You press your time-travel remote, and feel the familiar sensation of jumping forward 24 hours.
You land back in my copywriting lab, on my remote copywriting island, in my parallel world.
You look at me expectantly.
I raise my eyebrows.
There’s a moment of awkward silence and then—
“WELL?!?” you scream. “HOW DID YOU GET OUT OF THE PINCH AT THE AIRPORT?!?”
I chuckle, and resume my tale …
The gate attendant’s hands move my boarding pass toward the scanner.
I wince …
… and then a man steps into the queue.
The attendant stops.
I’m confused for a second.
And then I realise … the man is wearing the same uniform as the gate attendant.
“Boarding’s running a bit late — I’ll open up the other gate,” he says to her.
“Thank you,” says the lady, still holding my boarding pass.
And then, the new attendant — or as I’m calling him now, Hero Man — steps behind the other ticket checking gate … and opens it up.
“Boarding pass, please,” Hero Man says to Amy, waving her toward him.
The attendant holding my pass scans it.
“Throssell/Daniel” flashes on the screen.
But Amy’s already with Hero Man.
And she doesn’t see it.
“Thank you, Mr. Throssell,” smiles the attendant, as she waves me through.
(Oh … she wasn’t going to say my first name anyway 😅)
Amy and I step through the gate and head to the plane door.
“Well, looks like I’m actually at the back of the plane,” says Amy. “So I guess I’ll speak to ya later.”
“Oh … uh … bummer,” I say.
She smiles. “And if I don’t see you again, have a great trip in Dubai!”
“Wait, you’re going to … Dubai? You’re not going on to NYC?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says. “Just Dubai. I didn’t realise you were connecting to New York!”
I breath a massive sigh of relief.
My charade can finally end.
“Anyway, I’ll catch ya later, Andrew,” she says. “Good to see you again!”
And she gets on the plane, and that is the last I ever see of Amy …
And for that matter, the last of my alternate existence as “Andrew”.
Okay — now you’ve had your closure. So let’s switch gears.
The fact that you’re back here is proof positive of two things:
First, that storytelling
You just experienced it — that drive that people have to know how a story goes once they’re engrossed in it. And it works even when the stakes are low, like this story — as long as you tell it the right way.
(Or maybe you clicked because I set you up to do so throughout my Parallel Welcome Sequence. But … that was because of storytelling too. Same deal, friend.)
Which leads me to the second thing that your presence on this page proves:
You can USE that power
to get action from people.
I mean, with this particular email, I just sucked you out of whatever you were doing in your life, and got you to read almost a thousand words of copy, and then click.
That’s good copywriting, as far as I’m concerned 🤷♂️
So if you’d like to have these storytelling skills put to work helping to sell your product …
… then click here to sign up for my copywriting client waitlist. To be fair, these days I don’t do much client writing myself — but I do offer paid critiques and copywriting plans which you can hand to other writers. And I have a small network of writers I can refer you to if I can’t do it.
Actually … I’m taking an indefinite hiatus from doing client work for now. I’m having too much fun in my own business … and these days, I’m mostly writing for copywriters, not business owners. But if you stick around on my list, you’ll find out if I ever change my mind!
“Haha, am I EVER gonna stick around on your list!” you say, excitedly. “As if I’d ever leave! Your emails are amazing … and this Parallel Welcome Sequence has been so much fun! I can’t wait to see the next email!”
But … I don’t reply.
You look back up at me …
The smile is gone from my face …
… and on my glasses you swear you can see a tinge of red.
“… Daniel?” you whimper.
“Unfortunately for you, that last story was merely buttering you up with some humour,” I say, in a cold voice. “In fact, for many people, this is the end of the line. They don’t make it past this next email.”
The end of the line?
What could I mean?
Then you look down at your phone—
A new email arrives.
It’s from Daniel Throssell.
You glimpse at the subject line:
You look up at me in shock.
“You don’t … actually mean …” you stammer.
I walk over to the door, unlock it, and hold it open. Outside, a blizzard rages. Terrifying roars echo from the forest surrounding my lab.
“Read the email,” I say. “And then decide what you want to do. The door’s open.”
What are you waiting for?
Get over to your inbox.
And in case this is the end … well, it was fun while it lasted.