Tuesday, September 16, 2025

Why I Never Niched Down

 


Every other day on LinkedIn, someone’s shouting about how you have to niche down if you want to succeed as a copywriter. Pick a lane, they say. Specialize, they say. Be the "go-to" in SaaS for dentists who run on solar power, they say.

And every time I hear it, I can’t help but think: Nah.

Niche down? It doesn't align with my curious nature. And curiosity is one of my strengths. Niche down? Never have. Never will.

And I’ve done OK.

As a copywriter: I don’t need to spend a decade buried in the widget-making industry to write killer copy about widgets. I need to ask the right questions. I need to listen. I need to pay attention to what the audience cares about, what the brand promises, and how the product solves a problem.

I get up to speed fast. Research like a detective with a deadline. Sniff out the story.

And then I write words that make people lean in, click, sign up, buy.

And that’s true whether the client sells software, sandwiches, or shirts.

In fact, too much industry knowledge can be a curse. Because when you’ve marinated in the same industry stew for years, you start dragging around a suitcase full of preconceived notions, biases, and "best practices." You stop asking questions. You stop being curious. You stop seeing things fresh.

And fresh is where the magic happens.

Of course (before someone in pharma or finance comes for me) some industries have rules, regs, and legal landmines that can’t be ignored. You need to know 'em. But that’s different from being so entrenched in an industry that you can’t see it from the outside anymore.

Great copy isn’t about parroting industry jargon. It’s about connecting with humans. It’s about clarity. It’s about relevance. And none of that requires me to live and die in a single niche.

So no, I never niched down. And I never felt the need.

Because I’m not here to be the copywriter who knows everything about one tiny sliver of the world.
I’m here to be the copywriter who knows how to get people to pay attention.

And that skill?

That travels.



Thursday, September 11, 2025

Moji

 

Elephant Eye


When Moji realized I was out of the bananas I’d been feeding her she gave me what could best be described as a gentle hug with her trunk.

I rubbed her rough cheek and her huge forehead and looked into her heavily lashed eye. I could see a deep intelligence there as we started to walk together toward the open field.

I felt comfortable and safe even though the 60-year-old rescue from a Myanmar logging operation (with the scars to prove it) outweighed me by 8,000 pounds.

As we walked, she turned away from me and, as nonchalantly as I might pick a bacon-wrapped chestnut hors d'oeuvres from a buffet table, she uprooted a small tree with her trunk and stripped the leaves from it with her mouth.

Was it a casual snack or a reminder to me that humans had mistreated her in the past and that she could as easily toss me into the underbrush as I could discard an unwanted Teddy bear?

She was in a sanctuary now. And nobody was going to hurt her ever again. But scars run deep.

Not just for elephants.


Wednesday, September 10, 2025

Verbal Fencing

Dueling Pencils

"I don't recall the dream, but I woke up drenched in a cold sweat, only to realize I spelled 'receive' correctly after all."

That was the wiseass answer I shot back to a retired high school English teacher and current part time editor after he asked, "As a writer, what do you dream of?"

"So what do editors dream of?" I parried.

"Commas gently rocking in hammocks strung between dangling participles."

I love working with this guy.


Tuesday, September 9, 2025

The Schadenfreude* Economy: Why Some People Root for Creative Obsolescence


Schadenfreude

There's a particular breed of social media prophet I've been noticing lately. They lurk in the comments sections of articles about AI, waiting to pounce with their hot takes about the creative apocalypse. "Designers are toast!" they proclaim. "Copywriters? Dead in the water!" They practically vibrate with excitement as they type these predictions, as if they're announcing the scores at a particularly satisfying sporting event.

I'm a copywriter, and I'll admit it: this whole phenomenon makes my skin crawl.

It's not the AI part that bothers me. Technology evolves. Industries adapt. Creative tools have always changed, from the printing press to Photoshop to whatever comes next. That's just the natural order of things, and frankly, some of these AI tools are genuinely impressive and useful.

No, what gets under my skin is the gleeful schadenfreude of these self-appointed futurists. The way they seem to relish the idea of creative professionals being swept aside. The barely contained excitement in their voices when they talk about entire industries becoming obsolete overnight.

The Sport of Creative Destruction

These folks treat the potential displacement of creative professionals like it's March Madness. They've got their brackets filled out: First round, photographers get knocked out by Midjourney. Second round, copywriters fall to ChatGPT. The championship? Some AI overlord that can direct Super Bowl commercials while simultaneously designing the next iPhone.

But here's what these armchair analysts fundamentally misunderstand: creativity isn't just pushing buttons. It's not a mechanical process where you input "make good ad" and output comes a campaign that moves hearts and minds and, yes, products off shelves.

Real creativity is messy. It's human. It's the copywriter who spends three hours agonizing over whether "discover" or "explore" better captures the emotional journey they're trying to create. It's the designer who throws out seventeen concepts because none of them feel right for that particular client's particular problem. It's the filmmaker who knows that the magic isn't just in the technical execution, but in understanding what makes people laugh, cry, or reach for their wallets.

The Button-Pushers Never Get It

The "creatives are doomed" crowd reveals something telling about themselves with every gleeful prediction. They see the work we do as purely mechanical: a series of inputs and outputs, templates and formulas. In their minds, a copywriter is just someone who arranges words according to some predetermined pattern. A designer is just someone who makes things look pretty according to established rules.

This reductive view says more about their own relationship with creativity than it does about the actual future of our industries. These are often the same people who look at a piece of great advertising and think, "How hard could that be?" They're the clients who want you to "make the logo bigger" or "add more synergy." They fundamentally don't understand that great creative work is part art, part psychology, part sociology, and part pure intuition.

The Craft They Can't See

Here's what they miss: the best creative work happens in the spaces between the obvious solutions. It's in the unexpected connections, the cultural insights, the ability to see what others can't. It's knowing when to break the rules you've spent years learning. It's understanding that a successful campaign isn't just about perfect grammar or pixel-perfect layouts. It's about creating something that resonates with real humans living real lives.

Can AI help with this process? Absolutely. I've used AI tools myself, and they can be genuinely useful for brainstorming, research, and handling some of the more mechanical aspects of the work. But thinking that AI will completely replace human creativity is like thinking that a really good calculator will replace mathematicians. The tool might get more sophisticated, but the thinking behind how to use it? That's still ours.

The Joyless Future They're Rooting For

What really bothers me about the "creatives are finished" crowd is the future they seem to want. A world where marketing is entirely algorithmic, where every ad is optimized for engagement but devoid of genuine human insight or emotion. Where brands communicate with us through perfectly efficient but soulless messaging that was generated rather than crafted.

They're essentially rooting for a more boring world. A world where the surprise of great creative work—that moment when you see an ad or design that makes you think or feel something unexpected—gets optimized away in favor of whatever the algorithm says will perform best.

The Real Future

I suspect the reality will be more nuanced than either the doomsayers or the AI evangelists predict. Creative professionals will adapt, as we always have. We'll use these new tools to augment our work, to handle the tedious parts so we can focus on the thinking and feeling and problem-solving that makes the work worthwhile.

The brands that thrive will be the ones that understand the difference between efficiency and effectiveness, between optimization and inspiration. They'll use AI to make their creative teams more powerful, not to replace them entirely.

And the LinkedIn prophets of creative doom? They'll find something new to be gleeful about, probably while the rest of us are busy doing what we've always done: figuring out how to make people care about things they didn't know they wanted.

Because that's the thing about creativity. It's not just about making things. It's about making things matter. And no amount of artificial intelligence can replace the very human ability to understand what matters to other humans.

At least not yet.

_________________________ 

 

* OK, I'll admit it: I've been waiting for an opportunity to use the word "schadenfreude" in a blog post for a while. When I first heard it, I was like a crow finding a shiny object and couldn’t wait to use it. Not just use it, but show it off, like a kid who’s learned a new curse word and is itching to drop it at the dinner table. The way it looks in writing is a bit scary, and I love that ... I also love the way it sounds. And it's one word that can replace many. If you're new to this word and want to add it to your vocabulary, it's the German word for the emotional experience of pleasure or joy one might feel to another’s pain or misfortune. Now you're gonna look for an excuse to employ it, aren't you?



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