page and into the consciousness with precise angles and clean, exacting color and light. (McCaffety’s profile and accomplishments can be viewed at her website, http://kerrimccaffety.com/.)

The narrative, also by McCaffety, is ideal in its utility. The commentary accompanying the images is engaging and artful, yet appropriately terse, complementing the photos rather than elbowing them out for our attention.

Perhaps my favorite photograph in this collection is one of the few taken on a rainy day. The photo on page 12 looks out through a heavy, darkwood French door_the door frame crowned with a large fan window_to the rain-drenched, greenery-lined, paved courtyard of the Williams residence. The reflection of a table lamp stains a pane of glass in the door, serving as a hopeful guard warding off the damp.

The character that infuses these spaces and places is unique to New Orleans and is as varied as the city’s history would suggest. It carries from the metal dogs playfully squaring off in the bright, airy sunroom on page 183 to the juxtaposition of trophy deer heads hanging on the same wall as a family portrait of ancestral females on page 70.

Through McCaffety’s lens we find a French Quarter that is at once quiet and jangling, elegant and stark, straightforward and embellished. The majesty of the French Quarter is as much in the author’s sensibility as in her subjects. I recommend this book to anyone who is familiar with the city and would like a more intimate look into the French Quarter’s history by way of its architecture and interiors, and to all who have yet to experience this distinctive environment.

The Resortist at Marco Island

Part of The Resortist series of destination commentary and travel book reviews. This blog post celebrates my memory of a February 2009 trip to Marco Island, Florida. Our experience was so overwhelmingly positive that it has carried with us to this day. Join in the destination conversation and share your own reflections, interests and comments.

On the gulf side of South Florida, along the Paradise Coast, lies Marco Island. No, not just lies. Marco lounges, and her visitors and inhabitants alike lounge with her, to some degree, in quietude and contentment. The island is delightfully, comfortably warm when much of the United States is oh so cold during the winter months. The city is wealth intensified, boasting luxury accommodations and high-end boutiques seemingly at every water-lapped street bend. But in this richly saturated resort atmosphere can also be found accessible, affordable and pleasant lodging options.

One such pleasing option is the Boat House Motel. Just as the Marco Island Winn Dixie parking lot is a vision of loveliness compared to most lots, with its palms and generous islands of grass offsetting the functional asphalt black, the Boat House is no typical motel. In a town where it appears the average everyman drives a fresh, new Mercedes, the Boat House could be expensive. It is not.

Meeting-planner friends had put Marco Island on our vacation radar. Once we were sufficiently enticed_it certainly didn’t take long_our need for affordable, pet-friendly lodging brought us to the Boat House Motel website. After scrutinizing every corner of each photo posted, scanning each panoramic video image from every conceivable angle, knowing well that we could be fooled from that distant, two-dimensional vantage point, we held our collective breath and clicked the reservation button. We hoped for the best, and what we got was damn good_our ideal, in fact.

While the motel is practical rather than embellished in its furnishings and amenities, it is a destination in itself for its comfort, space and location. The decor is classic seabreeze freshness. The rooms are expansive, large enough to accommodate another couple and their dog. Off the living area of our ground-floor room was a super-private patio; the upper floor features walk-out balconies. (Pets-allowed accommodations are designated to the ground-floor rooms.) The out-of-doors warmth and the city’s genteel charm are the only additional embellishments this lodging needs.

The Boat House is tucked away from the main cluster of seaside condo buildings, at the northern tip of the island at Collier Bay. It has a pool and an extended deck area overlooking the bay. A bonus feature for those visitors docking at the marina or driving on extended trips is the coin-operated washer and dryer.

The house rules for the dog are specific and reasonable: Don’t let her disturb the other guests. Hang the special doorknob sign for housekeeping. Don’t leave the dog alone in the room past 9:00 p.m. The desk clerk was welcoming to both us and our pet, and that sensibility pervaded our entire stay. (At our checkout, she insisted we take home several of the motel’s pens_which now are one of my favorite souvenirs from the trip for their characteristic ocean theme and the glimmer of warm satisfaction they recall.)

Leading from the downtown/business district area up to the Boat House Motel is Olde Marco Historic Village. Here you’ll find a pavered arcade with shops, a café, a resort and a high-end restaurant, all evoking a sheltered quaintness where the world slows down to window-shopping speed.

If you’re traveling with your dog, walk him or her out of the marina area through Olde Marco, past the popular Snook Inn and along Bald Eagle Drive. The historic village area feeds into a wide-open expanse, where from the sidewalk you will take in alternating views of the Gulf and high-rise luxury condo buildings framed by lush, vast lawns. With the average temperature of 74 degrees, the sea breezes, sun and Marco civic kindness, your and the pet’s constitutions will surely be fortified for the return to colder climes.

Despite the mild traffic jam we encountered when crossing from mainland to island, we found neither hustle nor bustle along the main business district route of Collier Boulevard. The effect of driving or walking through the area is one of gliding without effort. The Esplanade Shoppes served as a hub for our explorations. We would stop for a coffee, linger outside with our caffeine in hand and dog in tow, observe with interest the parade of well-heeled folk in their uber-luxury conveyances, then launch the day’s touring. On the one day I was obligated to work, I found that I had little resentment for it when I located myself outside the coffee shop, focused on the articles I was editing while gratefully aware of the enveloping resort weather and activities of others.

While You’re There

While you’re visiting Marco Island, seek out and enjoy the local seafood restaurants and rib joints favored by the local inhabitants. If you’re traveling with several people, Snook Inn is cheerily touristy and well suited to group dinner outings. If you’re a fan of karaoke, don’t hesitate to check out Porky’s Last Stand. The food is good and the singing is fairly competitive. We heard no warbling strains of “With or Without You” the entire evening we spent there. (Some disclosure is warranted here: My husband is a very good karaoke singer. I don’t get karaoke, don’t get it at all. And I enjoyed myself there.)

If you’re a meeting planner looking for a site to convene an education cluster or event for an executive or other professional association, your members will experience excellent service provided unobtrusively and will come away refreshed and rejuvenated.

Most important for a visit to Marco Island is to smile, accept the graciousness of the locals and take your dog for walks. Lots of walks. Then start planning your next trip there, immediately if at all possible.

Destination niche

A few weeks ago, just before I left the house to shop for new curtains for the bedrooms_a task long overdue_my husband diverted me, said this: Don’t force it. It’s OK if you don’t find the right thing this trip.

I had wanted to change out the drapes before family came over for Thanksgiving, but I agreed. I had to relax.

In the weeks prior, I’d been struggling to figure out how to position myself as a freelance copywriter. I’ve been running my editorial services business for nearly five years, so I wasn’t freaked out about the freelancing part. It was the niche part I couldn’t process.

I had ideas, discarded them. I wrote notes, lots of notes, on a legal pad. I quizzed myself: What am I interested in? What are other people passionate about? Travel kept bubbling up, lingering. OK, I’ll write about travel.

But what about it? Well, I’m intrigued by resorts. I know the association world well. I occasionally write destination descriptions for education cluster brochures. My brain juggled the variables for a while, then built a formula out of them, and a solution: writing for the convention and visitors bureau industry.

I am excited.

I start Googling. Turns out there’s an organization called Destination Marketing Association International. DMAI’s website showers me with ideas for potential clients. I ask a colleague, a meeting planner friend, if she receives material from CVBs. Indeed she does. She offers to share.

I am blown away. They’re big. And beautiful. Thick, fabulous books with heft, full of text that I can write. Text that I would love to write. I take them home, allow them to stew on an end table. I hold off until the weekend, then tune in, turn on.

Now I know I’ve found my niche, because I want to cry. I hold in a mild, serene weep, don’t want to indulge in it for fear of jinxing the momentum.

The intensity lasts. I find more CVB publications online, and now I’m starting to analyze them. I get it immediately, recognize the writing as if it were my own.

There is nothing forced about this; it all seems organic and true. Looking back at my earlier posts to this site, I see they are driven by that nagging sense of urgency to declare my niche, on the spot; to use a bazooka to launch the copywriting arm of my busines; to be the most clever person in the room. I’m just not that kind of girl.

I say, with a hitch in my writing voice, I can’t wait to get started. Again.

Happily, I don’t have to start over with the bedroom curtains. I’m constantly drawn to those two rooms now, inspired.

The travel section

Every Sunday morning I read the paper from front to back_at first. As I get closer to the end, I start shuffling the sections. I save my tastiest morsel for last: the travel section.

I linger on the front travel page, not wanting to end my reading_unless it’s football season, but that’s another story. I turn the pages. Before I’m aware of it, I’m done. I’ve arrived on the last page, with a big fat travel agency ad. And I’m not happy, not satisfied. Not once. Not even if the section includes stories about locations I have great interest in. (New Orleans, Las Vegas, Memphis, Northern California, Northern Michigan, the Florida Keys, Ireland, Holland come immediately to mind.)

Considering my favorite segment is consistently the Gearbox column, reviewing travel accessories, I come away feeling some part of my appetite is yet to be sated.

Am I asking too much for a newspaper travel section to deliver? Well, perhaps. I realize that what I’m after are travel narratives that I can luxuriate in_bright, fresh, poetically prosey, non-indulgent (for the writer) narratives. Which I’m not likely to get from my Sunday morning read. Having identified and managed that expectation, I realize then that I can make more of this travel section.

I can translate “If you go” to “What else?” Change my mind-set from “What isn’t this giving me?” to “Where might this lead me?”

Sappy sensibilities aside, I begin to consider my Sunday newspaper travel section not as an indulgence but as an industry tool, a professional launchpad and a necessary window on global perspective.

All the better if I happen to get a side of thick bacon-y narrative with that.

Philanthropic Nancy

Nancy O’Shea would enjoy a bit more traffic at her framing shop, The Framers Balcony, in New Orleans. But upon meeting freelance copywriter Joe Smith, her first inclination was to hire him for another cause: the All Saints Dog Rescue and Day Care.

All Saints is gearing up to launch its first annual holiday fund drive. All Saints proprietor Cricket Morestead knew she was starting behind schedule when she received a direct mail appeal from the Anti-Cruelty Society in the mail a couple days earlier. Nancy, a client who boards her Great Dane, Chuck, pounces when Joe Smith arrives at the frame shop to pick up a rematted pastel, pen and ink picture of the Court of the Two Sisters by Donabeth Jones.

First, says Joe Smith_no one ever calls him just Joe_let’s consider the name. It’s both a dog rescue and a doggie day care? Who’s the target audience? He thinks the day care portion of the business, if not clarified, could get in the way of the fund-raising effort.

We know that Cricket’s motivation is to promote dog rescue and adoption in the area and uses day care proceeds to pay the rescue’s operational costs, he says, but others might assume she is trying to pad her coffers by exploiting the sentiments of dog lovers.

Nancy wonders, what’s the solution?

Joe Smith offers the following: Let’s first write a letter directed to All Saints day care clients, adopters of All Saints rescue dogs, and area philanthropists with a known interest in rescue charities. The letter will address early on the existence of the day care business and clearly distinguish between the business and the rescue. It will emphasize that any funds raised by the holiday charity drive will be 100 percent allocated to the rescue.

He suggests a follow-up e-newsletter updating donors and clients of the fund-raising results and spicing it up with a section featuring holiday-themed photos of pets, their people, and their environments. Joe Smith had just seen a similar YouTube presentation for Halloween by Best Friends Animal Sanctuary linked to the organization’s weekly newsletter. He found the video to be charming and affecting. He also saw that it would be fairly easy to produce.

Nancy is pleased with Joe Smith’s off-the-cuff analysis and suggests he write a proposal for Cricket’s approval.

Let’s get started, she says. After the Saints game, of course.

Nancy O’Shea and Joe Smith are always looking for good promotional ideas and enhanced direct marketing tactics. Copywriters, marketers, and others: feel free to comment with feedback.

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