When euphemisms become overused, people learn to read between the lines. Why make them work for it?

I’ve been looking at a lot of home sale listings lately. I’m not moving right away, but it’s probably going to happen in the next couple years and I want to get a solid feel for the market.

My dear aunt is a real estate agent, and a fine one at that. I’d have her as my own if she lived nearby. But she’s been kind enough to plug my email address into her system, and I receive a listing every day for every new house that comes on the market in my price range. The reports have become something I look forward to as I open my email each morning.

Everyone is familiar with the language of real estate. Agents are in the business to sell, and it wouldn’t do to mention the blemishes of a particular property. Instead, they paper over them with a collection of well-honed euphemisms: phrases that say one thing and mean another.

Here’s one from today’s listing — and I love this one: “Original owners–clean and well-maintained-Bring your decorator’s touch to this value-priced home”. If you put that sentence together with the notable lack of indoor photos of the house, you get a very clear picture: original shag carpeting throughout, leopard-print furniture, wood panelling on the walls.

Another one I like is “Must be seen”: to me, this suggests a house that looks modest from the outside, but has some charm within to justify its surprisingly high price. Or “excellent investment opportunity”. Ouch: that just screams “here’s a dump on a good piece of land”!

Some listings are good, in the sense that the agent has written a piece that forgoes the editorializing, doling out “just the facts”. In these cases, they praise the positive features, and follow my mom’s advice: if you’ve got nothing good to say, don’t say anything.

There’s a movement afoot in the technical writing community called Plain Language. The term refers to a style of writing that dispenses with euphemism, and gives the reader only what they need. Critics would argue that plain language sucks the life out of writing, but for those whose jobs it is to get a message out, the practice is a godsend.

And for those of us who have to read it, plain language can make the difference between my rolling my eyes, and, well, not.

Here’s an example of a good listing: “Spacious Bungalow Close To Downtown. Hardwood Floors In Upper Level, Marble Floor In Kitchen. Large, Bright Living Room And Dining Room. Walkout To 16′ X 20′ Deck From Master Bedroom. Extra Kitchen, Bedroom And 4 Pc Bath In The Basement. Hepa Air Wash And Cleaning System.”

Sounds good, right? It’s also good because it doesn’t mention the bad stuff: nothing about the roof, for example.

So we’re part-way there: a decent description that doesn’t make me read between the lines. But what is a perfect listing? Clearly, it would be one that would be just as good as seeing the home in person. Much of the information in a home listing is actually a set of form fields: how many bedrooms, type of heating, home age, number of parking spaces, etc. The written description is a necessary accompaniment to those stats, but as we’ve seen, it still doesn’t tell the whole story.

Here’s my perfect listing.

• Standard Data Every facet of a home would be described by a statistic, from the age and type of roof to the plumbing and electrical wiring. You’d be able to consistently compare listings based on any metric, and all the data would be mandatory. Right now, many listings forego the “Age” field. Yikes.
• More Pictures Some postings go up with no pictures at all! That’s insane and pointless. Matters have improved here in recent years, with most listings having multiple shots that can be thumbed through. But there is still room for improvement. For one, some agents could use a tip or two on how to take good home pictures; we’re past the point of thinking that just having any pictures at all is good enough. And like my point above about having complete data, we should have complete pictures too: I want a picture of every room, not just the good ones. And definitely not of the furniture in the rooms.
• Floorplans This would be amazing, and it’s probably not currently possible. But I think having a floor plan would allow potential buyers to quickly get a handle on the size and use of a house. To me, this sounds like a fantastic business opportunity. Ah, I’m not the first to think about it.

Make these standard, and you’ll have a home listing that really tells me about the place I might spend the bank’s money on.

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Companies often engage agencies like me in one of two ways: either on a per-project basis or on retainer. I used to love the idea of a retainer, but the reality is very different.

A retainer is a monthly set amount paid for services rendered. For that fixed figure, the client has the right to pick up the phone at any time and engage my services. The client benefits because they don’t have to think about how much something is going to cost. I benefit because I can actually plan on having a certain amount of revenue. In a business that can fluctuate wildly month-to-month, that’s a pretty comforting idea.

In practice, however, retainers haven’t worked for me, or my clients. Let’s explore why that is.

It’s worth noting that retainers require a certain amount of risk for both parties. For me, I undertake them with the understanding that some months I’m going to do more work, and other months I’ll do less. The idea is that in the long run things will balance out. The client makes the same risk, of course. But they have more direct control over the reins, since they decide what work they want done!

Here’s an example of how a retainer has played out for me.

About three years ago, I had a couple clients who simply wanted to maintain their existing Web sites. A few times a month they’d provide me with updated content, and I would turn around the changes within hours. For a simple $300 per month, those clients were happy with the service.

But as time went on, these companies started to go through cycles of lower activity. Where early on I was making five or six changes to the site in a month, $300 makes sense. But when you go down to one or two — and sometimes none — the equation changes.

Unfortunately, one client in particular felt that that money could be better spent elsewhere. Every month, when I submitted my invoice, I would have to deal with an argument over how much work I was doing. I tried pointing out that whole risk argument (as above); after all, there were months where, if I was charging hourly, I’d be billing for more than $300. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get any complaints in those months.

Ultimately, I insisted that we move to a per-hour arrangement, and things have gone much better: I provide an itemized list of changes, attach the time for each and total it up. No more complaints, and better peace of mind.

In the past year, a much larger client asked to engage me on a retainer contract, for $2500 a month. That’s a lot of clams for both me and the client. Fortunately for both of us, we were comfortable with the amount of work that was on the go; we knew that there’d be little trouble filling the time.

But problems cropped up almost immediately. My client’s expectations were that I would not just be doing the work, but also generating the work: gathering the resources around the company, developing the marketing plans and then developing the materials — the part I thought I was there for. In short, I was to be the quasi-full-time marketing department. But my commitments to my other clients precludes that level of engagement.

This misunderstanding became clear after the first month. The client and I had an open, honest conversation which resulted in the scrapping of the retainer. Now, I work on a project basis, and things are much smoother.

With all this history, it was with a practiced eye that I read another client’s request to consider a retainer, rather than pay for an individual job. Ultimately, it seems to me that the client gets better value when they pay by project. And while I don’t get the smooth monthly revenue, I sleep better at night knowing that I’m getting paid for what I do, rather than some average of what I do.

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