Briefly close your eyes and imagine a great writer.
At this point I assume you have finished imagining and opened your eyes, are a bad listener, or have X-ray vision.
For me, the ideal writer is a brooding individual, slowly crushed by the weight of their own creativity in a world that just doesn’t understand them. Stereotypical yes, but history is rife with examples of men and women whose art led them to the bar stool more often than the bank.
A confession:
Not only do I envision these dour capital “W” writers, I idolize them. That is, I’ve certainly been guilty of drinking a bit too much espresso and owning more berets than is socially acceptable. I have been writing since I was small. My mother was a newswoman and then a minister (which is the only writing which riles audiences more than journalism). I was raised in it, and later attended the E.W. Scripps School of Journalism. By graduation I could change the toner in every printer in Athens.
But, like the timeless collegiate archetype, it was difficult to moderate the scope of my passions. I strayed from my first love and founded a company developing content marketing software for non-profits. Owning a business is fantastic, and mine still exists, but my original obsession ran deep — Ahab deep. “I am ill the fates [board of directors]; I act under orders!”
I left to seek out a career in writing, the metaphorical white whale of the post-newspaper age. I had written for the Ohlmann Group before, and David Bowman (disclosure: my maternal uncle) asked if I would be interested in interviewing for a public relations position with the firm.
PR? I had never considered it. Those were the pretty girls at the J-school — the ones who called me *gasp* “nerd!”
I interviewed for the position: Content Marketing Manager. It sounded like writing! I could follow my dream and afford groceries? Herman Melville never had that sweet a deal. SOLD.
As I type this, I have never been more certain of any decision in my life. And to you, our clients and future clients: I promise to bring to bare the finger-blistering torrent of content production that has defined my life. Together we will unload the creative burden that broke the backs of those I idolize. Truth be told, I’ve never been good at brooding anyway.
Thank you to Walter, Linda, Lori, David and all the rest of my new work family. Together, we’ll make magic here in Dayton.
