Erick Monzon

People tend to buy from my emails and that makes me happy

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

This is the thread most copywriters don't know they need.

[Alin Dragu @AlinDragu]

You've been studying the wrong writers.

Ogilvy. Halbert. Schwartz. All great but...

J.K. Rowling made $1 billion teaching people to turn pages.

Here's what she knows about selling that most copywriters don't teach 🧵

[Alin Dragu @AlinDragu]

You've been studying the wrong writers.

Ogilvy. Halbert. Schwartz. All great but...

J.K. Rowling made $1 billion teaching people to turn pages.

Here's what she knows about selling that most copywriters don't teach 🧵

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@AlinDragu's Chronicle #5 out today.

(Ted Nicholas would be proud he stopped the title at exactly 17 words 🤣.)

I'm halfway through and already have a list of 10 specific changes I'm making to my writing.

It's very in-line with his Copy Creators Club community content: full of powerful, ever-green frameworks that are easy to read and simple to implement.

Worth reading if you're a founder or copywriter who wants to up his social media game (and profits).

Anyone else on it?

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

🤣

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@chrisorzy The Sweetest Victory rules!

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

R.I.P. @ScottAdamsSays

[Science girl @sciencegirl]

Herd theory

You don’t have to convince everyone, just a few

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@BowTiedTrance Please add me to the list

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@nicktheriot_ Guide

[Cernovich @Cernovich]

Scott Adams, facing death, shows us how to live.

Someone recommended “How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big” by Scott Adams. I had burned out on mainstream books, but picked it up, and was hooked. He had put into words a way of living, similar to one I had found, except his approach was systemic and analytical. Better than my own slapdash notes. Outside of religious texts, Adams was and is as close to a “guide to life,” as you’ll ever find. And even if you’re religious, you still live in this world, and would be wise to learn how to navigate it.

Scott is closing in on the end of his life, and even now he is creating new beginnings.

I’d better write this now, I won’t be able to when it’s too late.

After losing Charlie Kirk, a lot of us are wondering how we can possibly write another obituary. While there’s much to complain about the internet and social media, those mediums expanded the sizes of our communities, our influences, and indeed our families. Too often we find new ways to hate people, instead of finding new people to love.

Scott Adams comes up in conversation at every social event I host. “How is Scott Adams doing? Will he make it?” We all talk about streams we watched and lessons learned. It’s a memorial except he’s still alive. Scott would love to hear that, which is why I have said so repeatedly. I’ve lost too many people, via death or fallings-out, to leave feeling unexpressed.

He’s been a surrogate father figure and mentor to millions of people.

Scott Adams is not liked, he is loved.

People don’t “like” Scott Adams, they aren’t “a fan of his.” They love this man. And I do as well. I’m still living in denial of his fate. We all are.

We’d been making a film about the meaning of life, and while Scott Adams had been in both of our other films, we hadn’t booked him for Meaning yet. Then we found out he was going to take the ride of assisted suicide. Foolishly, we had assumed he’d always be around. Nobody ever dies, right? Your dad will be there to take your call the next time you phone home. Your friends aren’t going anywhere. That’s how we too often live. We could book Scott later.

We reached out and he graciously agreed to be interviewed. We all knew it was going to be our last interview together. Scott and I are both efficient with our time. When a moment is over, it’s time to go do something else. Obligations call. The crew pushed this one as long as we could.

After the interview wrapped up and the gear was packed and it was time to go, there was an awkward pause. I broke it.

“Scott, we love you.” He said thank you. “No, Scott, we love you, I mean it, we all do. We love you.”

None of us broke down crying, not that there would have been any shame in that, but we no doubt all soon will.

Well then, what is the lesson of Scott Adams?

On a practical level, the lesson of Scott Adams is the power of showing up. Nobody works harder and on a more regular schedule. You can set your clock to Scott’s show. Too many of us wait for the muse of inspiration or the jolt of information to force us into action. Work, everyday, maybe in obscuring and without tangible benefits for years. Eventually you’ll hit your mark and go beyond.

Scott plugged away with his streams from a small account (after a huge career via Dilbert) and soon became must-watch, and then transcended his role to becoming something much more.

On a spiritual level, we might ask, why do we love Scott? It’s not because he’s so smart (he is). There are not shortage of intelligent, clever, Machiavellian, and rich people with podcasts. When one of them dies, what is lost? All of that Ego and desire for adoration, and does anybody even care? When those people fall while living, who will be there?

Scott is loved because he’s devoted his life to service to humanity. “What is the meaning of life,” is the question we ask every interviewee, and Scott’s answer, “Be useful to humanity.”

Despite pain, sickness, and inevitable death, Scott is doing his daily streams, serving his country and all of humankind until his end.

He’s a light to the world and a mirror for all of us.

What exactly are we doing with the gift of life given to us by God. (Scott believes in the Simulation, but I believe God evens this all out in the Judgment.) Are we doing enough for others? Are we doing anything for others?

Like everyone else, I’m capable of throwing myself a pity party. Sometimes when life is going too well, and I don’t have real problems, I invent some. That’s where the Ego brings you, recursively worshipping itself, and when that fails, tormenting itself, as each path leads to its own attention.

May all of us live more like Scott Adams, and may God bless his immortal soul when he passes.

P.S. I ran this article through Grok for typos. The original version had “immoral” soul where I meant it to read “immortal.” I think Scott would have had a great laugh had that typo been left in.

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

Most of what stops us isn't real.

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@emmaeni__ @dougdanna A real master of the craft

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@free_ai_guides Alex

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@itsme_urstruly Pai Mei's cat

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@matt_gray_ IG

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.

Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.

One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.

Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.

Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"

"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."

He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."

The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."

Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.

But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,

"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."

So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.

Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."

Let this story reach more hearts....

Credit: Mary Nelson

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@copywriter_adam Swipe

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@knoxtwts Pipelne

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@TheCopyTitan Bring the goods, Sir!

[Erick Monzon @ErickMonzon]

@casualhyped SEND