Since I just sold a unit in an apartment building, my next project was clear: drop 200 pieces of direct mail on that building, celebrating my greatness. I am the slowest person in the world with direct mail, since I believe everything has to be just so, and since I don't have the graphic abilities to do a really slick piece I settled on a heart-to-heart letter, which meant I made a little package with each one and hand-addressed them. I got 40 pieces out last week, before I got distracted by writing assignments and other possible clients, so all I can do is hope to get 200 pieces of mail out by Thanksgiving -- which I know is disgracefully slow. But my lapidary care is effective: while I know only 38 pieces of mail got delivered (my trade-secret gimmick apparently couldn't go through a standard mail sorter) I got one phone call. It was from a woman who had lived in the building for 30 years, in four different apartments, and who had received 30 years' worth of direct mail but liked mi...
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