Copywriting Focus: Bittersweet – A Writer’s Life by Jon Sayers!
In the last part of our current series focusing on copywriting, Jon Sayers gives us an insight into working as a copywriter in advertising. It’s a long one so sit back. make a cup of tea and enjoy! Jon has kindly offered a prize (details at the end) for the best comments so please make your own contribution.
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Blog Chapter One. The Diary
Tuesday, 1st June. I receive an email from someone called Harriet McDougall at D&AD asking me to write ‘a blog piece of 500 words or so’ that could ‘give a graduate audience an insight into working as a copywriter’. Flattered, I start thinking about which aspects of copywriting I might focus on. My inbox fills up with other emails. I move house. I go on holiday. I forget all about Harriet’s request.
Monday, 12th July. A polite nudge from Harriet: ‘I was wondering whether you’d had a chance to think about the email I sent…?’ I call her up, apologising profusely. I promise I will send her something in early August.
Tuesday 13th July. I look at Harriet’s first email again. More closely. Harriet is asking a lot of questions: Just what does a good writer do? What is so important about the role? Do you need to work in a team? How do you respond to arguments in the press that there’s a lack of good copywriters, and that writers are under-appreciated? Do people understand what it is you do? And how – considering all of the other writing you do – did you begin writing for advertising? Hmm, lot of ground to cover, I think. My eyes glaze over. I am all a-blog. I decide to have a crack at it when I am on holiday in Cornwall.
Tuesday 27th July. A miserable day in Crackington Haven. Rain streaming down the latticed windows of our rented cottage. I lift out my laptop, take a quick refresher glance over Harriet’s questions and launch into a rather grand-sounding piece about the inherent qualities and native aptitudes that are the prerequisites of a good copywriter.
Wednesday 28th July. I read over what I wrote yesterday. It’s awful. I am so cringingly embarrassed and irritated by it that I no longer want to know myself. I wonder whether I might be able to quietly drop myself without myself noticing. I will have to start again.
Monday 2nd August. Back home, I read over Harriet’s questions for the umpteenth time. And now I find it is the last question that really captures my imagination. I start writing a piece about how I got into advertising. I am flying. I am having fun. The words are cascading onto the page.
Tuesday 3rd – Thursday 5th August. I go back to my piece several times and edit it and polish it. I am extremely pleased with it. It reads like the opening lines of an autobiography – the humble beginnings of a hugely important person. There is only one problem. I am not a hugely important person. I am not even a vaguely important person. So who the hell is going to want to read it? And what earthly use will it be to them if they do?
Tuesday 10th August. The guilt is piling up. What is the sentence I wonder for non-delivery of an article on copywriting to D&AD? Banishment from Soho House and the Hospital Club? Hmmm… reckon I could live with that. But an eternal sense of shame at not sharing my experience with a new generation of young creatives? That’s something I’d rather live without. I ring D&AD to apologise to Harriet and beg for a little more time. Accidentally on purpose I ring at lunchtime, so I can leave a message for her rather than having to confront her direct. I go back to Harriet’s questions and puzzle over them one more time.
Thursday 12th August. 13.00.32 BST. An email from Harriet:
Hi Jon,
Sorry I missed your call on Tuesday. Ant passed your message along, but I was just hoping to catch up. My internship is ending tomorrow (!) and it would be terrific to see your article before I leave D&AD.
I hope you’re well, and to chat with you again soon.
Best,
Harriet
Aaargh! OMG etc etc. There’s nothing for it. I will have to produce something. Anything. Today. Right now. This minute. In the shower, at last, I have an Idea. ‘I know,’ I think, as the needles of hot water and Harriet’s deadline finally stimulate my brain into some sort of action, ‘I will imagine Harriet is interviewing me, Parkinson-style, on a chat show. I will swivel around in a leather armchair, and gaze with rapt concentration into the middle distance as I try to formulate serious answers to the questions she will put to me, one by one…’












It’s that time of year again. The hats have been flung, the diplomas collected, and you can barely hear for the sound of several thousand creative hearts beating up a nervous cacophany… the new wave of graduates is here.


