Like many girls, when I was little, I wanted to be a princess. I wanted to wear the floaty skirts.I wanted the jeweled crown–gold, of course, to go with my then-blonde hair. I wanted birds to help me get dressed in the morning, and to go to balls.I wanted to live in a romantic (though no doubt drafty) castle.

In short, I wanted to be perfect.

Because, you understand, I thought princesses were perfect. Did you ever see Cinderella lose her composure? Did Snow White throw temper tantrums? Did Sleeping Beauty forget to make her bed in the morning? No, of course not. They were princesses and raised to meet a higher standard of behavior. I was convinced that, if I just had that full-skirted ball gown to wear, I would suddenly behave just like a perfect princess should.

My mother used to love when I’d pretend to be a princess. I’d sit up straight. I’d say please and thank you without prompting. My clothes would stay neat, I wouldn’t fidget. And my table manners? Well, they were not only good, they were superb. I would even eat my peas one at a time because (naturally) a true princess wouldn’t be so gauche as to eat them by the forkfull.

I was remembering this the other night while I was goofing off, watching episodes of The West Wing on DVD rather than settling down to write, or to do some necessary filing, or even plug away at my knitting.

A princess would never goof off.

Being responsible, as they must be, a true princess (or prince) clearly meets their obligations promptly and without hesitation. Duty comes before pleasure.

A princess is always neat.

Take a look around. Is your desk covered with papers? Are there files on the floor? Piles on the chair? This is NOT royal behavior. Whether your castle has a staff or not, there is simply no excuse to make all this extra work for whomever does the cleaning–especially if it’s you. It’s easier to file one or two things right now than it is to wait until you have a pile of fifty items which will take a chunk of your time.

A princess has exquisite manners.

Have you received an invitation to a ball? (Or a meeting, seminar, or even just a request for a phone call?) Naturally it is only proper behavior to respond promptly and courteously. Not all of us have a social secretary to handle these mundane chores for us, but it is rude to keep people waiting, so please respond promptly to requests for your attention.

A princess takes responsibility for her actions

As tempting as it is to blame the peasants when things go wrong, a true princess understands that her country’s well-being is ultimately her responsibility.

A princess is always perfectly dressed.

A true princess would never dream of rolling out of bed and going down to the throne room in her bathrobe and slippers (exquisite though they undoubtedly are). No, she is always dressed in exactly the right attire for any occasion, with her hair neatly coiffed. She has too much respect for herself, her kingdom, and the responsibilities of her job to lounge around in sloppy clothes. I wouldn’t go so far as to tell you that you should sit at your computer in stockings and heels (or a suit and tie) at 5:00 am, but show some respect for the work you do, and at least put shoes on. And brush your hair, if you can’t find some helpful birds to comb it for you.

A princess always has sunshine.

The weather is always perfect when you’re a princess–sunshine, happy birds tweeting, puffy white clouds dotting a blue, blue sky. Really, though, the secret is that the princess brings the sunshine with her. She loves what she does and focuses on spreading joy and understanding because strife comes too often from outside her borders–she does what she can to keep her own kingdom on the right track. This is not the same as being blind to the things that need to be fixed, but more about the certainty that things will get done.

See? Even us peons can at least act like we’re royal … because inside, aren’t we all?

Now, THIS is a direct mail offer I can get behind.

This is a subscription offer from National Geographic and is one I think did just about everything right.

The top portion states “Preferred Account Order Form.” See? No attempts to mislead me. It’s telling me that I would be a preferred account (so flattering), but acknowledging that this is an order form, an offer, not something I’ve already expressed interest in. It tells me what the newsstand price is, what I’m being offered, and how much I’d save if I take them up on it.

Yes, there’s a reply-by date to encourage me not to dawdle, but it doesn’t make it sound like missing it is a black mark against my character, either.

There’s a nice premium offered, too, a free world map once I pay for my subscription. I like this because it perfectly fits National Geographic–and it’s something offered to everyone who accepts this offer, not just a select few whose mailmen raced to the mail truck the fastest. It’s something that has some value to it, too, not a cheap throw-away kind of gift like a bumper sticker. (Not that bumper stickers are bad things, I have nothing against them, but the option of using my car for free advertising would not encourage me to subscribe to a magazine.)

The letter portion spells out the subscription benefits, but unlike the Good Housekeeping offer, it talks about the subscription benefits, not just the magazine benefits. This is one of those things that can go either way–do you want to inspire people with your product? Or with the offer? You can do either–or both–but it never hurts to explain why signing up for a subscription is a better idea than picking this up at the newsstand. (Though, for the record, the back of the letter actually spells out what the magazine offers … so they’re covered either way.)

One of the other things I like? As if getting a free map and a good price wasn’t enough, they’re including some return address labels for me, just because. Now, return address labels are easy enough to produce and almost every charity seems to include them in their mailings these days, but I like them here. They immediately give me something with some value, even before I sign up. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like they’re really making sure that I’m going to feel welcome as a subscriber.

Then, not for nothing, but the quality of the paper is particularly nice–glossy stock with a good finger-feel to it. I don’t object to normal paper for these things, but there’s something satisfying about feeling good paper when you take the offer out of the envelope.

Well done, National Geographic!

I have already told you about the things I wanted to see in a Kindle, before plunking down my money to buy one. Without them, it just wasn’t worth $260 to me. And then, they came up with an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Buy a Kindle, try it out, and if I didn’t like it, not only would they return my money, but they would let me keep the Kindle either way.

Now, first, let’s think about this as a marketing technique …

It’s almost diabolical in its “How can you pass this up” vibe. There’s literally nothing to lose. In the details, it specified that the offer was strictly for me, that I could not pass the Kindle on to anybody else and still be eligible for the offer, there was a sharp deadline (two days before Apple’s announcement of the iPad, as it happens) … but nothing to make me suspicious. And you know I can be suspicious about “Very Special Offers.”

This one, though … how can it hurt them? Worst case scenario is that everybody who tries one asks for their money back … but hopefully will continue to use them, anyway. My guess is that they wanted to get Kindles in more people’s hands before the Apple announcement, and that maybe they’ve got a Kindle 3 in the works and wanted to get rid of some inventory ahead of time. (I told you I can be cynical.) But still … they want you to buy THEIR ebooks, not ebooks from the competition, so having a Kindle in-hand is going to encourage customer loyalty. It’s a great scheme.

Now, as to the Kindle itself.

Now that I’ve gotten my hands on one, what did I think? Starting with my points from July:

My verdict?

While there are definitely things here that I liked, as it happens (and to my own surprise), I did not actually love the Kindle. I really thought that I would, but apparently the (available) techology is not quite where I personally want it to be to wean me away from paper books. It’s the words and sentences that matter, not the delivery method–paper or electronic, a story is a story, good writing is good writing–but after playing with this for a few days, I am still reaching for my paper books instead of being beguiled by the electronic options. Will this come in handy for my next vacation, though? Oh my, yes. For travelling, I love the idea of being able to bring a huge selection of books in one place … but since I usually only have one trip a year …

As I said, I didn’t love it as they promised I would, and have asked for my money back. I’m waiting to hear what happens next. I wouldn’t be surprised to have to fill in some kind of survey about why I’m not satisfied, and I’ve hung onto the (very simple, environmentally-sound) shipping box, just in case, but still. I’m all in awe at the marketing technique.

It’s the 5th Annual Blogger’s Silent Poetry Reading. I’ve participated in 2006, 2007, 2008 over at my knitting blog andin 2008 here. Then last year gave you the Very Special Treat of sharing one of my own poems with you. it went over so well, I thought I’d try it again. It’s a rare, rare thing, so … I hope you like it!

Mourning After
by Deb Boyken

Finally, I stand, my feet firm on the shore,
And look back as the waves of grief lap at my toes.

I successfully navigated the waters, finding air
For my gasping lungs, as the tempest washed over my head.

Yet I fought my way through the waves, leaving
My battered heart no choice but to strive with the rest of me.

I struggled to the beach, victorious but weary, uncaught by
The undertow of despair dragging at my heels.

Looking back at the horizon, I see wave after wave
Baring white teeth which can no longer touch me.

Grief waits, poised to dissolve the sand beneath my feet,
But I’ve charted its greater depths, and ‘ware its watery tricks.

Still, it calls me, sussurrating in the wind, tempting me,
Promising to fill my ears, my mind, with waters of wistful memories.

I stand unmoving, my feet firmly planted on the sands of life,
My hardest challenge now to turn away.

Hmm, interesting… it’s been a while since I read this one.

Let’s take a look at another direct mail I received recently, this time for a magazine subscription. Like the last one, I consider this to be “sneaky.”

First, it looks a lot like an invoice, even though I’ve never subscribed to Good Housekeeping magazine–or even read it, so far as I can remember, except for flipping through Mom’s copy back when I was a teenager. But it’s not a magazine I’ve looked at in years, so I know for a fact that I do not subscribe now, nor have I expressed any interest in subscribing in the past.

So, at first glance out of the envelope, I was wondering what this was. The form section is emblazoned “Rate Adjustment” with a “status pending” that says, “Credit adjustment in the amount of -$33.91.”

It doesn’t state “Invoice” anywhere … which it legally cannot do, since it is not an invoice … but I think saying “Rate Adjustment” is tricky. It implies that there was a prior rate or offer to be adjusted, when in fact, all they’re really doing is offering me a deal of 81% off the cover price of the magazine. (That is, off the price that it would cost me to buy the magazine at a newsstand or bookstore all year.)

Further, the letter portion tells me, “Your credit adjustment is only valid if accepted and paid on time. If you are responding now and wish to pay your total, please see revised rate above.” That’s kind of harsh and abrupt for an offer that’s supposed to be doing me a favor, don’t you think? It’s not friendly and helpful (“Please act now! We can only offer this special rate for a limited time!”), it’s strict and unyielding–not the kind of relationship I want to start a subscription with.

The thing that irks me about this offer is that it doesn’t sound like they’re offering anything. They just want something, and come across as fully expecting that I will do what they want. Obviously, price breaks are one of the main reasons a person signs up for magazine subscriptions–that, and the convenience–but sending out a subscription offer that tells me I’ve got a “status pending” for my “rate adjustment” implies that I’ve already shown interest and that I will, of course, just send in my money because they expect me to. Call me crazy, but I like my manipulation to be a little more subtle.

There is some added incentive to respond–a chance to win a set of free dinnerware if I’m one of the first 50 people to respond to this offer. That immediately makes me skeptical, because I’d imagine that Good Housekeeping gets hundreds or thousands of subscription responses every day, and what are the odds that I’d be in the first fifty? I’m not doubting that GH will send them out, mind you, just questioning the validity of it as a premium that so few people are going to get … and one that relies on the post office and the people opening the mail to determine the lucky fifty. Certainly it’s out of my control.

The letter portion is a bulleted list of features … 12-issue annual subscription, triple-tested recipes, weight-loss advice (Do I look fat to them?), and let’s not forget the Good Housekeeping Seal. (Golly!) This portion is pretty standard, nothing really to object to, since it’s listing the benefits I’d get by subscribing. Although, really, it’s describing the benefits to reading the magazine, not necessarily to subscribing to it (but maybe that’s what they were going for).

Lastly, let’s not forget the small print on the form that describes the “Continuous Service Guarantee. Your subscription will continue until you ask us to stop. Each year you’ll receive a reminder notice followed by an invoice for the low renewal rate then in effect. You can cancel at any time and receive a refund for all unmailed issues.” Apparently by responding to this offer, I’m agreeing to have my subscription automatically renewed each year. This is not exactly an unusual thing for a magazine to offer–it’s good for the magazines to be able to count on a certain percentage of renewals, and it’s convenient for subscribers to know that they won’t miss anything. Except … I like to be ASKED first.

I don’t think this offer is as egregious as that DVD offer last week, but still think it could be improved.

• Instead of “Rate Adjustment” change the header to “Special Offer” or something that doesn’t make the reader think she’s forgotten an ongoing exchange.
• Don’t be sneaky about the fact that this is an offer for a brand-new subscription, not something that I’ve expressed interest in … we have no credit amount to adjust since I haven’t agreed to anything yet.
• If you offer a premium, make it one that all your subscribers will get–or at least, offer something to everyone with the promise of something special for some. Like, offer a free recipe-conversion booklet to everyone, with that dinnerware offer on top. But why not make it random, so people feel like they’ve got a fighting chance to win it?
• Don’t scare off your potential subscribers by being harsh on your generous offer … threatening me that this price won’t be valid if I don’t pay on time does not make me feel warm and fuzzy toward the magazine. Did I ask for this to show up in my mailbox? Why should I need to rush?
• Don’t trick me into your automatic renewal program either. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but give me an option to check of Yes or No if I don’t want to.

All in all? The mailing does not get MY Seal of Approval.