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Framework for writing Meta ad scripts where the story earns the sale. Covers curiosity gaps, contrast, and how to bring the product in without killing trust. Use when writing UGC scripts, testimonial ads, or any direct response creative.
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SOC 職業分類に基づく
Scrape product reviews from any ecommerce site into standardized JSONL. Use when the user says "scrape reviews," "pull reviews," "get reviews from," "grab reviews," or provides a product/review page URL and wants review data.
Generates advertising creative briefs for direct-response marketing using three psychological frameworks (TEEP stages, Three Selves theory, Emotional Zones) with voice of customer integration. Use when the user asks for creative briefs, ad briefs, advertising concepts, static ads, or mentions TEEP, Trigger, Exploration, Evaluation, Purchase, self-targeting, Actual self, Ideal self, Ought self, emotional zones, valence, intensity, emotional journey, voice of customer, VoC, angle dumps, or distribution specs.
Critique copy or creative work against a chosen skill/framework. Use when the user says "critique this," "review this," "score this," "what's wrong with this," "give me feedback," or "how can I improve this."
Generates editorial-style image prompts that look like real content, not ads. Guides users through style selection and builds hyper-detailed prompts for Nano Banana Pro (Gemini). Use when the user mentions editorial images, editorial style images, native ad images, or wants to generate images that don't look like ads.
Use Google Gemini for text generation, image analysis, video analysis, and image generation
Writes research-driven listicle landing pages where each numbered point is a sales argument built from a unifying theme. Guides through 9 decision gates covering research, theme selection, headlines, feature/benefit mapping, argument building, drafting, review, and imagery. Use when creating listicles, writing conversion-focused numbered lists, or when the user mentions listicles, landing pages, ad landing pages, or numbered list articles.
| name | story-selling |
| version | 1.1.0 |
| description | Framework for writing Meta ad scripts where the story earns the sale. Covers curiosity gaps, contrast, and how to bring the product in without killing trust. Use when writing UGC scripts, testimonial ads, or any direct response creative. |
There are two ways to fail at Meta ad scripts.
The first: you write a beautiful, vulnerable story. People watch. People feel something. Maybe they even share it with a friend. And then nothing happens. Nobody buys. Nobody clicks. Your CPMs look great while your ROAS flatlines.
The second: you write a script that pivots too hard to the pitch. You spend 20 seconds building tension, sharing a real moment, maybe even getting vulnerable. Then you drop "That's why I created this product" or "This is exactly what we formulated at XYZ Brand." The viewer feels the sales energy hit them like a cold front. They were leaning in. Now they're scrolling past. The trust you spent 20 seconds building evaporates in a single sentence.
Both of these fail for the same reason.
The writer thinks stories and sales are two different things.
They're not.
The transformation is the pitch. The story is the proof. When you understand this, you stop writing ads that go nowhere. You stop writing ads that feel gross. You start writing ads where the right people watch to the end and think, "I need this."
Let's be clear: these are ads. The product has to come in at some point. Benefits and features need to land. The viewer needs to understand what they're buying.
The question isn't whether to sell. It's how to earn the sale.
The best ads don't avoid the product—they make the product feel like the natural resolution to the story. The transformation creates the context. The product becomes the obvious answer to a problem the viewer now deeply feels.
When you do this right, the product section doesn't feel like a pivot. It feels like a payoff.
When the product comes in varies script to script. Sometimes it's woven throughout. Sometimes it lands in the final third. Sometimes the product IS the story from the beginning. There's no single formula.
What matters is that the story earns the product. The viewer should want to know "what did they use?" before you tell them.
The ads that actually convert don't explain what the product does. They show one transformation so specifically that the viewer connects the dots on their own.
Consider a skincare brand that runs this:
"I could see it on her face the second she saw my skin. She didn't hesitate. 'What are you using?'"
That moment shows why people trust this product enough to skip comparison shopping. By the end of that ad, you know exactly what this brand does and why it's worth trying. The product details can follow—but the story already did the heavy lifting.
Or a supplement brand that opens with this:
"My doctor called me mid-workup. Inflammation markers. Through the roof."
The ad builds the tension. Shows the fork in the road. The decision they had to make. How they handled it. The outcome that proved they made the right call. The product becomes the answer to a problem the viewer now viscerally understands.
Or a fitness program that tells the story of someone else's failed New Year's resolution that made zero progress. They never criticize. They show what went wrong. They teach through contrast. By the end, viewers understand exactly what not to do—and what to do instead.
These ads share three things in common. They open with a specific moment as the hook. Something a stranger can picture happening. They carry real stakes because health, money, time, or identity was on the line. They show a transformation you can picture. Not a concept. Not a framework. An actual change in someone's life.
Then the product comes in as the solution, not the interruption.
For example, imagine a fitness coach writing about a client transformation. They have everything they need for a powerful ad. A 39-year-old dad. Tired of his weight. Wanted to set an example for his kids. Lost 17 pounds in 40 days.
And buried in Week 4, his 7-year-old son knocked on the home gym door and asked if he could exercise with him.
That's the ad. That's the whole story. A dad who couldn't keep up at the playground became a dad his son wanted to be like.
But instead, they give us this:
Week 1: -1 lb. Logs food. 3 workouts. 10k steps. Week 2: -3 lbs. Rocket Foods. 3 workouts. 12k steps. Week 3: -2 lbs. Greek yogurt. 1-hand swings. 12k steps. Week 4: -5 lbs. Flexible nutrition. 4 workouts. Son joins him. Week 5: -3 lbs. Consistent nutrition. Turkish get-ups. 10-12k steps. Week 6: -3 lbs. Added resistance. Still walking.
Six weeks of bullet points. Spreadsheet formatting. Progress logs that read like a fitness tracker export.
And somewhere in the middle, viewers started tuning out. Because the human story got buried under the data.
This is the most common mistake in ad scripts right now. Brands with real transformations, real results, real proof. And viewers scrolling right past it.
Your viewer doesn't need to see the whole spreadsheet. They need to feel one row of it.
The Fitness Coach (Before):
"Week 1: -1 lb. Logs food on vacation. 3 workouts, 30 min each. Learns swings, rows, squats, presses. 10-12k steps.
Week 2: -3 lbs. Eats Rocket Foods. Meat, veggies, fruits, dairy, legumes. 1 treat meal per week. 3 workouts. Perfects 2-hand swing form. 12k+ steps. Starts taking laps in office.
Week 3: -2 lbs. Loves Greek yogurt and fruit for breakfast. Learns 1-hand swings. 12k+ steps. People at work notice."
The Fitness Coach (After):
"Week 4, his 7-year-old son knocked on the home gym door.
'Dad, can I exercise with you?'
For 15 years, he'd been the dad who sat on the bench at the playground. Too winded to push swings. Too heavy for the slide.
Week 1, he could barely finish a 30-minute kettlebell session. Week 4, his son wanted to be like him. Week 6, four other dads at school asked what he was doing.
17 pounds in 40 days. But he measures success differently now.
Last text he sent me: 'My son asked if we could work out before school tomorrow.'
The weight was never really the point."
Same transformation. Same 17 pounds. But one version gets skipped and one version gets saved.
The difference is that the second version picked one row of the spreadsheet and made you feel it. Now when the product or program gets mentioned, the viewer is already sold on the outcome.
Numbers aren't bad. Specificity still matters. "$100K in revenue" hits harder than "significant income." "17 pounds in 40 days" is better than "lost weight."
The problem isn't using numbers. The problem is stacking them.
One specific number anchors the story. Five specific numbers turn it into a report.
Think about it this way. If you're telling a friend about a customer win, you don't pull out a spreadsheet. You say: "Dude, this guy's son asked to work out with him. He's been overweight for 15 years and now his kid wants to be like him."
That's the story. That's what you'd actually say out loud.
The spreadsheet is for your case studies. The single moment is for your ads.
You can absolutely say "this changed my life." But you need to show us the specific moment when you felt it first. The morning you couldn't get out of bed. The doctor's call you didn't expect. The text from your kid that made you cry in the car.
Then "this changed my life" hits different. Because we saw it with you. Because we're not being told a lesson. We're arriving at the same conclusion you did, at the same moment you did.
This is the difference between teaching and reflecting. Teaching creates distance. You're on camera, dispensing wisdom, and we're in the audience deciding whether to pay attention.
Reflecting creates connection. You're in the mess with us. You're discovering something at the same time we are. We're not being taught. We're being invited into a moment of realization.
The ads that hit millions of views are never teaching ads. They're always someone showing us a moment and letting us feel what they felt.
Your ad isn't ready until you can point to the exact sentence where a stranger would picture something happening.
Not understand something. Not agree with something. Picture something.
"Tuesday morning 9am my doctor called me in."
No picture. This is setup. This is context. This is the sentence before the story starts.
"My doctor started listing specialists while I was still sitting in front of her."
Picture. I see two people in an office. I see one of them realizing, mid-conversation, that everything just changed.
"Transformation is possible."
No picture. This is a bumper sticker. A caption on a sunset photo. It means everything and nothing.
"I hit every goal last year. I can't remember most of last year."
Picture. I see someone looking at a checklist, everything marked complete, feeling empty instead of proud. I see the gap between achievement and presence.
You have transformations. You have results. You have proof. The skill isn't getting more of it. The skill is choosing which single piece to build your story around.
Step 1: List every result from one customer or testimonial.
The fitness coach could list: 17 pounds lost, 6 weeks of consistency, learned kettlebells, walks 12k steps daily, son joined him, coworkers noticed, wife started exercising too, kept the weight off after.
Step 2: Find the one that makes strangers stop.
"17 pounds" is impressive but generic. "Son asked to work out with him" is specific and emotional. That's your row.
Step 3: Ask what life looked like before and after that specific moment.
Before: Dad who sat on the bench at the playground. Too winded. Too heavy. Watching other dads play with their kids.
After: Son knocking on the gym door. Wanting to be like him. Asking to work out before school.
Step 4: Delete everything that doesn't serve that single transformation.
The Greek yogurt discovery? Gone. The Turkish get-ups? Gone. The weekly step counts? Gone.
If it doesn't make the son-knocking-on-the-door moment hit harder, it doesn't belong in the ad.
Step 5: Trust the one row to carry the weight.
This is the hardest part. You'll feel like it's not enough. Like you need to add the stats back in. Like people won't believe you without the full weekly breakdown.
Resist that urge. One undeniable transformation lands harder than ten impressive statistics.
I've been thinking about why some ads get watched all the way through and others get abandoned after two seconds.
It's not the topic. It's not the production quality. It's not even the hook, though everyone obsesses over hooks.
It's whether you've opened a gap.
A curiosity gap is the space between what someone knows and what they want to know. You create it by giving them enough to understand there's something worth knowing, but not enough to know it yet.
Simple concept. Brutally hard to execute.
Here's what most people do wrong. They either close the gap too fast or they never open one at all.
Closing too fast looks like this:
"I quit my job and started my own business. Best decision I ever made."
There's no gap. You told me the setup and the conclusion in the same breath. Why would I keep watching? To hear you explain why it was good? I already know the ending.
Never opening a gap looks like this:
"Starting a business taught me a lot about myself."
There's nothing to be curious about. This is a statement that could mean anything. There's no specific question forming in my head. I'm not wondering anything. I'm just... watching words.
Now watch what happens when you open a gap properly:
"Three months into my business, I almost went back to my old job. Not because the money was bad. Because I couldn't handle the silence."
Now I'm curious. What silence? Why was it so hard? What happened next? Did you go back?
You've given me enough to picture something (someone struggling alone), but not enough to know how it resolves. I have to keep watching.
The gap is the silence. You named it but didn't explain it. That's the thing I want to understand.
A curiosity gap requires specificity and incompleteness working together.
Specificity gives me something to hold onto. "The silence" is specific. "Lessons I learned" is not.
Incompleteness gives me a reason to keep going. You've raised a question you haven't answered yet.
Most ads fail because they're either too vague to create a question, or they answer the question before the viewer even has time to form it.
The best hooks open a gap in the first line and don't close it for several seconds.
The best scripts open smaller gaps along the way. You resolve one and open another. The viewer keeps chasing.
The worst ads open a gap in the hook, then immediately close it in line two with an explanation. Or they never open one at all because they're too busy philosophizing in the abstract.
The test is simple.
Watch your first three seconds. Ask yourself: what question is forming in the viewer's mind right now?
If you can't name a specific question, you haven't opened a gap.
If the question is already answered by second three, you closed it too fast.
If the question is vague like "what's this about?" you haven't given them enough specificity to care.
The gap should be concrete. It should be a question they can almost articulate. "Wait, what happened with the silence?" or "Why would three people quit after getting what they wanted?"
That's what keeps them watching.
Most content fails because it lives in the middle.
Middle emotions. Middle stakes. Middle energy. Everything hovers at a 5 out of 10, and the algorithm—which is really just people scrolling—doesn't register it at all.
Contrast is what makes people stop.
Think about how your eye works. You don't notice a gray square on a gray background. But put a white square on a black background and you can't NOT see it. Your brain is wired to detect difference. Sameness is invisible.
Content works the same way.
Contrast creates tension, and tension creates attention.
When you open with something unexpected, you create a gap. The viewer's brain needs to close that gap. They need to know how the contradiction resolves.
"I'm a financial advisor who tells clients NOT to invest."
"She was the worst employee I ever hired. Then she saved my company."
"I charge $500/hour and I'm telling you not to hire me."
Each of these creates a gap between what you expect and what you're hearing. That gap is uncomfortable. The only way to resolve it is to keep watching.
This is why "I was broke, now I'm not" stories work forever. The distance between the two states creates inherent tension. The further apart the two points, the more compelling the journey between them.
This is the most obvious application—your first line contradicts expectations or contains internal tension.
"I got fired from my dream job. Best thing that ever happened."
The first sentence is negative. The second is positive. Your brain needs to reconcile them.
Most people write hooks that are all one flavor: "Here's how I grew my business." That's not wrong, but there's no tension. Nothing to resolve. Compare it to: "I almost shut down my business last month. Here's why I'm glad I didn't."
Same information. Completely different pull.
This is about pacing within the piece itself. Short sentences. Then a longer one that expands on what you just said.
Monotonous rhythm puts people to sleep. Varied rhythm keeps them alert.
Watch what happens here:
"I worked 80 hours a week. I missed my kid's first steps. I nearly lost my marriage. I made partner."
Four short punches. Each one lands. Now compare:
"I worked really hard for many years, often putting in 80-hour weeks at the office, which meant I missed important moments with my family including my child's first steps, and my marriage suffered significantly, but eventually I made partner."
Same facts. Zero impact. The contrast in sentence length creates drama.
This is the deepest level. It's about taking the viewer through different emotional states within a single piece.
Start them somewhere uncomfortable. Frustration. Fear. Confusion. Then move them somewhere better. Relief. Hope. Clarity.
The movement between emotional states is what makes content memorable. People don't remember information. They remember how you made them feel—specifically, how you changed how they felt.
An ad that starts frustrated and ends hopeful lands differently than one that's hopeful throughout. The frustrated opening validates their current state. The hopeful ending shows them the door. The contrast between the two is what they remember.
Most people try to stay "professional." They sand down the edges. They write content that's moderately interesting throughout instead of creating peaks and valleys.
The result is beige content. It doesn't offend anyone, but it doesn't move anyone either.
Contrast requires commitment. You have to go low to go high. You have to be willing to open with something uncomfortable before you deliver the resolution.
"I failed publicly" hits harder than "I learned a lesson." "I was terrified" creates more connection than "I was nervous." The more extreme the contrast, the more magnetic the content—as long as it's true.
This doesn't mean being dramatic for drama's sake. It means finding the real extremes in your story and having the guts to put them on camera.
Next time you write something, ask yourself:
Where's the tension between two different states? If you can't find it, you don't have a hook yet.
Where does the rhythm change? If every sentence is the same length, rewrite it.
Where does the emotion shift? If the viewer feels the same way at the end as they did at the beginning, you haven't taken them anywhere.
Contrast isn't a trick. It's how humans process meaning. We understand hot because we know cold. We understand success because we've felt failure. We understand where someone is because we know where they started.
Your content is the bridge between two points. The further apart those points are, the more compelling the crossing.
The product has to land. Benefits need to be communicated. Features that matter need to be shown.
The question is whether the product feels like an interruption or a resolution.
When the story has done its job, the viewer is already asking "what did they use?" or "how did they do it?" The product becomes the answer to a question they're already asking.
When the story hasn't done its job, the product feels like a bait-and-switch. "Oh, this was an ad the whole time."
There's no single formula for when the product comes in. Some scripts weave it throughout. Some save it for the end. Some lead with the product and let the story prove it works.
What matters:
The transformation creates the context. The viewer needs to feel the problem before they care about the solution.
The product resolves the tension. It should feel like the natural next step, not a detour.
Benefits land because they're now relevant. "Reduces inflammation" means nothing in a vacuum. After watching someone's doctor call with bad news, it means everything.
Woven Throughout:
"My doctor called me mid-workup. Inflammation markers through the roof. She started listing specialists while I was still sitting there.
That night I couldn't sleep. Started researching. Found [product]. The studies looked promising but I'd been burned before.
Three months later I went back for bloodwork. She pulled up the results and just looked at me. 'What did you change?'
[Product shot, key benefits, CTA]"
Saved for the End:
"Week 4, his 7-year-old son knocked on the home gym door. 'Dad, can I exercise with you?'
For 15 years, he'd been the dad who sat on the bench at the playground. Too winded to push swings. Too heavy for the slide.
17 pounds in 40 days. But he measures success differently now.
[Program name]. This is what it's built for.
[Features, CTA]"
Product-Led:
"I've been using [product] for 6 months. Here's what happened.
Month 1, nothing. I almost quit.
Month 2, my wife noticed before I did.
Month 3, I stopped covering my forehead in photos.
[Product demo, benefits, CTA]"
Each approach works. The key is that the story earns the product moment. The viewer should feel like the product is the answer, not the interruption.
Take your last testimonial, case study, or customer transformation.
Your proof isn't the problem. Your pile of proof is.
Pick one. Make them feel it. Then let the product be the answer.
