But he did give me a few reading assignments, the most important being "Hey Whipple, Squeeze This: A Guide to Creating Great Ads" by Luke Sullivan. Sullivan began by building ads at a small newspaper and then worked a few connections to get into an ad firm. But his first day was much like mine...he had no idea what was expected of him or whether he could do it.
I finished the book in a few days (which is good, because I have a few more to plow through), and it definitely got me a lot more energized about my new career. He repeatedly points out that copywriter is one of the only jobs in the world where you're paid to be a purely creative talent surrounded by actual business people.
If you're like me, you don't understand how ads are written. So I've included this page from Sullivan's book:
For me, writing an ad is unnerving.
You sit down with your partner and put your feet up. You read the account executive's strategy, draw a square on a pad of paper and you both stare at the damned thing. You stare at each other's shores. You look at the square. You give up and go to lunch.
You come back. The empty square is still there.
So you both go through the product brochures and information folders the account team left in your office. Hmmm. You point out to your partner that this bourbon you're working on is manufactured in a little town with a funny name. Your partner looks out the window and says, "Oh." Down the hallway, a phone rings. He points out that the distillers rotate the aging barrels a quarter turn to the left every few months. You go, "Hmmm." You read that moss on trees happens to grow faster on the sides that face a distillery's aging house. That's interesting.
You feel the glimmer of an idea move through you. You poise your pencil over the page. And it all comes out in a flash of creativity. (Whoah. Someone call 9-1-1. Report a fire on my drawing pad, 'cause I am smokin' hot.) You put your pencil down, smile and read what you just wrote. It's complete rubbish. You call it a day and slink out to see a movie.
This process continues for several days, even weeks, and then without warning an idea just shows up at your door one day, all nattied up like a Jehovah's Witness. You don't know where it comes from. It just shows up.
That's how you make ads. Sorry, there's no big secret. That's basically the drill.
There is a big caveat. He goes on to say that while 20 percent of your energy is spent brainstorming, a hefty 80 percent goes into defending your work. He said your own agency will almost always support you, but clients are mercurial and unpredictable. I might spend two months working on a campaign, just to have a client say: "Nope. I don't like it." At least in newspapers, having an editor not like your finished product generally just meant it would get buried inside. In advertising, much of your best stuff never sees the light of day.
Overall, I'm jazzed about this assignment. Generating ideas has always been my favorite part of journalism, but it's also been a small fraction of my job description. If I had 20 minutes in a day to brainstorm story ideas as an editor, it felt like a miracle of time management.
The only thing that makes me a bit hesitant (and this is pretty shallow) is that I have a cubicle at the corner of a hallway. I'm not saying I wanted an office. In fact, it's kinda the opposite. I've never had a desk that was separated from the rest of my colleagues (well, except in my first bureau, but that was only for a few months). But my friend Emily, who works at the agency as a proofreader (and *ahem* has an office), says that everyone finds the time to circulate and chat throughout the day.
A week from today is my last day at the cafe, and then I start my new job on Wednesday. Should be interesting.
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