Nothing sets me off into an uncheerful snit fit faster than those hideous generic form letters that nitwits think spread holiday cheer. I detest them.
You’ve heard of the “Twelve Days of Christmas,” a song to help celebrate the holiday? Here are the “Twelve Ways of Christmas Letters,” which DON’T celebrate the holiday.
1. They’re impersonal. Gee, I’m really sorry that you are so pressed for time that you can’t write me an individualized note. But I don’t feel special and I don’t feel appreciated and I don’t feel acknowledged when I get the EXACT SAME LETTER that everyone else gets.
I would much rather have a post-it note, stuck to the inside of an envelope, written in harried handwriting that says, “Toni, no time to write but thinking of you.” OR: “Hi. More later. Bye.” One personalized sentence or three tiny words are vastly BETTER than those overly long annoying brag fests that begin: “Dear Friends and Family.”
2. They’re inauthentic. This brings me to the point of why people write those things in the first place: To present a rosy, perfect picture of their lives. Stuff happens to everyone every year. Why don’t the less pretty events make the newsletter? All you get is the “good stuff,” which makes the letter so NOT realistic.
3. They’re depressing. Maybe you did have an incredible year and you were able to not only buy horse ranches in every state in the U.S., but also were able to ride your horses every day among verdant rolling hills alongside crystal-clear streams as the bluebirds chirped.
Most of us aren’t Ted Turner. Remember your audience. We mostly work like dogs in some sickening office.
4. They’re arrogant. To actually think I WANT to know all that stuff about your life and you don’t want to know ONE THING about mine. And the reason I know you don’t want to know one thing about my life is because you don’t ask! You don’t even bother to say, “How’s it going?”
5. They’re boring. I don’t care if the leaves turned gold in September instead of October. Unless you spray-painted them yourself because you couldn’t wait. And it looked so good you then spray painted the flowers, the house, and the snippy cat.
I don’t care that your kid’s school got a new lunch program. Unless you spearheaded the whole operation because you were sick of weenies-n-beanies and marshmallow-n-Jell-O on the menu everyday.
I don’t care if you completely refurnished your 6,000 square-foot house. Unless you built all the furniture yourself. Out of recycled Popsicle sticks and bottle caps.
6. They’re boastful. You brag brag brag about all your good fortune. You brag brag brag about every minute detail of your fabulous kids’s lives. Why don’t you be real for a change? Eliminate all the self-aggrandizement and say what you really mean: “I think I’m better than you because I have more ________ and better ________.”
7. They’re time-wasters. Seriously, I don’t have time to read a single-spaced small-font-size one-page letter. And I certainly wouldn’t even make it to Page Two. I need short sentences, lots of paragraphs, and lots of white space. Learn to edit.
8. They’re insulting. To think that I buy your “Life is perfect” spiel. Guess what? I’m not fooled. The fact that you can’t be honest makes me sad for you. People that boast do so out of insecurity. That makes me feel sorry for you. Is this the kind of “holiday spirit” you were trying to engender?
9. They’re dumb. Because after I’ve finished reading the darn thing, I get nothing out of it. I don’t need to learn that your kid played first base on the Little League team. Tell me something of substance. Something meaningful. Some experience that you had that I can learn from.
10. They’re poorly written. Most people don’t under stand the major requirement of good writing: CONFLICT. If you want to engage your readers, you need drama, suspense, comedy—something that compels them to continue reading. Listing your activities, achievements, and acquisitions is not good writing. Besides it’s bragging. See Point No. Six.
In addition, if you’re using the computer to create these self-serving masterpieces, do yourself a favor. Hit the Spell Check key. It will make you seem a tad less nitwitted.
11. They’re inappropriate. I don’t want your personal agenda foisted on me under the guise of holiday cheer. Overly religious, overly political, etc. commentary is off-putting. Your personal beliefs are for you alone. If you want me to change my beliefs, send me a brochure. I’ll look it over.
But don’t say, “Merry Christmas and if Jesus isn’t your Lord God Almighty Savior then ye shall burn in hell. For eternity. Which is a long time.” Not fun to receive.
12. They’re harmful. As they bring out the worst in me. They make me suspicious. Nobody has a husband, children, job, or life that great. What are you trying to hide?
They make me think you’re a big fat fake. They make me think you’re obtuse and un-self-aware and self-absorbed. They make me mad I’ve wasted my “friendship” on a phony. They make me mad I’ve wasted my “friendship” on somebody who doesn’t think I deserve the time it takes to say “Hi.”
I don’t want to think these things. ’Tis the season to be jolly, for cryin’ out loud!
SO PLEASE – no more Christmas form letters!
