I graduated with a degree in Art Studies. For four years, we were trained to interpret the things we see and those that we don’t; and write them all in long papers. I’ve gone the extra mile in school because I thought I wanted to work in the Louvre, Versaillles, MoMA or in the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa.
Ironically, after receiving my diploma I no longer wanted to live the life of a museum girl. So I looked for jobs that didn’t require looking at paintings, scrutinizing sculptures or criticizing plays and movies—until I landed a copywriting job that I initially did not apply for. Apparently, the boss misinterpreted my resume, which was gleaming with papers and recognitions.
I couldn’t say no when he told me to wait for the Head Writer. I was asked to create a letter and a political campaign strategy, plus a series of advertising copies. The first two were easy; the last, which was basically the core of what I was applying for, was hard—I didn’t even know how to squeeze thoughts in less than 8 words.
Surprisingly, I got hired. My first project? Playbill profiles, which I thought should be easy. I assumed writing them was just like the way I did in college for Francisco Goya, Claude Monet, Gustave Caillebotte, Marcel Duchamp, among the many masters of art I researched for weeks in libraries. But the project was a lot tougher because I basically had “nothing” to work on—time and resources, for this matter.
The following tasks at work were a lot more complicated. There were bus programs, dining promotions, hotel offers, gaming raffles and tournaments. I kept sending the Head Writer copy studies, and he kept replying for revisions. I had my back to the wall. I was on the verge of quitting when I couldn’t even perfect a signage. I was losing passion for work, and I was losing patience for learning.
One day I was asked to write a copy for a cocktail. Study 1 was clear as mud. Study 2 was unimaginable. Study 6 was close, but not quite. I was shocked to see the Creative Head come over to my desk to hand me a book. He said, “Take this. It’s not easy, but it’s never impossible.” It was a 300-page reading on the basics of copywriting.
It was a small thing, but with an infinite impact on me.
I read the book overnight. And I read even more copywriting lessons over the Internet the following days. I expanded my knowledge of something I was initially clueless of. I went through all my previous copies and tried to understand what could have gone wrong. I listened to all the comments, good or bad. I dismissed all the negativities that surrounded me. It was as if I lived a new life—one that I’ve decided to become when I accepted my job three years ago.
For every project that I receive now, I know I don’t have to wait for the most ideal conditions to start writing. They may never come, quite frankly. Whenever work’s a blur, I just always tell myself to buckle down and maintain a sense of fun doing it. Because if I don’t, I know I’ll just get stuck and endlessly rant about all things, which will eventually lead me to nowhere.
Now I’m still dreaming of standing right in the middle of world’s most renowned museums. Not as a critic, but as a copywriter—thinking of the most creative headlines for Mona Lisa and all the others.
