It's that little thrill...
My name is Blaine Parker.
I write stuff that's evocative.
I've won several huge advertising trophies.
Some come with big cash prizes. But none of that ever feels as good as writing something that makes someone else's life better.
My national award-winning commercial for auto repair that generated big ROI and big laughs was nice.
But I'm more likely to talk about the emergency message that raised enough money in 48 hours to prevent some troubled kids from getting kicked out of a group home.
And there is a special place in between those extremes.
In it is the joyous and fulfilling air of consistent satisfaction that comes from working with smart people, i.e. lawyers like you. It has brought with it the opportunity for telling stories about rights wronged and success over great odds. (That includes writing one lawyer's tale about the infamous Rat House of The Pacific Palisades. Really.)
I've had lots of great client relationships.
But by far, the most productive and enjoyable ones are with attorneys who are doing good by doing their best for folks who need it.
What qualifies me?
Certainly not my memberships in the American Bar Association and Legal Marketing Association. Any marketing guy with a credit card can get those. It's not the private-school education. Nor the Boston University broadcasting degree.
More useful are my career and avocations.
There's the lifetime of sailboat racing and international yachting. (Never seen the sailboat racing rule book, or the lived the thrill of maritime law in application? You're missing out.) And as a longtime advertising and media guy, I've spent more time worrying about entertainment, business and IP law than most non-lawyers.
And, of course, there's pursuing the little thrill that comes with helping good people sell their stuff.
I do it. And I can do it for you. But only if you're ready.
I write stuff that's evocative.
I've won several huge advertising trophies.
Some come with big cash prizes. But none of that ever feels as good as writing something that makes someone else's life better.
My national award-winning commercial for auto repair that generated big ROI and big laughs was nice.
But I'm more likely to talk about the emergency message that raised enough money in 48 hours to prevent some troubled kids from getting kicked out of a group home.
And there is a special place in between those extremes.
In it is the joyous and fulfilling air of consistent satisfaction that comes from working with smart people, i.e. lawyers like you. It has brought with it the opportunity for telling stories about rights wronged and success over great odds. (That includes writing one lawyer's tale about the infamous Rat House of The Pacific Palisades. Really.)
I've had lots of great client relationships.
But by far, the most productive and enjoyable ones are with attorneys who are doing good by doing their best for folks who need it.
What qualifies me?
Certainly not my memberships in the American Bar Association and Legal Marketing Association. Any marketing guy with a credit card can get those. It's not the private-school education. Nor the Boston University broadcasting degree.
More useful are my career and avocations.
There's the lifetime of sailboat racing and international yachting. (Never seen the sailboat racing rule book, or the lived the thrill of maritime law in application? You're missing out.) And as a longtime advertising and media guy, I've spent more time worrying about entertainment, business and IP law than most non-lawyers.
And, of course, there's pursuing the little thrill that comes with helping good people sell their stuff.
I do it. And I can do it for you. But only if you're ready.
The longer version you're too busy to read...
What qualifies me to be writing for lawyers and law firms?
On the face of it, not much more than any other moderately intelligent writer from New England with a snarky sense of humor and a penchant for turning a phrase.
I grew up in Connecticut where I was apparently an underachiever.
That was at a private school that offered many elements of Dead Poet’s Society along with a few bonuses. From there, on to the enormous public high school, which was more like a John Hughes movie. (As Mr. Rooney's secretary, Grace, would've said, it came with "The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies," et al. All we were missing was Ferris.) Then came a degree in Broadcasting & Film from Boston University, where I happened to know a few law students. And a divinity student tried to convince me to pursue a career in politics. I knew I was too much of an idealist to go down that rabbit hole. After college, I put that film degree to good use as a “professional” yacht racer.
Now, let us pause for a moment at yacht racing.
Arguably, this may have been my first experience with the law. Prior to that after-college foray into sea-bag living, the summers of my misspent youth found me sailing in small boats. Dinghy racing at age 10, on through my teens, hopelessly racing against Olympic hopefuls before becoming a sailing instructor in college, and after graduation, racing on big boats and crossing oceans.
All of this has very little to do with law. Until it does.
For the uninitiated, yacht racing is a sport that comes with its own court of law. Long before any of us were worrying about getting a driver's license, we were being schooled in things like right-of-way, burdened vessels and signaling intention. Thick, heavy volumes like Chapman's Piloting, Seamanship and Small Boat Handling were like a law book to a 10-year-old. The United States Sailing Association's racing rules are a de facto book of laws. A race's protest committee is a court in which rules violators are are charged by their peers, and made to present and defend their actions. I was first called into a protest meeting at age 12. (The case was thrown out as frivolous, and the protesting sailor was lambasted roundly by the committee for unsportsmanlike conduct. Much to my relief.)
Fast forward through a brief career in motion picture production and brushing up against entertainment lawyers.
Then, onto a decade-long stint as a Creative Director in radio. That's where I got to brush up on IP law. We got to spend a lot of time explaining to clients and even fellow pros about licensing and why you can’t use that pop song or that celebrity impersonation. (“Sorry. No Bogart. He’s one of the most profitable dead celebrities.")
Best of all, radio is where I began working with attorneys looking to advertise their trade to a public in need.
That time paralleled the rise of the internet, when radio commercials could be used to drive traffic to websites. And one ingredient that was often sorely lacking is integration between what was in the radio commercial versus what was on the website. Consistency of message is key. One good message is only as effective as the weakest link in the chain of communication.
Law firm marketing on the internet has gotten better.
That’s probably because, as you know, lawyers are a savvy bunch. When one makes a case for integrating persuasive messages and other tools for judgment, they Get It.
In the epic downturn of 2008, I was downsized.
At that point, The Fabulous Honey Parker (AKA my wife and Firm Appeal's Art Director Of Counsel) said to me, "Maybe it's time we start that advertising agency." Our agency was born and, lo and behold, we began working with even more lawyers. We've also co-authored books, and helped small business owners generate significant ROI. (One client wanted to run some ads for a service. We said, "You can do that. But you're a generalist competing with the 600-pound gorilla in the category. Better to launch an entirely new brand and compete head-on." The resulting work took then from zero to a million in revenue in just over a year. That's the kind of stuff we write about.) As life evolves, so does business. And Firm Appeal is the result of carving away everything at Slow Burn that doesn't look like a business that specializes in working with attorneys to sell their services.
One of the most gratifying aspects of working with lawyers is the mutual appreciation for a sound argument.
One of the great challenges of working with people to sell their stuff is ego and fear can get in the way. It happens all the time with small businesses. (But don’t think it stops there. I can tell you about some incredible and expensive, big-corporation advertising decisions made on C-suite whim.)
By far, my most productive professional relationships (and the most fun) have been with lawyers working on their own practices.
It's seriously satisfying to work with pros who are serious about their work. A division of Slow Burn Marketing, LLC, Firm Appeal is the culmination of a career in marketing brought to bear upon some of the best people around.
And that is why we are here.
On the face of it, not much more than any other moderately intelligent writer from New England with a snarky sense of humor and a penchant for turning a phrase.
I grew up in Connecticut where I was apparently an underachiever.
That was at a private school that offered many elements of Dead Poet’s Society along with a few bonuses. From there, on to the enormous public high school, which was more like a John Hughes movie. (As Mr. Rooney's secretary, Grace, would've said, it came with "The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies," et al. All we were missing was Ferris.) Then came a degree in Broadcasting & Film from Boston University, where I happened to know a few law students. And a divinity student tried to convince me to pursue a career in politics. I knew I was too much of an idealist to go down that rabbit hole. After college, I put that film degree to good use as a “professional” yacht racer.
Now, let us pause for a moment at yacht racing.
Arguably, this may have been my first experience with the law. Prior to that after-college foray into sea-bag living, the summers of my misspent youth found me sailing in small boats. Dinghy racing at age 10, on through my teens, hopelessly racing against Olympic hopefuls before becoming a sailing instructor in college, and after graduation, racing on big boats and crossing oceans.
All of this has very little to do with law. Until it does.
For the uninitiated, yacht racing is a sport that comes with its own court of law. Long before any of us were worrying about getting a driver's license, we were being schooled in things like right-of-way, burdened vessels and signaling intention. Thick, heavy volumes like Chapman's Piloting, Seamanship and Small Boat Handling were like a law book to a 10-year-old. The United States Sailing Association's racing rules are a de facto book of laws. A race's protest committee is a court in which rules violators are are charged by their peers, and made to present and defend their actions. I was first called into a protest meeting at age 12. (The case was thrown out as frivolous, and the protesting sailor was lambasted roundly by the committee for unsportsmanlike conduct. Much to my relief.)
Fast forward through a brief career in motion picture production and brushing up against entertainment lawyers.
Then, onto a decade-long stint as a Creative Director in radio. That's where I got to brush up on IP law. We got to spend a lot of time explaining to clients and even fellow pros about licensing and why you can’t use that pop song or that celebrity impersonation. (“Sorry. No Bogart. He’s one of the most profitable dead celebrities.")
Best of all, radio is where I began working with attorneys looking to advertise their trade to a public in need.
That time paralleled the rise of the internet, when radio commercials could be used to drive traffic to websites. And one ingredient that was often sorely lacking is integration between what was in the radio commercial versus what was on the website. Consistency of message is key. One good message is only as effective as the weakest link in the chain of communication.
Law firm marketing on the internet has gotten better.
That’s probably because, as you know, lawyers are a savvy bunch. When one makes a case for integrating persuasive messages and other tools for judgment, they Get It.
In the epic downturn of 2008, I was downsized.
At that point, The Fabulous Honey Parker (AKA my wife and Firm Appeal's Art Director Of Counsel) said to me, "Maybe it's time we start that advertising agency." Our agency was born and, lo and behold, we began working with even more lawyers. We've also co-authored books, and helped small business owners generate significant ROI. (One client wanted to run some ads for a service. We said, "You can do that. But you're a generalist competing with the 600-pound gorilla in the category. Better to launch an entirely new brand and compete head-on." The resulting work took then from zero to a million in revenue in just over a year. That's the kind of stuff we write about.) As life evolves, so does business. And Firm Appeal is the result of carving away everything at Slow Burn that doesn't look like a business that specializes in working with attorneys to sell their services.
One of the most gratifying aspects of working with lawyers is the mutual appreciation for a sound argument.
One of the great challenges of working with people to sell their stuff is ego and fear can get in the way. It happens all the time with small businesses. (But don’t think it stops there. I can tell you about some incredible and expensive, big-corporation advertising decisions made on C-suite whim.)
By far, my most productive professional relationships (and the most fun) have been with lawyers working on their own practices.
It's seriously satisfying to work with pros who are serious about their work. A division of Slow Burn Marketing, LLC, Firm Appeal is the culmination of a career in marketing brought to bear upon some of the best people around.
And that is why we are here.
Blaine Parker
Copywriter
Firm Appeal
Park City, Utah
Copywriter
Firm Appeal
Park City, Utah
