Jobless, the copywriter wakes up earlier than is sensible. He squints at his phone. His phone squints back. They do this sort of thing a lot. He looks for jobs that he can do and jobs that he wants and jobs that he’ll enjoy. Then he looks for other jobs.
The jobless copywriter has stuff to write, although nobody is asking him for any of it. He wonders if he were a jobless plumber whether he’d disassemble the toilet just for fun. Kind people message the jobless copywriter about his joblessness. They have encouraging words. They say he will be snapped up soon. He remains unsnapped and starts to wonder if he’s not quite as snappable as others suppose. He knows he should do something to his CV but he’d rather chew on a fisherman’s boot.
He writes a story where the character turns out to be jobless even though he’s sure they started out as a professional kite surfer. Even his characters are losing their jobs. He feels bad for the kite surfer who must be even less qualified for alternative careers than he is. He writes a silly poem, not because this will help anything but because he prefers silly poems to responsibility.
He applies for a job that was posted a minute ago and has two thousand applications. He feels like a seagull fighting over a chip. Then he feels like the chip. Then he puts some chips in the oven but forgets to turn the oven on. This is how his mind works these days. There is nobody at home with the jobless copywriter for nobody else is jobless – if you count school as a job and he definitely does.
He writes a story about bears because they have no jobs to lose. Nobody can fire you from catching salmon in your mouth or pillaging tents. Bear is a job for life, he thinks. He tries to write another story about bears but his mind says no way pal, one is enough. He doesn’t like being called ‘pal’ by his own thoughts. He worries his brain no longer respects him.
He watches Jaws and notices for the first time that all the main people have jobs. Police chief. Grizzled fisherman. Oceanographer. Bungling mayor. There’s even a karate school. Employment is booming on Amity Island, but they do have the shark thing so it’s not all jelly babies and fizzy pop. He watches Jaws to the end and then pretends that his job is to not immediately watch Jaws 2. He fails in his imaginary job and composes his imaginary resignation. He ends it with the words ‘this was a pointless job anyway, I honestly don’t know why I took it’. After more Jaws than even a jobless writer can really justify, he drinks home-fizzed fizzy water and forgets to blink for a while.
He writes some stuff to put on LinkedIn. While there, he reads the messages from people asking if he can give them jobs. He reads messages from people looking to sell him stuff he doesn’t need. He reads messages from writers who want to do his writing for him. He thinks about that Al Pacino line about ‘taking a flamethrower to this place’. He doesn’t read any messages from recruiters. They must be busy, he thinks. Busy recruiting. Recruiters have no time to watch two Jaws films in a row, not with all that recruiting they do.
He writes a story about busy recruiters who are too busy for Jaws and replying to jobless copywriters. They all get eaten by bears in the end. Eaten up like hot chips. He remembers the chips in the oven. He doesn’t want chips anymore. Maybe he never did. By now, it’s not quite noon.
Andrew Boulton is a copywriter and copywriting coach based in Nottingham. He’s written for a load of famous brands but even more tiny brands you’ve probably never heard of. He taught copywriting and creative writing at the University of Lincoln and now works with brands, businesses and agencies to help their teams have more fun with their writing. He’s the author of the bestselling book ‘Copywriting Is: 30-or-so thoughts on thinking like a copywriter’ and the world’s first (he says) children’s book about copywriting, ‘Adele Write an Ad’.
Jobless, the copywriter wakes up earlier than is sensible. He squints at his phone. His phone squints back. They do this sort of thing a lot. He looks for jobs that he can do and jobs that he wants and jobs that he’ll enjoy. Then he looks for other jobs.
The jobless copywriter has stuff to write, although nobody is asking him for any of it. He wonders if he were a jobless plumber whether he’d disassemble the toilet just for fun. Kind people message the jobless copywriter about his joblessness. They have encouraging words. They say he will be snapped up soon. He remains unsnapped and starts to wonder if he’s not quite as snappable as others suppose. He knows he should do something to his CV but he’d rather chew on a fisherman’s boot.
He writes a story where the character turns out to be jobless even though he’s sure they started out as a professional kite surfer. Even his characters are losing their jobs. He feels bad for the kite surfer who must be even less qualified for alternative careers than he is. He writes a silly poem, not because this will help anything but because he prefers silly poems to responsibility.
He applies for a job that was posted a minute ago and has two thousand applications. He feels like a seagull fighting over a chip. Then he feels like the chip. Then he puts some chips in the oven but forgets to turn the oven on. This is how his mind works these days. There is nobody at home with the jobless copywriter for nobody else is jobless – if you count school as a job and he definitely does.
He writes a story about bears because they have no jobs to lose. Nobody can fire you from catching salmon in your mouth or pillaging tents. Bear is a job for life, he thinks. He tries to write another story about bears but his mind says no way pal, one is enough. He doesn’t like being called ‘pal’ by his own thoughts. He worries his brain no longer respects him.
He watches Jaws and notices for the first time that all the main people have jobs. Police chief. Grizzled fisherman. Oceanographer. Bungling mayor. There’s even a karate school. Employment is booming on Amity Island, but they do have the shark thing so it’s not all jelly babies and fizzy pop. He watches Jaws to the end and then pretends that his job is to not immediately watch Jaws 2. He fails in his imaginary job and composes his imaginary resignation. He ends it with the words ‘this was a pointless job anyway, I honestly don’t know why I took it’. After more Jaws than even a jobless writer can really justify, he drinks home-fizzed fizzy water and forgets to blink for a while.
He writes some stuff to put on LinkedIn. While there, he reads the messages from people asking if he can give them jobs. He reads messages from people looking to sell him stuff he doesn’t need. He reads messages from writers who want to do his writing for him. He thinks about that Al Pacino line about ‘taking a flamethrower to this place’. He doesn’t read any messages from recruiters. They must be busy, he thinks. Busy recruiting. Recruiters have no time to watch two Jaws films in a row, not with all that recruiting they do.
He writes a story about busy recruiters who are too busy for Jaws and replying to jobless copywriters. They all get eaten by bears in the end. Eaten up like hot chips. He remembers the chips in the oven. He doesn’t want chips anymore. Maybe he never did. By now, it’s not quite noon.
Andrew Boulton is a copywriter and copywriting coach based in Nottingham. He’s written for a load of famous brands but even more tiny brands you’ve probably never heard of. He taught copywriting and creative writing at the University of Lincoln and now works with brands, businesses and agencies to help their teams have more fun with their writing. He’s the author of the bestselling book ‘Copywriting Is: 30-or-so thoughts on thinking like a copywriter’ and the world’s first (he says) children’s book about copywriting, ‘Adele Write an Ad’.
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