Dear Reader,
Do you ever wonder where you’re headed as a writer?
Here’s one way to look at it:
Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cheshire Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.
I’m not a famous writer—I didn’t write your favourite book, song, movie, series, or joke—but I’ve been getting paid to write for 20 years now (if I were a pro athlete, people would be asking me when I was planning to retire). So, chances are, I might say something in this letter that you can use. At a minimum, that exchange from Alice in Wonderland is nice and inspiring.
If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the next 37% of this letter recapping the past two decades of my professional writing life. Before I give you the CV tour, I’ll admit that I didn't start out with a grand plan, but I’ve always tried to stay open to opportunities. And while I’ve had my triumphs, I’ve definitely experienced flops and failures, but I haven’t let them define or saddle me.
By venturing down the rabbit hole of my career, I hope it might remind and/or reassure those of you who haven’t the foggiest what to do next (or now) that there are heaps of productive ways a writer can show up in the world.
Know when to go
To reference Alice again, I’ll begin at the beginning.
I studied journalism at uni. I respect the craft and its intrepid practitioners, but I prefer subjectivity to objectivity, so hard-hitting reportage was never on the cards for me.
I applied for a magazine internship, which became a magazine job. I worked in the ‘lifestyle’ genre. My days ranged from writing smutty gags (there’s an art to it) to going on fancy junkets (the best) to interviewing famous people (Viggo Mortensen is super nice) to satisfying advertorial commitments (luckily, I’d already sold out at uni). I stayed in mags way too long. Knowing when to leave—a room, a job, a person, a party (political or otherwise)—is one of life’s most important skills.
I worked in social for a while (relentless and numbing), then as an in-house copywriter (enjoyable but repetitive). I wrote/edited stuff on the side: a humour-adjacent book, TV scripts that threatened to be comedic, a card-based drinking game, someone’s Wikipedia page (paid gig, not just me filling in citations), pop culture reviews, deal of the day descriptions.
Next came brand writing. Timing, luck, and connections made that move possible—we tend to underestimate how much these three things shape our lives. I hadn’t even heard of brand writing until then, but giving organisations a name, a voice, and things to talk about (or a “verbal identity”, to use industry parlance) seemed like a stimulating challenge. After four years of challenging stimulation, I went freelance. And now, here I am, writing unsolicited letters.
I should probably mention—for transparency, not to spook you—that I’ve been underemployed and unemployed multiple times in my writing career. There have been pivots. I’ve worked at an after-school care (tiring yet fun). I’ve worked the till at two different chemists (nepotism; my Mum also worked at said chemists). I’ve also just not worked at all and slept the week away.
Spoilt for choice
My path has been paved with gold, thin ice, marble, quicksand, jumping castle, shit, and cloud nine. It’s been unexpected, tricky, and rewarding—seldom dull, full of lessons, and creatively diverse.
Your path will differ, but I reckon we have two talents in common: we think hard and we write well. Both these things are difficult. And everyone knows they’re difficult because they’ve had to do them at some point. Trust me when I say that’s good news for you, Dear Reader. As someone who excels at both thinking and writing, you’re in a position to enhance people’s lives. You can help them make sense of things, see the world afresh, and articulate what’s within. This is valuable, forever. You are valuable, forever. Put a more commercial way: if you’re able to make a person (yourself included) or a business sound smarter, funnier, or more interesting, you will often be in demand. Just imagine if celebs had to write their own memoirs.
The twin gifts of thinking and writing enable you to perform minor miracles. On any given day, you could sit down at your desk, tap a few keys, and make something that challenges/enchants/changes people. That’s not nothing. You’re also blessed with the power to share your perspective with precision—an elusive goal for many, so don’t take it for granted.
Other benefits include: inspiring your peers, getting promoted, attending meetings with clients whose outfits cost more than your car, bouncing back from joblessness, controlling the room, impressing strangers on the internet, winning over crowds, making friends, creating work you’re proud of, and building a comfortable life.
So, Dear Writer, where to from here?
Dear Reader,
Do you ever wonder where you’re headed as a writer?
Here’s one way to look at it:
Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cheshire Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.
I’m not a famous writer—I didn’t write your favourite book, song, movie, series, or joke—but I’ve been getting paid to write for 20 years now (if I were a pro athlete, people would be asking me when I was planning to retire). So, chances are, I might say something in this letter that you can use. At a minimum, that exchange from Alice in Wonderland is nice and inspiring.
If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the next 37% of this letter recapping the past two decades of my professional writing life. Before I give you the CV tour, I’ll admit that I didn't start out with a grand plan, but I’ve always tried to stay open to opportunities. And while I’ve had my triumphs, I’ve definitely experienced flops and failures, but I haven’t let them define or saddle me.
By venturing down the rabbit hole of my career, I hope it might remind and/or reassure those of you who haven’t the foggiest what to do next (or now) that there are heaps of productive ways a writer can show up in the world.
Know when to go
To reference Alice again, I’ll begin at the beginning.
I studied journalism at uni. I respect the craft and its intrepid practitioners, but I prefer subjectivity to objectivity, so hard-hitting reportage was never on the cards for me.
I applied for a magazine internship, which became a magazine job. I worked in the ‘lifestyle’ genre. My days ranged from writing smutty gags (there’s an art to it) to going on fancy junkets (the best) to interviewing famous people (Viggo Mortensen is super nice) to satisfying advertorial commitments (luckily, I’d already sold out at uni). I stayed in mags way too long. Knowing when to leave—a room, a job, a person, a party (political or otherwise)—is one of life’s most important skills.
I worked in social for a while (relentless and numbing), then as an in-house copywriter (enjoyable but repetitive). I wrote/edited stuff on the side: a humour-adjacent book, TV scripts that threatened to be comedic, a card-based drinking game, someone’s Wikipedia page (paid gig, not just me filling in citations), pop culture reviews, deal of the day descriptions.
Next came brand writing. Timing, luck, and connections made that move possible—we tend to underestimate how much these three things shape our lives. I hadn’t even heard of brand writing until then, but giving organisations a name, a voice, and things to talk about (or a “verbal identity”, to use industry parlance) seemed like a stimulating challenge. After four years of challenging stimulation, I went freelance. And now, here I am, writing unsolicited letters.
I should probably mention—for transparency, not to spook you—that I’ve been underemployed and unemployed multiple times in my writing career. There have been pivots. I’ve worked at an after-school care (tiring yet fun). I’ve worked the till at two different chemists (nepotism; my Mum also worked at said chemists). I’ve also just not worked at all and slept the week away.
Spoilt for choice
My path has been paved with gold, thin ice, marble, quicksand, jumping castle, shit, and cloud nine. It’s been unexpected, tricky, and rewarding—seldom dull, full of lessons, and creatively diverse.
Your path will differ, but I reckon we have two talents in common: we think hard and we write well. Both these things are difficult. And everyone knows they’re difficult because they’ve had to do them at some point. Trust me when I say that’s good news for you, Dear Reader. As someone who excels at both thinking and writing, you’re in a position to enhance people’s lives. You can help them make sense of things, see the world afresh, and articulate what’s within. This is valuable, forever. You are valuable, forever. Put a more commercial way: if you’re able to make a person (yourself included) or a business sound smarter, funnier, or more interesting, you will often be in demand. Just imagine if celebs had to write their own memoirs.
The twin gifts of thinking and writing enable you to perform minor miracles. On any given day, you could sit down at your desk, tap a few keys, and make something that challenges/enchants/changes people. That’s not nothing. You’re also blessed with the power to share your perspective with precision—an elusive goal for many, so don’t take it for granted.
Other benefits include: inspiring your peers, getting promoted, attending meetings with clients whose outfits cost more than your car, bouncing back from joblessness, controlling the room, impressing strangers on the internet, winning over crowds, making friends, creating work you’re proud of, and building a comfortable life.
So, Dear Writer, where to from here?
