The seven ages of copywriting man
Or woman, or whatever you identify as.
On we go.
Age 1. You get an inkling that writing might be your thing. Tell-tale signs: all your doodles have speech bubbles attached to them. You’re writing poems, and songs, and stories, when all your mates are playing X Box. You eat books by the dozen. No idea where they come from (maybe magic dragons squeeze them out in a secret library store room), but the words make you feel all tingly when you read them. Your short stories stretch their legs and get bigger, and stronger. You write comics, and love letters, and scribble your words onto the posters on your bedroom wall. You could be the next Edgar Allan Poe, or Ian Fleming, or Jane Austen, or Sue Townsend.
Age 2. You grow your hair/shave your head/get a tattoo. The words keep coming – in protest songs, on placards, in the tunes you write with your mates in Big Steve’s garage. Try as you might to ignore it, the urge to learn is inescapable. Higher education calls. One of your tutors opens your eyes and blows your mind – there are ways to pay the bills with all the daft words that inhabit your daft brain. All you need is a portfolio (and persistence, and guile, and infinite patience, and cheek, and the gall to never take “no” for an answer).
Age 3. You land your first job. The excitement is almost unbearable. They’re paying you to write. ‘Mum, I’ve made it’. A client buys one of your ideas. It goes into production. You think you know it all. You’re on the shoot. Drinking free wine. Hanging out with ‘famous’ people. Your words end up in the paper, on billboards, on websites, in books. Out there for the world to see/ignore/applaud/laugh at (but mostly ignore). The job’s ok. The people are great. But, the stuff you’re getting out ain’t all that to be honest. Still, they’re paying you to write. Woohoo. Then you get made redundant.
Age 4. You realise that unless you start to steer your ship with a steadier hand, it could soon end up on the rocks. It dawns on you that a writing career is more than a series of lucky breaks. It’s getting your head down and working your butt off. Every job has 500 hungry hopefuls going for it. Everyone wants to be:
a) A Pop Singer
b) A Rock Guitarist
c) A Movie Star
d) A YooChoober
e) A Frickin’ Copywriter
But, this is your destiny, your super power, and the only thing you’re anywhere near half decent at. So you write and you write and you write and…
Age 5. Something weird happens and you get knocked off course. Maybe someone offers you a small fortune to work abroad in a crappy agency. Maybe you’re swayed by the title and the big office. They want to pay you how much??? ‘pin ‘eck, Exec Copy Director Chief on the DooDahWaznum account at Hot Cockerel in Schmorçëdańskovskykestan (it’s part of the Skratchy und Skratchy network, and the salary’s tax-free). Three days in, the cracks are beginning to show. The Chairman slips horse tranquilizer in your vodka, you spend the weekend in jail, they’ve sold your passport and you have to hitchhike home with the motherfatherauntyuncle of all hangovers. But what doesn’t kill you…
Age 6. You’re back on course. You remember why you got into this game in the first place. You love wordy ideas and idea-y words. Full steam a-head-over-heels back in love with the craft. You get the balance just right – hard graft/personal growth/happiness. You step up to the plate with a new fizz of energy and confidence. You’ve made your mistakes, ended up in some dodgy back alleys, sucked on the teat of false promises. But that’s yesterday’s news. The job’s fun again. Clients love you. You love you. The briefs get better and the writing has more swagger, oomph, grit, empathy, wit… Damn, it was a sloppy mess of a journey to get here, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed.
Age 7. So here you are. Still grafting, crafting and learning. Still the occasional slip up and hiccup. But, yep, they’re also still paying you to write, you jammy beggar. The bag of hard-earned wisdom you sling over your shoulder is fuller, but somehow lighter. The words come faster and easier, but they’re still as much fun to play with as a Rubik’s cube made of over-excited eels. Hmmm… wonder what’s next? We shall see.
Wherever you are on your creative journey, I wish you all the snacks, flares and lifejackets you need to stay afloat.
Love and patience.
Jonathan x
Jonathan Wilcock (that’s me) is a Senior Freelance Copywriter.
You can drop me a line here, or email jonathan@sowhatif.co.uk