Stephen King once wrote, “I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops.”

Whether you’re a Stephen King fan or not (I’m not), when it comes to fundraising copywriting, his words are spot on.

Because I’ve seen way too many fundraising copywriters lean on adverbs—very, extremely, really, truly, deeply—to create emotion. They assume these words add urgency and impact, but really, they do the opposite.

The truth is, adverbs weaken writing. And they’ll make your appeals feel vague, inauthentic, and cluttered.

If you want stronger, more compelling copy, cutting adverbs is one of the easiest ways to get there.

They didn’t mean to build a fear-based fundraising strategy. But that’s what it became.

I was talking with a new client recently about their past email habits. At one point, they were emailing supporters 8 to 10 times a month.

Not because the message demanded it. Not because the audience wanted it. But because, to quote my client, they were afraid.

“You’re worried the message isn’t going to connect, so you just end up saying everything. And that’s usually born out of fear.”

That anxiety started calling the shots. It shaped how often they communicated and what they said. And fear became the de facto engine behind their communication strategy.

When that happens, it always shows—whether you’re flooding inboxes or retreating into silence.

Like so many, I’ve been processing a lot of questions this week in the wake of the Central Texas floods.

Why?

Why children?

Why so many children?

Why so many children at summer camp?

Why, God?

Why?

Even though I work with words every day… and even though this blog is usually about how to use them well… some moments remind me that words can only do so much.

Fear had become the de facto engine behind their communication strategy.

Let’s talk about one of the simplest, most overlooked tools in your copywriting toolbox: the humble bullet point.

They’re easy to take for granted. I mean, they’re just a list with dots, right?

When used with intention, bullet points can increase the clarity, appeal, and effectiveness of your fundraising copy.

In fact, they’re rooted in something deeper than formatting. Bullet points speak directly to how the human brain is wired to process information.

And that makes them a good fundraising copywriter’s secret weapon.

Some letters raise money. The best ones raise trust.

That’s the difference between a tactic and a relationship—between transactional fundraising and something that actually lasts.

And it’s why the strongest direct mail programs don’t just work once. They keep working.

Because over time, they feel less like a marketing piece and more like a familiar voice. A trusted friend. A relationship worth continuing.

Imagine this: You’re on a first date. After an hour of talking mostly about yourself, you drop to one knee and pop the question.

No buildup. No relationship. No trust. Just an unexpected, way-too-soon request for a lifelong commitment.

Most people would run for the door.

And yet, this is what many nonprofits do: They ask a brand-new donor to commit to a monthly gift before building any real connection.

I used to think AI was evil.

Not just risky. Not just lazy. Evil.

The kind of thing that would flatten the craft, cheapen the work, and steal jobs from people who actually care about the words they write.

And if I’m honest, I was mostly afraid it would steal mine.

I messed around with AI a bit when it first came out, out of curiosity more than anything. But I didn’t trust it. I didn’t see a real use for it. And I definitely didn’t want to build it into my process.

I sent a text after the presentation:

I think that went well? The client was a little quiet.

My colleague replied quickly:

Yeah, went great. Only reason she was quiet was ‘cause she was in the car. She may wordsmith a few things, but we’re 98% of the way there.

And then I admitted what I didn’t really want to say…

In a world where everything’s digital, mailing a letter to a donor might feel as cutting edge as downloading a song from Napster.

But here’s the surprise: direct mail is still one of the most powerful ways to discover—and develop—your next major donor.

You could call them creative.

You could call them empathetic.

You could even call them interested.

But the best copywriters I know… the ones whose words actually drive a response… are relentlessly, annoyingly, and unreasonably curious.

Your organization just invested in a new brand strategy, and it’s… amazing.

The tagline is brilliant, the tone-of-voice slides are polished, and the values? They’re alliterative and inspiring.

But now you’re staring at a blank Google Doc, trying to marry your brand strategy with your donor appeal letter. And that amazing strategy? It suddenly feels like a weight on your back.

“Have you figured out how to work in marketing and still be a good person?”

A colleague asked me this half-joking, half-serious question a while back. And honestly? It’s a fair one.

Marketing—and fundraising in particular—has a reputation problem.

Ask the average person what comes to mind when they hear the word fundraising, and you’ll likely get responses like “manipulative,” “salesy,” and “pushy.”

Sadly, those impressions don’t come from nowhere.

But here’s what might surprise you: the Apostle Paul, the theological heavyweight of the New Testament, used many of the same tactics we see in modern marketing… and he used them in his fundraising appeals to the early Church.

If you’re a copywriter, you’re probably used to writing in someone else’s voice.

It’s one of the strangest things about the job. Your name’s never on the bottom of the letter or email, but your fingerprints are all over it.

And if you do your job well, no one ever knew you were there.

That’s the goal. Your copy doesn’t sound like a marketer. It sounds like the person your reader knows and trusts.

The founder. The pastor. The leader in the field. The real human on the other side of the work.

Because in fundraising, voice is connection.

Picture this: You’re standing on a busy street, clipboard in hand, trying to get passersby to stop.

You call out, “Join us!” And then?

Crickets.

Your message falls flat because nobody knows what “Join us” means.

Join who? Join how? Join for what?

Yet nonprofits use this same vague, uninspiring call-to-action in their fundraising copy every day.

Most appeals I read start on Sunday.

They skip the pain.

Skip the tension.

Skip the story.

And head straight to the win:

“Lives are being changed—please give to keep it going.”

But here’s the thing:

Sunday’s glory makes more sense because of Friday’s grief.

Nonprofit fundraising is inherently emotional. As we’ve talked about, giving itself is a decision ultimately driven by the heart.

But fundraisers often mistake excitement for authentic emotional engagement by peppering their messages with exclamation points.

You’ve see it before…

• Your gift will change lives!

• Donate today to make a difference!

• Thank you for your generous support!

The problem? Overusing exclamation points can feel insincere, desperate, or even manipulative. They aren’t shortcuts to real emotional connection.

Back in elementary school—in the glorious awkwardness of the 1980s—I had a pretty sweet dating strategy. Maybe you remember it (or are guilty of using it) it too.

I’d scribble a note that simply asked, “Will you go with me? Check yes, no, or maybe,” then fold it neatly and pass it along, my heart pounding like I’d just diffused a nuclear bomb.

Fast-forward a few decades, and thankfully I learned a crucial fundraising lesson early in my career…

I have a confession: I’ve never used a semicolon—not once.

Sure, I use colons, commas, and parentheses all the time. But never semicolons.

I learned this early on from my first boss and mentor in the fundraising business, Rick Dunham. He’s a man whose copy is as clean as his desk.

When it comes to fundraising copy, you have 0.2 seconds to hook someone. That’s it.

This means the first line of your fundraising appeal has one job: make the reader want to keep reading.

If it doesn’t, you’ve lost them before they even get to your carefully crafted ask.

Here’s something I didn’t fully appreciate about myself for a long time: I’m a sensitive dude.

Growing up, I thought this was a weakness. I mean, I was the kid who cried at freakin’ “Little House on the Prairie.” So trust me, being “too sensitive” wasn’t exactly celebrated on the playground or at work.

Then there’s my undergrad psychology degree. I used to think it went to waste. After all, I didn’t become a counselor or do groundbreaking research, so what was the point?