I recently discovered that if you’re an Audible member (as I have been for more than 20 years), you can get a whole bunch of Lorrie Moore audiobooks for free.

Whee! I love Lorrie Moore.

I’m listening to her story collection called Self-Help right now, and I’m thoroughly enjoying and admiring it.

Most of the stories put the reader in the center of the action. (That’s de rigueur for copywriting, but an unconventional approach for fiction.) The author will tell you “How to Be an Other Woman” or give you “The Kid's Guide to Divorce,” colorfully spelling out what actions you might go through, what observations you might make, what emotions you might feel. It’s so intriguing, so effective, and so creative.

Also creative is the way the story “How to Talk to Your Mother (Notes)” moves backward, one year at a time. That sounds like it might feel annoying or confusing, but it works beautifully and really tugged my heart every which way.

Here’s a tidbit from it:

The hum, rush, clack of things in the kitchen. These are some of the sounds that organize your life. The clink of the silverware inside the drawer, piled like bones in a mass grave. Your similes grow grim, grow tired.

I could hear, see, and feel that kitchen drawer. And I appreciated how Moore poked fun of her own description.

There’s humor sprinkled throughout these tales. Here’s a cat cleaning herself in “Amahl and the Night Visitors: A Guide to the Tenor of Love”:

She sees you watching, freezes, blinks at you, then busies herself again, her face in her belly, one leg up at a time, an intent ballerina in a hairy body stocking.

Amidst all this entertaining, evocative writing, the thing that really stopped me in my tracks, that made me want to blog about this author and this book, is a device called a zeugma. (Great to know for Words with Friends or Scrabble. That Z alone is worth 10 points!)

A zeugma, as Merriam-Webster explains, is

the use of a word to modify or govern two or more words usually in such a manner that it applies to each in a different sense or makes sense with only one (as in “opened the door and her heart to the homeless boy”).

So. In the story entitled “How,” Moore writes:
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But I love you, he will say in his soft, bewildered way, stirring the spaghetti sauce but not you, staring into the pan as if waiting for something, a magic fish, to rise from it…

Stirring the spaghetti sauce but not you. I love it.

If you look up “zeugma” on Wikipedia, you will find yourself in a complex hamster Habitrail® of rhetorical devices. But for regular people like me, zeugmas are typically just unexpected, playful, and fun. Wordplay, as they say.

(Side note: The etymology of zeugma has to do with connecting, linking, or yoking. The ancient city of Zeugma is so called because of a local bridge of connected boats that crossed the Euphrates.)
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Here are some literary zeugma examples that I found on this Your Dictionary page:

Yet time and her aunt moved slowly—and her patience and her ideas were nearly worn out before the tête-à-tête was over. – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

He was alternately cudgeling his brains and his donkey. – Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

They tugged and tore at each other's hair and clothes, punched and scratched each other’s nose, and covered themselves with dust and glory. – Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
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I’ll tell you this much: Zeugmas are tricky to write. I don’t even want to admit how much time I spent on the title of this blog.

Give it a try. Write a zeugma. See how it goes—and why these things aren’t more common.

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PS: The book link above is an affiliate link. So I can keep rolling in the pennies.

Gravel. Goose down. Sawdust. Hay. These are just a few of the generic commodities you could stuff into a pillowcase, if you were so inclined. Any of it would become the pillowcase’s content.

When someone asks for “content” for a website or social media post, they’re essentially saying, “I don’t care what you put in there, just fill it up.” The gist is, “I need this empty space to stop being empty.”

Whoever came up with the term content sure didn’t appreciate the power of language. They didn’t recognize its ability to grab attention, stoke emotions, change minds, and incite action. The coiner of content wasn’t a writer—and probably not much of a reader. They surely won’t read this particular, erm…“content,” so I could probably take this opportunity to call them a troglodyte or doo-doo head.

But I’d never.
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Now, as a copywriter, I should point out that originally, the term “copy” wasn’t all that great, either. The word hearkens back to the poor hunched, eye-strained scribes who spent their days and candlelit nights meticulously copying documents and books by hand. They had to write a copious amount of text. The root of both copy and copious is the Latin word copia, meaning abundance. It’s the same copia we see in our Thanksgiving-centric cornucopia—“horn of plenty.” (See below.)

But copywriters don’t copy. (The ethical ones don’t, anyway.) We write the words that get reproduced by printing presses or computer monitors. We create original text that’s worthy of wide distribution.

What we don’t write—or certainly shouldn’t—is mere fluff and filler. That would be no better than the common placeholder text “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet….” (That wording is called “Greek,” but it isn’t Greek. It’s some slightly mangled Latin from a treatise published by Cicero in 45 BC.)

Whether copywriters are writing ads or emails, posters or packaging, blogs or scripts or tweets, our words are meant to have impact. The sentences we so carefully craft are not inert stuffing; they accomplish goals. They tell stories. Gain interest. Build trust. Make sales.

Good writing does not, as the name content implies, merely fill a void.

Almost any name would have been better than content. Fuel, maybe. Magic, or gold. Honestly, I’d settle for the simple term that evokes all of that power and value to me: just words.

But we could have come up with something else. Splendor? Sparkle? Voltage? Vim? How about lexi, which sounds like sexy but is rooted in the Greek lexikos, “pertaining to words”?

No matter what, whoever came up with content should have hired a writer.
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What would you have called “content,” given the chance?

Congratulate me. Seriously. I deserve it.

This week, I finally gave a client a logo I started working on—yes—one year ago.

Want to know why? Because I am not a professional designer.

Why, you may ask, would I create a logo for a client if I am not a designer?

Excellent question.

The answer can be found somewhere in the neighborhood of “enthusiasm” and “curiosity.” Cross street: “naïveté.”

When I began freelancing (as a copywriter, not a designer) in 2016, I quickly decided that I wanted to learn how to use Adobe Illustrator (and maybe a few other applications in Adobe Suite). I started watching instructional videos and practicing and slowly, slowly acquiring knowledge.

But I realized I needed a professional to occasionally lean over my shoulder and give me some guidance. So when a “branding design” class opened up nearby—taught by a creative director I really admire—I paid for it within approximately two minutes and eagerly awaited the first class.

I was going to get to work on logos! Color palettes! Typography! With professional guidance!

The class convened. And it wasn’t quite what I was expecting. We focused a lot on positioning and strategic branding. We worked on articulating brands with words much more than with design. 

But at a certain point, I was given the assignment to develop a brand, complete with logo.

Rather than work for an imaginary client, I thought I’d try to help out a nonprofit. I found one right in my town, met with the managing director, and got going. After some preliminary work, it came time to create … the logo.

The creative director/teacher of my branding class gave me very friendly feedback on the designs I shared, but I could tell he was being way too forgiving. I knew I wasn’t finished with the logo by the time the class concluded.

I kept working. I got help from several designer friends. And eventually, with MUCH assistance, I came up with half a dozen logos. The client chose one, and just this week, I finished creating all the requisite formats, zipped the file, and sent it off. Ta-da!

Now, let me say that part of this year-long logo turnaround has to do with the nonprofit I worked with—how infrequently their board meets, and a definite lack of urgency on their end. But a big part of it has to do with how freaking difficult it is for a non-designer to create a logo.

Yes, I’ve worked closely with professional designers for 30 years. I’ve attended countless design conferences and events. I’m a member of AIGA. I know *something* about design. But I did not earn a degree in design. And this became painfully obvious. Because designing a logo is challenging in about a dozen different ways. And every challenge was amplified by my ignorance.

I learned a lot from this adventure, to be sure. But I won’t enumerate all the lessons I absorbed about typography alignment and CMYK values and Pantone workarounds and EPS files. Instead, I want to tell you my most important takeaways from my Very Challenging Logo Project.

My Three Commandments for Hiring Designers

I’ve felt all of these things throughout my career. But never so strongly as I do now. 

1) Give designers plenty of time.

​Most non-designers have a drastically skewed view of how long it takes to do anything design-wise. The advent of Photoshop contributed to this misperception. Non-designers think everything should take just a few keystrokes to accomplish. Never assume any such thing. Every aspect of design—researching, concepting, creating, tweaking, reviewing, etc.—takes time. Practice saying this with me now so you can say it to your designer later: “How much time do you need?”

2) Give designers plenty of money.

If you are a non-designer, I promise you this: Your designer knows more than you do about design. Designers have worked hard to become educated and savvy professionals. They are artists. They are technicians. They are problem-solvers and problem-preventers. They know how to help you. They are worth every penny. Pay them. Pay them well. Pay them on time.

3) Give designers plenty of respect.

I’ve been in the advertising/marketing business long enough to know that this needs saying. Repeating. Yelling. It’s closely tied with items #1 and #2 above. Don’t impose ridiculous deadlines. Don’t ignore invoices. Don’t wait until the last minute to answer questions. Don’t request changes because your wife doesn’t care for the color green. In fact, if you’re going to request any changes, preface them with this: “Let me know if you think this will compromise what you’re trying to accomplish with your design. If so, let me know. Please tell me what you think.”

Now. Does anyone need a logo? Because I know quite a few designers I’d be happy to recommend.

When I was a kid, I had the opposite of claustrophobia. I'd call it claustrophilia, but I don't want to pathologize it. I just enjoyed tucking myself into little hideouts and cozy spots: cabinets, closets, an oversized drawer... even the top of the refrigerator, for a spell. (Maybe I don't want to scrutinize this behavior too much.)

Anyway, this proclivity has carried over to my professional life today. I've discovered that my favorite copywriting challenges are those where space is limited. A billboard that people need to take in while driving 70 miles an hour. A thirty-second radio spot. A digital ad that's half the size of a credit card. The back of a frozen entree. Subject lines. Headlines. Taglines. Tweets.

Related: For the past few years, I've been creating little language lessons about grammar, spelling, punctuation, etymology, etc. (See a sampling below.) Each of these social media posts measures only 1080 x 1080 pixels. That's not a lot of room to explain when you should use "loath" instead of "loathe," or how to avoid committing a comma splice. But that restriction is a big part of why I love creating these things. They're like Rubik's cubes. The challenge: How much memorable information can I fit into the square without it feeling like a Dr. Bronner's label?

Now, If you're one of the millions of people who freelance, you've likely heard the mantra that to succeed, you need to "niche down." (Don't ask me to say that out loud—whichever way you pronounce it, you're sure to annoy somebody.) The more specific your expertise, say all the career coaches, the better. You're supposed to specialize in some industry "vertical": dentistry, landscaping, badminton... something.

But I don't want to. I love promoting all sorts of products and services: beer and banks and boarding schools. If I particularly love the work a client does (like Invest in Girls, say), then that's just icing on the cake. (Oh—I've gotten to write lots about cake. And icing.)

So I think that rather than niching down in the usual sense, I'd like to focus on small spaces. I'll take a pass on the long white papers and ebooks. Bring on the ads. The emails. The out-of-home. I want to work on posters and postcards and packaging. Give me a small space, and I will do big things.℠ 

I am a copywriter, not a designer. But back in 2016 when I started freelancing full-time, I decided that I wanted to learn how to use Adobe Illustrator. I couldn't exactly justify it, but the urge was strong enough that I started paying a hefty chunk of change for an Adobe Suite subscription.

Copywriting always comes first, but whenever I can, I take Skillshare classes* and practice using Adobe Illustrator. One of the first classes I took was taught by Aaron Draplin. He was blazingly fast, but I did my best to follow along. Everything he did was captivating and inspirational.

When I learned that he was going to be giving a workshop in Denver this week, I thought, "What the heck—why not?" I whipped out my credit card and got my spot in a class that sold out in just a few days. It was well worth the price to get in-person teaching time from the guy who's created designs for the likes of Target, Nike, Bernie Sanders, and the US Postal Service.

My dream was that he could give me some one-on-one guidance on a logo I volunteered to create for a local nonprofit. Working on this thing has proven to me that everyone should pay good designers all the money. If you've ever gotten the impression that graphic design is easy or quick, you are woefully mistaken. It is seriously challenging, and it takes time. Lots and lots of time.

Well, at yesterday's workshop, I quickly realized that there could be no personalized guidance from Mr. Draplin. There were way too many people and not enough time. But I learned a lot, and I feel more at ease about finishing up my logo. (Fortunately, I know several talented designers who are willing to help me along.)

That's the name of a 1935 song I've listened to a zillion times—sometimes as a recording by Fats Waller or Louis Armstrong, but most often, belted out by my father, who (as I've mentioned before) adored that sort of music. (I love this version by the fabulous Boswell Sisters.)

Unlike the protagonist of the song, however, I'm not inspired by romance. My goal is sanity. Or perspective, anyway.

See, I've noticed that, depending on circumstances, I can regard the world in drastically different ways.

When I'm approaching the deadline a large writing project, I can be filled with dread, self-doubt, and self-recrimination (for procrastinating). But then, at some point in the writing process, I find myself thinking, "Say! This is really good! I actually love this!" See the discrepancy there? Persona A: pained, fretting, reluctant victim. Persona B: fortunate, fulfilled, happy professional.

Similarly, when circumstances in my life get troublesome, I catastrophize. I am preternaturally talented at this. I can envision loved ones in prison or dead; I can enumerate all the ways my health might fail. It's not that I truly believe the worst is going to happen, exactly; but I sure can picture it. I have a terrific imagination, which can also be a terrible imagination. Eventually however, when my circumstances improve, I can recognize how silly I've been. I'm flooded not only with relief, but optimism. I admonish The Worrier in me and my whole outlook brightens.

So here's what I'm thinking. Why don't I write myself a letter?

When I'm feeling like a self-possessed copywriting pro, why don't I write a letter to the neurotic, tortured incompetent who will certainly show up at some point? I might set down assurances like, "I know you're nervous. But I promise you with absolute certainty: You are going to be fine, and this project is going to turn out great. Just keep on writing. Every word you type will get you closer to a finished result that you love. Go on."

Similarly, at one of those moments when my temporary troubles abate and I see my way out of doom-filled concern into sunshiny rationality, I should write my former (and future) fretting self: "Just cut it out, worrywart. First, it doesn't do you any good. Second, what you're envisioning is truly preposterous."

If I write to myself, I could help myself.

Come to think of it, though, maybe I don't need to write a literal letter. I believe this blog post will do the trick nicely.

Yours sincerely,

​Sara

I just returned from a full seven days in Seattle—my first time visiting. I was attending CreativePro Week, a fantabulous conference I highly recommend for graphic designers. (Next year's will be held in Austin.)

Here are a few things I loved about it.

• Within my first fifteen minutes at the conference, I ran into one of my favorite former colleagues from Publix Super Markets, Inc., dynamite designer and lovely human Neal Mitchell. As you can see, we were a good distance from the office we used to work in together. Small world and all that.

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• I gave an Ignite talk (20 slides auto-advancing every 15 seconds over 5 minutes) about the history of "lorem ipsum" placeholder text and many other topics having to do with English, etymology, printing, and the like. I learned SO MUCH preparing this talk. Did you know, for example, that the man who gave Timex its name, according to his son, liked to read Time magazine and used a lot of Kleenex, so he put the two names together? (This is a slide from my presentation.)

That photo is a pretty good representation of my trip: just lovely. I'm so glad I went, and I'm looking forward to CreativePro Week 2020!

The good news is that I've been busy lately.

The bad news is that I haven't had time to do all the stuff I love to do, including writing for me. I've started a LinkedIn article called "Don't Write Like a Psychopath" that I can't wait to finish. I've been invited to write a blog for the fine folks at CreativePro.com but haven't had a chance to do it just yet. And I want to put together the Ignite talk I'm giving at CreativePro Week in June, but that's not happening just yet.

But dangit, I'm going to write a blog right now, and everything else can wait. I'm going to make this quick—and hopefully compelling and/or informative.

• I attended Crop last week in Baton Rouge, and it was FABulous. I'm so glad I went. In addition to learning from and meeting some amazing designers, I got to spend several hours in New Orleans eating a great meal at Atchafalaya and walking up and down Magazine Street.
• I've been binge-listening to My Favorite Murder, the wildly popular true-crime comedy podcast. I'm not sure I'm ready to call myself a murderino, but I may be getting there.
• I've gotten involved with a great freelancing group in Denver. We're going to host Freelance Business Week in Denver September 30–October 4, 2019, should anyone want to speak, attend, or volunteer.
• I got help from Drew Hornbein and I now have sign-up pages for two emails I send out. One is a listing of events in the Denver-Boulder area that freelancers, graphic designers, and other creative types might appreciate; the other is an email that includes the little grammar/spelling lessons I've been sharing on social media. Feel free to sign up!
• I attended the Ad Club Freelancer Fling this week, and it was a great opportunity to share my wonderful new business cards, designed by my friend Michael Reardon. Each card has a different fun word and definition on the back, including "sesquipedalian," "collywobbles," and "hornswoggle."
• I've been volunteering a lot lately, not only for the aforementioned freelancers group but for the wonderful Sister Carmen Food Bank, AIGA Colorado, and The One Club for Creativity Denver. 
• This weekend, I'm getting together with 11 of my friends from college--an event I look forward to every year.

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Those are the highlights. Consider this weblog updated!

It was just over a year ago that I blogged here about how much I love The Jackie & Laurie Show podcast, hosted by comedians Jackie Kashian and Laurie Kilmartin​. Well, my opinion hasn't changed a bit—I've listened to every single podcast episode since I posted that blog. 

Also over the past year, I've continued to work at learning Adobe Suite—Illustrator and InDesign in particular. I've taken Lynda classes (which, chances are, you can access through your public library!) as well as SkillShare classes. (If you'd like two free months of SkillShare Premium, which is terrific, you can use this link.) I certainly haven't *mastered* these complex programs, but I can honestly say that I've learned a lot and have significantly more capabilities than I used to.

So, to kill two cravings with one stone, I volunteered to typeset something for The Jackie and Laurie Show: a list of their "Comics of the Week"—female comedians they think are particularly wonderful.

Quick aside: The comedy world continues to be grossly imbalanced, gender-wise. Women comedians still get less credit and fewer opportunities, and are simply less well known than their male counterparts. Therefore,  the "Comic of the Week" is a great vehicle for improving women comedians' visibility, attendance, bookings, and success.

So about a year ago, I took all of Jackie and Laurie's Comics of the Week and used Adobe InDesign to arrange them into a shareworthy list entitled, "Laugh More in 2018." And recently, since the list of comedians had grown to 150, I laid out a new list. And here it is! Give it a good look, and then check out these great comedians. Watch their videos. Listen to their albums. And go see them live—you'll be glad you did, and so will they.

I maintain that life is merely the procrastination of death. So to me, procrastination is not inherently a bad thing.

I'm not talking about missing deadlines (bad) or letting people down (also bad). I'm talking about simply opting to put certain tasks off for a bit. Until the flames of an encroaching deadline burn a bit hotter, gifting me with greater fervor and efficiency.

From what I can tell, if we look to the Latin, procrastination technically means to put something off from one day to another, with "pro" meaning "forward" and "crastinus" meaning "of tomorrow."

But a skilled procrastinator (👋) might put something off for only a couple of hours. Or possibly a couple of days. Ideally, you put a task off until precisely the point when you have to get going on it to complete it on time (and well). If you're like me, your subconscious knows exactly—miraculously—when this moment is.

Procrastination has all sorts of judgy connotations. As Merriam-Webster puts it, "It typically implies blameworthy delay especially through laziness or apathy."

I'm here to tell you different. Done right, procrastination can increase productivity and improve quality of life.

​I began discovering this in college, when I found myself reading one assigned book to avoid reading another one. I was still getting things done, just not in the most linear way.

Today, my procrastination game is strong. I will vacuum rather than work on taxes. I will record my expenses rather than writing a brochure. I will create social media posts instead of writing a blog.

But eventually (as you can see), I will write that blog. I will meet my deadlines. I will get everything done, in good time, in the most procrastinabulous way.