I spend an inordinate part of my day reading and answering emails. On that rare occasion (oh, modern connectivity, what a blessing and a curse you are) when I’m away from email for a good-ish chunk of time—say, 12 or even 24 hours—I return to a deluge of messages. Like, several hundred.

This is not because I’m so popular. It’s because some people are just email-happy. I mean, I’m not even counting the stuff that lands in my Spam filter (on the order of 300+ messages per day, in case you’re wondering), but I do get plenty of “let me tell you about our great new product” or “have you checked out this new site yet” sorts of emails. Also, I appear to be permanently stuck on a mailing list for press events in New York City, try as I may to get myself removed. But that’s another topic entirely.

No, the point I want to make today is that there is a right way and a wrong way to approach someone when you’re hoping they’ll respond to you with some advice. And I always thought this stuff was common sense, but given the number of emails I receive which seem to overlook some basic principles, I figured it was time to share.

Look; I am not joking even a little bit when I tell you that I love it when someone feels moved to mail me for advice on writing. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside; it tells me that you like what I do and you think I have knowledge to share. That’s all good. On the other hand, I do sometimes get weird and/or crazy stuff from people that result in my feeling… ummm… shall we say, less than helpful.

Generally speaking, if you are approaching someone for advice, there are some basic tenets to keep in mind.

1) Compliments are good, but blatant sucking up is not. I assume you’re emailing me because you like me. If you feel moved to say so, well, so much the better. Emails which are lengthy treatises on why you think I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread can be taken one of two ways: either you’re being insincere, or you’re sincere but a little nuts. If you’re mailing me for advice and I’ve mentally categorized you as a little bit nuts, chances are excellent that I’m not going to answer any of your “advice” questions, but send you a bland and generic, “Thanks so much for your kind words,” type of reply.

2) Acknowledgment that you’re asking for a favor goes a long way. Look, I’m working for a living, same as everyone else. I don’t get paid to answer emails. (Now there’s a dream job….) I am more than happy to help people out when I can, because others have done it for me and I’m all for paying it forward and good karma and all of that. A very simple, “I know you must be very busy…” can go a long way in terms of making me feel like you’re a good egg. It hasn’t happened very often, but occasionally I’ve received emails that felt like they were lists of demands, with no appreciation for the fact that asking a relative stranger to take time out of her day for you is not something a person should just expect.

3) Brevity is good. If your email to me is 200 paragraphs long, I barely have time to read the whole thing, much less respond to it. Again, you’re asking someone to make time for you. Honor that reality by keeping it brief. The corollary to this one is…

4) Oversharing is bad. Because I often write about personal matters on my personal blog, people sometimes feel compelled to share their life stories with me, as well—particularly if we have a key event in common (messy divorce, for example). There’s sharing, and then there’s oversharing. It’s probably never appropriate to email a stranger the intimate details of your life in excruciating detail. Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable when people do it me. Saying, “I also went through a difficult divorce,” is fine. Saying, “It all started back in 2005…” and treating me to the entire history is unnecessary and a little weird. (That said, sometimes a connection happens and there will be a string of email conversation back and forth, at which point the rules change, obviously. This applies to an initial email to someone who doesn’t know you.)

5) Specific questions are easier to answer than general ones. I get a lot of people wanting to know how I got started, how I proceeded, how I find work, what steps to take, etc. This is information I’m happy to share when I can. But saying, “Wow you’re doing what I want to do, tell me how,” isn’t really an answerable question. It’s too broad, and assumes some magical formula which I’m sorry to say doesn’t exist. Good: “What are some things I can do to build traffic on my blog?” Bad: “So how do I make my blog like yours?” (Related: Don’t make your blog like mine. Make it like yours.)

6) Money is a delicate subject. Emily Post and other etiquette gurus all agree that discussing money is a tricky matter, and one that is not to be undertaken casually. Do not mail me to ask how much money I make, even how much money I charge (unless you’re offering me a job). It is okay to ask me questions about how to figure out what to charge or how to research going rates, but it’s rude to ask me what I earn. You wouldn’t do it face to face (would you?), so it’s not okay to do in email, either.

7) Say thank you. I really, really wish this was self-evident, but apparently it’s not, so I’m going to say it. If I had a nickel for every time that I actually took the time out of my day to write out a considered, hopefully helpful response to a stranger’s email and then never received an acknowledgment, I’d be going to Starbucks on a regular basis. Now, it’s bad form not to thank someone for their time, anyway, but occasionally one of those people whom I helped never says thanks and then they come back to me later on with something else. Guess what! If you didn’t say thank you the first time, do you think you’re going to get a second response from me? (Hint: Manners are good.)

Really, I think all seven of the preceding points can be boiled down, thusly: Treat people the way you’d like to be treated. The end.