The Problem With Being a Writer

The problem with being a writer is that when you have an off day, the copy stops singing. There are no numbers to push through. There is just you and the page and the copy you know is deathly awful. Because when writing works, it flows. It sings. You write it in a rush and you’re proud. But copywriters don’t have the gift of time. We can’t sit back and wander around and eat chips and drink beer until the magical idea fairy comes. Or we can, but we will get fired for it.

Sometimes, inspiration for that manufacturing white paper is at the tips of your fingers and sometimes it’s on the moon.

It’s personal. It should never be personal but it is. Edits are great. Feedback is amazing. But when you can’t write like you know you can write, it makes you want to scream instead of politely drink your coffee. It’s never about other people or the client or the direction. It’s about you and this page that is just not working.

You know awkward copy. It’s clumsy. It feels like gears grinding. You have to read it at least twice to understand the point. And by then you’re done caring.

The problem with being a writer is that when things come together, it’s like curling up in your favorite chair and taking a deep breath. When you’re on a roll, it’s familiar. It’s easy. You could do this forever. Hand over the coffee, I’m staying here.

Except you can’t and you won’t. The words stop. Your fingers lay still. And the problem with being a writer is that your ability to write is firmly tied into your ability to exist. Your identity is you, copywriter. You know grammar. You know words. You play and twist and pull words and you create these beautiful paragraphs that only other writers get. And when it doesn’t work, you feel it in your gut. Because you know you can do better.

The problem with being a writer is the writer. And only the writer can fix that.