In the past, when people asked me what I do, I used to say I was a writer. But then I realized that this would invariably be followed with the question "Oh yeah? What do you write?" and the look of disappointment I often received upon responding "advertising" as opposed to "mystery novels" or "vampire erotica" was entirely too much to bear.
After a while, I learned to say "copywriter" right away so as not to give the listener high expectations that would immediately result in disillusionment. But if you've spent any amount of time with me, the truth becomes evident fairly quickly.
I am a master at being fascinating for about 30 seconds. On a good day maybe 60, but frankly, it's all downhill from there.
My husband who, God love him, doesn't seem to mind this, swears it's because I am a constant re-writer. And it's true. I will tweak a sentence for 8 straight hours and obsess over a single paragraph for one week solid.
I'm the person that replays my party conversation in my head to determine where my responses could have been wittier, better inflected or more appropriately timed. I frequently read out loud whatever I write to make certain it fluidly trips off the tongue. And I have a deep burning hatred for anyone who ever wrote for The West Wing and made it seem like great dialogue drops from smart people's mouths as effortlessly as bird shit falls from the sky.
Needless to say, this blog presents its challenges. I could spend all day editing and re-editing a single post in some misguided attempt to become the estrogenic Hemingway of the f-ing blogosphere. So I've decided to put a time limit on myself. One full hour to write for the blog each day. No more, no less.
Crap. Time's up.
Over-thinking, sentence-tweaking, this-isn't-the-final-version-of-the-conversation-as-it-played-out-in-my-head copywriters unite!
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