In defense of storybook hour.
The stereotypical author is a brooding, introverted, detail-obsessed loner. They’re huddled over a keyboard with a dog-eared copy of Strunk and White and maybe a couple cigarettes. In contrast, marketing copywriters are the funniest and socially intelligent people I’ve met in my professional life. Some of them still do love their quiet time and vapes, though.
I think copywriters, unlike other professional writers, break the “artistic loner” mold because success in this job isn’t so much about the words you put down on a page — it’s about the way you talk about those words. You’re not staring at a blank document all day. You’re in a briefing; you’re in collaboration with an art partner or strategist; you’re selling an idea to an audience who hasn’t had to think this hard about verbs since an undergrad course they mostly attended hungover. Those communication skills are key. But why do I often feel an impulse to shut down at the worst time?
"I think copywriters, unlike other professional writers, break the “artistic loner” mold because success in this job isn’t so much about the words you put down on a page."
For many years, I navigated those interactions by prioritizing conversational flow and efficiency. When we arrived at the point in a meeting for me to share my copywriting slides or document, I’d read one headline out loud, or mention a few key words on screen… and follow it up with a dumb corporatism: Don’t worry, we’ll send the deck around later. It’s a way to signal to everyone else in the call that you “get it” — we’re all busy, they can review the pretty PDF on their own screen once we’re safely back in our separate, offline desk bubbles. We’ve got everyone in one room! Let’s move on to discuss SEO strategy, the visual direction, anything other than the words that will represent the brand to a key audience.
It wasn’t until I met my current boss that I realized how minimizing this was. She seemed horrified the first time I tried this in front of her. “No, no, read it to them! What’s that body copy about there?” she told me after. “I know you spent a lot of time to get that right.” What a radical thought! I began to read out headlines, short body copy, CTAs, to rooms who would follow along. These conversations became my own version of the storybook hour at the public library — I’d read a line and pause for dramatic effect, making eye contact across the room to heighten the suspense before I turned the page. I’d use different voices and noises to spice up the words on the screen, get them invested in the world I was conjuring before them. If I could get these thirty-something professionals to sit criss-cross applesauce on little pillows, I think I could sell through anything.
"Don’t forget that you’re also the likeliest person in attendance to understand the pause a hyphen deserves, or when to give a few words the gravitas needed to really sell an idea."
Instead of trying to cut me off — or worse, looking at their phones — meeting attendees started to see that these words on a page come from someone with a point of view. The tagline and “learn more” variations don’t pop out of nowhere; I do things on purpose and I want to share my process with them. Of course, this oration takes practice and not a small amount of showmanship. But it may come easier than you’d think, since you intentionally chose every word on that screen. Don’t forget that you’re also the likeliest person in attendance to understand the pause a hyphen deserves, or when to give a few words the gravitas needed to really sell an idea.
I’m here to remind you: You are an expert. Your ideas deserve to be heard. And if you get a particularly difficult audience, feel free to pass around juice boxes and do a couple extra funny voices to pull your audience back into the story.
Written by Austin Powe, Senior Digital Copywriter at Bloomberg Studio
In defense of storybook hour.
The stereotypical author is a brooding, introverted, detail-obsessed loner. They’re huddled over a keyboard with a dog-eared copy of Strunk and White and maybe a couple cigarettes. In contrast, marketing copywriters are the funniest and socially intelligent people I’ve met in my professional life. Some of them still do love their quiet time and vapes, though.
I think copywriters, unlike other professional writers, break the “artistic loner” mold because success in this job isn’t so much about the words you put down on a page — it’s about the way you talk about those words. You’re not staring at a blank document all day. You’re in a briefing; you’re in collaboration with an art partner or strategist; you’re selling an idea to an audience who hasn’t had to think this hard about verbs since an undergrad course they mostly attended hungover. Those communication skills are key. But why do I often feel an impulse to shut down at the worst time?
"I think copywriters, unlike other professional writers, break the “artistic loner” mold because success in this job isn’t so much about the words you put down on a page."
For many years, I navigated those interactions by prioritizing conversational flow and efficiency. When we arrived at the point in a meeting for me to share my copywriting slides or document, I’d read one headline out loud, or mention a few key words on screen… and follow it up with a dumb corporatism: Don’t worry, we’ll send the deck around later. It’s a way to signal to everyone else in the call that you “get it” — we’re all busy, they can review the pretty PDF on their own screen once we’re safely back in our separate, offline desk bubbles. We’ve got everyone in one room! Let’s move on to discuss SEO strategy, the visual direction, anything other than the words that will represent the brand to a key audience.
It wasn’t until I met my current boss that I realized how minimizing this was. She seemed horrified the first time I tried this in front of her. “No, no, read it to them! What’s that body copy about there?” she told me after. “I know you spent a lot of time to get that right.” What a radical thought! I began to read out headlines, short body copy, CTAs, to rooms who would follow along. These conversations became my own version of the storybook hour at the public library — I’d read a line and pause for dramatic effect, making eye contact across the room to heighten the suspense before I turned the page. I’d use different voices and noises to spice up the words on the screen, get them invested in the world I was conjuring before them. If I could get these thirty-something professionals to sit criss-cross applesauce on little pillows, I think I could sell through anything.
"Don’t forget that you’re also the likeliest person in attendance to understand the pause a hyphen deserves, or when to give a few words the gravitas needed to really sell an idea."
Instead of trying to cut me off — or worse, looking at their phones — meeting attendees started to see that these words on a page come from someone with a point of view. The tagline and “learn more” variations don’t pop out of nowhere; I do things on purpose and I want to share my process with them. Of course, this oration takes practice and not a small amount of showmanship. But it may come easier than you’d think, since you intentionally chose every word on that screen. Don’t forget that you’re also the likeliest person in attendance to understand the pause a hyphen deserves, or when to give a few words the gravitas needed to really sell an idea.
I’m here to remind you: You are an expert. Your ideas deserve to be heard. And if you get a particularly difficult audience, feel free to pass around juice boxes and do a couple extra funny voices to pull your audience back into the story.
Written by Austin Powe, Senior Digital Copywriter at Bloomberg Studio