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If you place implants, you already understand osseointegration. I'm certainly not going to attempt to explain it to you.

What interests me—and what became very personal after experiencing multiple implant failures—is something different.

I've had multiple dental implants fail, and I want to tell you something important about the dentist who placed them. I believe he is one of the most competent dentists in the world, I trust his skill completely, and I know he wanted those implants to succeed every bit as much as I did.

There is a romantic version of copywriting that I find very entertaining.

The brilliant copywriter sits alone in a dimly lit room, perhaps wearing an unnecessarily expensive sweater, waiting for inspiration. Suddenly, the perfect idea arrives, brilliant words pour onto the screen, and a few hours later an irresistible sales campaign exists.

I have been in marketing for a long time, and I have some disappointing news. Most great copy involves considerably less divine inspiration and considerably more digging around.

Imagine you are sitting at your kitchen table at 11:30 at night. The house is quiet, everyone else has gone to bed, and you have your laptop open because something has been bothering you.

Maybe your business had another disappointing month. Maybe retirement suddenly feels much closer than it did five years ago. Maybe you are staring at a stain spreading across the ceiling or wondering why your teenager’s teeth seem to be getting more crooked instead of less.

Whatever the problem is, you are thinking about your life.

I have a challenge for you.

Go to the websites of five companies in almost any industry and see how long it takes you to find some version of “exceptional service,” “innovative solutions,” “unmatched expertise,” “industry-leading quality,” or “a commitment to excellence.”

I’m guessing you won’t need to pack a lunch.

We marketers do love inventing new names for old ideas.

Today we talk about conversion tracking, A/B testing, campaign optimization, performance marketing, and data-driven decision-making as though somebody discovered all of this shortly after inventing the smartphone.

Claude Hopkins might have found that amusing.

Let’s say I invite you over for dinner.

I have spent the entire afternoon preparing what I am convinced will be the greatest lasagna ever created. I researched recipes, bought expensive ingredients, made the sauce from scratch, and even used the good Parmesan instead of that suspicious green can hiding in the back of the refrigerator.

Let’s imagine I hire you to build me a vending machine.

I give you a generous budget, plenty of time, and complete creative freedom. When you finally unveil it, I’m impressed. The machine is beautiful, the display is gorgeous, the lighting is perfect, and the entire thing looks like it belongs in the lobby of a five-star hotel.

There is just one problem. There are no buttons.

Imagine walking into a doctor’s office, sitting down in the examination room, and having the doctor immediately launch into a ten-minute explanation of knee replacement surgery.

He doesn’t ask what brought you in, where it hurts, how long it has been bothering you, or whether you have tried anything already. He simply starts explaining the procedure in impressive detail.

Let me give you a choice.

I’m going to open a hamburger stand, and you get to compete against me. You can choose any advantage you want: better beef, a better location, lower prices, a bigger advertising budget, or the greatest secret sauce ever created. You can even hire a celebrity chef if you’re feeling particularly ambitious.

I’ll take one advantage. I want a starving crowd.