Guido half opened the door leading to the cellar and turned out the lights. We sat on the floor in the dark wearing night-vision goggles and waited.

It happened a little after 1 a.m. The blue ball hurtled from under the sideboard, hit the table leg and bounced back. I hea

The experience taught me that to write about a product, you have to see it at work. You will see how this can help you, also. But first, here is what happened that night.

It was November - almost 3 years ago. My friend and client, Guido, asked me to write a sales letter and a couple of ads for him. He ran a ghost busting business.

It struck me as hard to make m0ney chasing ghosts out of people’s houses but he made a good living. Guido convinced me that I had to get a feel for his business. So, he asked me to accompany him on a job.

I agreed and found myself the following Thursday night with him and his girlfriend, Erin, in the home of an art gallery owner. The owner and his family were away and the place smelled of stale smoke and chrysanthemums. We were alone – or almost alone.

The ghost, Guido explained, was a child who had died in the house 60 years before. He would come back looking for toys. Guido led us to the dining room where he set up his equipment. The only toy I saw was a blue ball under the sideboard that belonged to the owner’s young son.

Guido half opened the door leading to the cellar and turned out the lights. We sat on the floor in the dark wearing night-vision goggles and waited.

It happened a little after 1 a.m. The blue ball hurtled from under the sideboard, hit the table leg and bounced back. I hea

It was November - almost 3 years ago. My friend and client, Guido, asked me to write a sales letter and a couple of ads for him. He ran a ghost busting business.

It struck me as hard to make m0ney chasing ghosts out of people’s houses but he made a good living. Guido convinced me that I had to get a feel for his business. So, he asked me to accompany him on a job.

I agreed and found myself the following Thursday night with him and his girlfriend, Erin, in the home of an art gallery owner. The owner and his family were away and the place smelled of stale smoke and chrysanthemums. We were alone – or almost alone.

The ghost, Guido explained, was a child who had died in the house 60 years before. He would come back looking for toys. Guido led us to the dining room where he set up his equipment. The only toy I saw was a blue ball under the sideboard that belonged to the owner’s young son.

Guido half opened the door leading to the cellar and turned out the lights. We sat on the floor in the dark wearing night-vision goggles and waited.

It happened a little after 1 a.m. The blue ball hurtled from under the sideboard, hit the table leg and bounced back. I hea

I agreed and found myself the following Thursday night with him and his girlfriend, Erin, in the home of an art gallery owner. The owner and his family were away and the place smelled of stale smoke and chrysanthemums. We were alone – or almost alone.

The ghost, Guido explained, was a child who had died in the house 60 years before. He would come back looking for toys. Guido led us to the dining room where he set up his equipment. The only toy I saw was a blue ball under the sideboard that belonged to the owner’s young son.

Guido half opened the door leading to the cellar and turned out the lights. We sat on the floor in the dark wearing night-vision goggles and waited.

It happened a little after 1 a.m. The blue ball hurtled from under the sideboard, hit the table leg and bounced back. I hea

The ghost, Guido explained, was a child who had died in the house 60 years before. He would come back looking for toys. Guido led us to the dining room where he set up his equipment. The only toy I saw was a blue ball under the sideboard that belonged to the owner’s young son.

Guido half opened the door leading to the cellar and turned out the lights. We sat on the floor in the dark wearing night-vision goggles and waited.

It happened a little after 1 a.m. The blue ball hurtled from under the sideboard, hit the table leg and bounced back. I hea

Guido half opened the door leading to the cellar and turned out the lights. We sat on the floor in the dark wearing night-vision goggles and waited.

It happened a little after 1 a.m. The blue ball hurtled from under the sideboard, hit the table leg and bounced back. I heard a click from Guido’s equipment and the ball stopped short. After a few minutes of stillness, the ball darted forth again. This time, it zigzagged along the wall.

Erin and I exchanged a quick glance and I strained to see what was causing the ball to move. I could only imagine some unseen little feet kicking it and scurrying after it. Again, Guido’s equipment clicked and kept on clicking. The ball rolled out the cellar door and bounced down the steps.

It was over.

Guido didn’t explain how he did it, but assured us the little ghost would not be back - ever. I ran my hand over the bare floor where the ball had been. I was feeling for wires or string, suspecting that Guido had rigged the whole thing. But I found nothing.

I didn’t go to bed when I got home. Instead, I wrote an account of the ghost. I also wrote the sales letter and ads for Guido. The words rolled off my fingertips like raindrops. I set the scene of what it was like to be in the same room with a ghost.

In writing about Guido’s service, I tried to make the readers feel the same things I had. I brought all my senses into it – touch, smell, hearing, sight and taste.

I learned another lesson from that experience that m