When I first started, I was a newbie without a clue.
I had no writing credentials, no body of work. My track record was about as long as my thumb.
Also, most of my clients were much older than me. They saw me as some slightly amusing kid.
The only way to get around my lack of experience, the only way to get a crack at an assignment was to be bold, opinionated, and irreverent.
I expounded from books I had read, or pontificated straight out of my ass.
The vibe was — although I never actually said it — you can get way better work than the stuff you have now.
All I could do was promise freshness, surprise, something new. Not the same old stuff.
“Let me try something. If you hate it, fire me.”
Many times they fired me, but sometimes they didn’t. I gathered some clients.
. . .
Years later, most of my clients were about my age. We were contemporaries at the same stages in our careers. We saw each other in each other. We worked like co-conspirators, doing cool stuff to wow the higher-ups, to dazzle the rookies with our consummate skill. Things were good.
. . .
Over time, though, those folks moved on.
My clients started to get younger than me. Then younger and younger all the time. (On the phone, they sometimes sounded like they were thirteen for chrissakes.) That worried me.
So I cleverly decided to change my pitch and ‘rebrand’ myself.
Instead of the bold and irreverent kid, I was now the cagey and wily veteran, the scarred and savvy writer who had grappled with every marketing issue there ever was, at least nine times each.
I had a barge load of experience now, so I played up my 97 years at the keyboard, the 4,998 projects I delivered, in every medium and venue, with a track record four miles long. I was the repository, the archives of know-how. Experience on rails.
And mostly, people yawned.
Never got much traction with the ‘wily veteran’ thing.
Apparently, after you have about 7 years of experience, no one cares any more. “Over 26 years of experience” doesn’t win you any more points or land you any more work. In fact, I think it suggests calcification, rigidity, recycling of ideas. (“Geez, this old gal was copyediting when I was nine years old.”)
Then I figured it out.
I was yacking about experience and track record when what they really wanted to buy was sharply-done work. Work that would make them look good. Who cared that I’d been doing this since the 1900’s? Nobody.
What worked was to go back into newbie mode.
The only way to get around my too-long experience, the only way to get a crack at an assignment was to be bold, opinionated, and irreverent.
I expounded and pontificated and challenged the ‘conventional’ wisdom.
The vibe was — although I never actually said it — you can get way better work than the stuff you have now.
All I could do was promise freshness, surprise, something new. Not the same old stuff.
“Let me try something. If you hate it, fire me.”