Caffeinated Copywriter

Before you stick your hands up or roll up your sleeves in preparation for a lengthy diatribe on the justice system, keep in mind that I try to stick to themes of copywriting and creative writing. Today I want to make a case for contrarian copy. Let me give you a second to roll your eyes. This should be a no-brainer. I know, I know. But I've noticed a concerning pattern in the messaging clients want and, in turn, what accounts expects from their copywriters. Utterances like, "Say something positive" or "Can we make it sound positive?", "The headline is too provocative" or, my favorite, "People might ask questions" frequent the conference room (or Zoom/Hangouts/Facetime/Skype call) all too often. We could scream hollow positives of no substance until we're as blue in the face as a suffocating Smurf, but there's no way our audience will actually believe it. What's the point in running an ad if it's not to get someone

I first took the train to visit my sister in Memphis. From my house in Baton Rouge, the drive is a seven hour straight shot north. But by train, it's only an hour longer. Call it my millennial weakness for "experiences", but Amtrak's City of New Orleans train seemed like the perfect opportunity to get a little something extra out of this weekend escape. I boarded at the train station in Hammond. As I approached the ticket window, I was excited from the simple fact that the station smelled well-worn, like a museum. It reminded me of the smells of old wooden pews and choir loft hymnals in the churches that adorn small Southern towns. Spending a Sunday on the train is worship in its own right. Like the congregations gathered outside their churches, all kinds of Americans, all shades, all origins are brought together on the train. Everyone has a different reason for riding.  One lady I spoke with stopped flying altogether after her plane was subject to an

The Hydra. Heard of it? In Greek mythology it's one of the more notorious labors of Heracles, better known as Hercules. You know, the half-mortal son of Zeus who, for better or for worse, was popularized in a Disney animated classic? A serpentine monster with several heads and fatal poison to boot, the Hydra was one of the more unique battles to say the least. As Heracles cut off one head, two more would grow back in its place. See where this is going? Sometimes I liken the creature and it's propensity for fear and destruction to the way billings root out the joy in the many self-proclaimed "creative" agencies. Unlike Heracles, I am not a demigod with the ability to take down monstrosities. Although I'm sure many of us in this business wish we were. Every Wednesday morning, the entire creative team meets to talk about ideas and concepts. There was something strange about this particular morning meeting, though. I noticed an unnamed member of our Acc

Behold, the open-office concept at its best. No walls, no doors, no place to hide from the nausea of advertising's many fatal flaws. No barriers to prohibit the common collective collaborative process all in the name of productivity. If this sounds like your office then you will appreciate this malarkey. Comrade, I too work in one of the modern-day sweatshops we call the ad agency creative floor—rows of desks and monitors and keyboards and perfectly aligned. Even the break-rooms are positioned away from the "shop" floor so as to promote efficiency and discourage the thing they were designed for: breaks. Well between sessions of mundane meetings, other creatives and I will scurry over to the kitchen to top off our coffee. The dilemma? That scurry takes us through and behind a space for accounts. Mind you, the hallways are open, and it cuts the time to the kitchen in half. Sounds harmless, right? If only that were so. We received a quick "word.&qu

Yesterday morning a job post came across my LinkedIn feed.  "Content Marketing Specialist" it read.  I was good fit for the position—the right number of years shouldering the plow, the right industry experience (or patience if you look at it right), the right amount of bloated self-importance.  Like any good online-job-hunting millennial, I updated my portfolio materials and other application documents and clicked 'Submit.' The proper pixels were on their way, my coffee was fresh and the Louisiana humidity outside had not yet caused an uncomfortable sticky sweat. All was well, but as I closed all the pdf, indd, jpg, ai, doc windows, I panicked.  I felt something close to an excavator digging a bottomless pit in my chest.  A single glance at my pandered "Skills" section revealed the error. "Coversation Design for AI" Yes, feel free to face-palm. Make sure you strike with the whole palm not just the soft, cushiony parts. Get those call

The devil is a salesman. For a time he was limited to carnivalesque used car lots. Sometimes you would see him screaming on a billboard or hear him calling at all hours of the night blasting 1-800 numbers. On occasion he might even stroll right up to your front door and knock twice. But now he is everywhere; streaming his way into our homes. Worse–into our brains. Five seconds here, thirty seconds there is all it takes. There is nowhere he can’t be, and he cannot be turned off. The sad truth of it is, he didn’t barge into our lives. We welcomed him with open palms. We welcomed him with the promise of high-speed connectivity. We welcomed him with the promise of photo feeds. We welcomed him with the promise of on-demand food delivery. We welcomed him with the promise of binge-watching twelve seasons. We welcomed him with pay-per-clicks and hashtags. We carry him to work, to home, to school, to parties and to plays right in our very po