Well, this feels weird. So here it goes. Since you all (or y’all, depending on what side of Maryland you’re reading this) are my online buds, I’ll share some news about me since writing my first post on this blog a year ago.

Don’t Fear the Reaper, for some strange reason, remains the most read post on pleasefeedtheanimals. I honestly don’t know exactly why. At the time I was without a full-time job for the first time in my career. Yet, for some reason I still don’t understand, I was feeling was tremendously positive despite my layoff and uncertain future. I felt it was within my power to reboot my career. Still, the economy last summer was just plain awful. Like many of you, I was wondering from where my next paycheck would come. I should have been freaking out. When I sat down to write, I found the right voice. It was funny. It was upbeat. It was me. I’m humbled that so many of you have read the post and continue to do so. Thank you. Over and over again.

Since then, amongst my frequent online ramblings, I found a lot of freelance work at various agencies, and did a decent job being an independent soldier of copywriting fortune. I felt fortunate to have found work when I did. Honestly, I think a lot of it was luck. My father always told me, “you make your luck,” and I believe there’s truth to that. Even though I secretly wanted the big TV shoot with the travel and the craft services table and the wrap parties and everything that makes advertising fun, I was happy to accept under-the-radar digital assignments and direct pieces. They kept the lights on, the kids fed, the bills paid.

As fortunate as I felt to be finding steady freelance, recently, a full-time job presented itself. I thought long and hard about it. I remembered my last post about someone who turned down an offer in a weak economy. I looked at the news about the continued fickleness of a recovery that just won’t settle in. I accepted. And I’m working with good people who I want to grow with. Perhaps this is my chance to reboot, and to laugh in the face of “the reaper” who I wouldn’t let get the upper hand.

Maybe I’m just having a good year and should simply accept that with the deepest humility. Or maybe I should smugly tell the reaper to take a hike. I’ve got ads to make.

Epilogue: If the happy ending of this post turned your stomach, or made you throw up a little in our mouth, then here’s a hyperlink to agencyspy, where there’s an ample supply of snarky comments to fulfill one’s daily dose of cynicism.

Brad Mislow is a senior copywriter and just wants to please you.

I sit on the couch with my daughter, teaching her to crack peanuts with her fingernails

her hair still wet from the dip in the pool on this 95-degree Sunday.

Joe Castiglione calls balls and strikes on the radio.

1-0 for the good guys.

My son and wife are in the kitchen, cooking cupcakes from a recipe in the back of a children’s book called

Cupcake.

Later, wife and I sit on the back porch while Clara draws chalk robots in the driveway.

Kathryn makes herself a salmon burger and me a salami sandwich because she knows how I feel about fish.

Salmon and salami look like the same word but couldn’t be more different.

A butterfly drops out of the sky from nowhere.

She rises then drops then rises then drops and makes me wonder if there is an intended flight pattern.

Because nothing is random.

I say it’s a Monarch. Kathryn disagrees and calls yellow swallow tail.

“Chutes and ladders dad?”

1-1. Tie game.

Sure, Clara.

The cupcakes are done baking.

We apply the homemade buttercream frosting, which Kathryn and Ben also whipped up together.

3-1, bad guys.

Ben tries to sneak a handful of sprinkles into his mouth.

I pretend not to see him.

Never mind that the Sox are on the radio because we can’t afford cable.

Never mind that we were in the backyard instead of on vacation.

Forget that the book was from the library because we aren’t buying books for a while.

And pay no attention to the patchwork inflatable pool that has seen better days thanks to our friend the raccoon.

None of that stuff seems important today.

Why does it ever? Why will it tomorrow?

Today, like every day, is a gift.

Today, unlike every day, I am accepting it.

Still 3-1.

This article has caused a recent uproar on the interwebs lately. To sum it up, a 24-year-old college graduate lives at home with Mom and Dad. He’s been looking for work since graduating in 2008 with a PolSci degree (I know, I know). His search yielded one result, a $40K-a-year offer as an insurance claim adjuster. And he turned it down. According to more than 1,000 overwhelmingly angry commenters, this young man made the dumbest move of his life. Others are outraged that a child of privilege has the option of being choosy when so many would jump at such an opportunity for full time work.

So it made me think about those who haven’t had a full-time job offered in some time. Say you’re offered a job at an agency you’re not crazy about, doing work you don’t want to do…do you take it? Times are tough. Do you suck it up? Let your portfolio take the hit? Just to keep the bills paid?

There’s one camp that says, “of course you take it.” Any job’s a good job. Those bills don’t pay themselves. If you have a family, they’re not going to stop eating or needing new clothes or getting sick, etc. You stick it out until something better comes along. Or just make the best of it. Or both.

Then there’s the other camp. Hold out (and hold your breath). Trust your gut. Wait for the next thing to come along. That choice job offer should turn up someday.  Maybe it does. And maybe it doesn’t.

A career in advertising is judged by the quality of work one completes. Awards are won. Parties are attended. Rockstars are made. That’s what we all aim for. In rough economic times, those goals may just have to wait. Your reality may be way bleaker. If you find employment, freelance or full-time, you may be called in to work on unglamorous client-driven projects: newsletters, direct mail, banners, Facebook pages, etc. You’ll get paid to do it. You don’t have to do it. But do you?

Brad Mislow is a freelance writer type person who loves fresh peaches in the summer.

Anyone looking for a new gig knows that lonely and confusing feeling. The one which you’ve done all you can to get the attention of anyone who can hire you. You’ve emailed. You’ve called. You’ve emailed again. You’re waiting by your cell phone, trying every Jedi mind trick you know to get it to ring. Mine involve a lot of scrunched-up facial expressions and hand motions, to no avail. Must consult Master Yoda on that one.

Basically, you’ve found yourself in the limbo world of radio silence, and you don’t know what to do next. Lord knows you need that job, but all you’ll settle for is a fucking phone call or email saying “Hi. We got your message and you [got the job/didn't get the job/we're not deciding anything till the boss gets back]. Something. Anything.

No one sets out to be a stalker. It’s just too time consuming and far too creepy. And the cheerier you sound, the creepier it is. I bet if I listened every one of my follow-up voice mails, anyone would conclude that I’m a bumbling idiot or a serial killer. Because behind the breezy, casual “hey, I was just seeing if you looked at my work and made a decision yet” is “will you people just hire me already? Don Draper is not going to magically appear and write banner ads for salad dressing. So clear off a desk and brew a pot of heavily caffienated coffee. I’m coming over!” Nope, can’t do that. That’s why there are security desks and large men behind them.

Has sending brief but cordial rejection letters gone the way of the Gulf Coast sea turtle (ooh, too soon?)? They were all the rage when we were fresh out of portfolio school. Friends of mine used to post them on a wall of the house they rented. The jist of them all was:

Dear____,
Thank you for your interest in ____ agency.
Unfortunately, (lame excuse here).

We wish you luck in your endeavors.

Signed,
someone’s actual name.

As trite as that is, at least it was a response. The crazy thing is that nowadays it takes a fraction of the time to bang out an email. No envelope. No stamp. No mail carrier. And yet, so few places do such a simple act.

We’re all big boys and girls. We can handle the rejection. If we can’t, why the hell would we want to work in advertising, a business, in which more often than not, you hear the word “no”?

So all your follow-up emails and voice mails just go down a black hole, I guess. Just digital bits and bytes gone forever, sucked into a galactic vortex. That is, until some ad or project you worked on goes viral, wins an award, or gets the attention of some very desperate creative director needs a warm body right now to bang out ideas that were due three days ago.

Hey, sometimes you take what you can get.

Brad Mislow has a new website! It’s bradmislow.com! Clicky clicky clicky!

I learned how to play Gin this weekend with my in-laws. I’m still in that beginner’s learning phase, where I have to think about every move. It takes me three times as long to lay down a card then the rest of the family. But they’re patient and understand that it’s going to take time for me to get in the rhythm of the game.

It reminds me a bit of when I was playing football in college. I had been an offensive tackle and defensive end all throughout Pop Warner and high school. But at 6’0, 220 lbs, I was too undersized to be a lineman for a Division 1AA school. So I made the switch to fullback, and looked like a complete jackass. You’d think I never played the game before. And in reality, I had never played the game before. Not the game of blocking on the run, catching short passes, or running (with the ball!) behind a surging offensive line. The playbook may as well have been in Arabic.

For one whole season, I tripped over my feet, fumbled the ball, missed assignments, and got barked at by the coach, who couldn’t have been less hopeful about my progress. But I kept at it. Kept studying the playbook. Kept enduring coach’s disgusted gestures. Then at the end of spring training, in the big Blue-Grey game where the offense plays the defense in an annual inter-squad scrimmage, it all came together. In about 10 plays, I caught two passes, ran the ball a couple of times for needed short yardage, and pancake blocked a few unsuspecting defensive backs who thought they would make quick work out of the hapless newbie.

I remember the running backs coach jumping up and down like a wild man from the sidelines. “There it is, Proulx! You got it man!” It felt good to finally experience flow. (Not that I had any idea what flow was at 19 years old.) The game was being played through me, and intuition took over.

Today, in 2010, I feel exactly the way I did in 1990 when I had no idea how to run a swing pattern. I am launching a business that inspires people to do what they are, but it’s not clicking yet. Nothing’s intuitive. Every day is another shoot-from-the-hip hot mess.

But if I keep plugging, keep studying, keep trying, flow will happen. It will.

Brancaccio (who you may recognize from the PBS series “Now”) visits Wall St., Vegas, and even The Mall of America to discover what people who have money choose to invest in or spend on. While looking for meaning in Manhattan’s financial district, he meets a Rev. Dan Matthews, who left him with this chestnut:

”When I have a vision for my life, money is then a tool to make the vision a reality. If I have no vision for my life, then money is in fact the only way I can gauge my worth.”

Coming from a guy who grew up on welfare in one of the poorest cities in the country, I’ve never known surplus. And I sometimes wonder if my relationship with money (or lack thereof) is the reason I have so little of it.

It’s as if I feel like there’s shame in wealth. Not for other people, mind you. Most of the people I respect a great deal are also doing very well financially. They work hard, give away big portions of their income to people less fortunate, and live morally enviable existences.

So what’s it all about? Am I subconsciously preventing myself from a surplus because I don’t want to feel guilty? Is my personal stress and debt and sacrifice some kind of self-fulfilling prophesy? And if so, how the hell do I reverse it? Because my conscious self very much wants to kick this subconscious saboteur in the nuts.

Maybe the first step is to “have a vision for my life.” If I am unwittingly denying myself a better financial existence because I associate money with vapid self worth, then what greater purpose can I use it for?

That is, when I get some of it.

For my single, unilateral-decision making friends, this post is not for you. You’re absolved from committing to another word.

Still unsure if you should read on? Take this simple quiz.

Can you:

a) go to Vegas with your buddies without some amount of quid pro quo?

b) drop a grand on a new Tag Heuer watch without consulting someone first?

c) play 36 holes of golf every weekend without pissing someone off?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, go to the next stop in your blog reader. Because this post is about how the decisions you make about your career affect the person you’ve chosen to spend your life with. And I’m not talking about Larry the Bowling Buddy.

When you’re in a committed relationship, “Is this the best decision for my career?” isn’t the only question you have to ask anymore. Decisions to become an entrepreneur or take a job come with a slew of collateral consideration.

For instance, if you’re considering launching a business, you have to ask:

1. Can the family absorb a short-term financial hit for the uncertain longer term benefit of entrepreneurism?
2. Can we afford health insurance?
3. Are we comfortable living off retirement savings?
4. Can our relationship survive the stress of not knowing where the next paycheck will come from?

And if you’re considering taking a new job:

1. Will we have to move? How are the schools in that area?
2. Are we moving away from family?
3. What are the hours like? Will I have to work nights and weekends?
4. Will a longer commute take time away from each other?

When you’re someone else’s better half, careers are just one piece of the bigger life puzzle. A very important piece, yes. But it’s not a decision to make alone.

Something to keep in mind when you’re weighing the importance of your next move.

When I was a child, my father spent two years going back and forth between underemployment and unemployment. I still remember those times. They were hard. They were so hard that they left a mark on me. Not repeating his story was my biggest motivation to get an education and start a career. But that wasn’t enough. I made up my mind to become really good in my field, thinking that talent and a good reputation would be my ticket to work stability.

However, years later unemployment knocked on my door, too. I felt frustrated, but eventually I found another job. A couple of years later, I was out of work again. This time, the period of unemployment was longer and found me alone and far away from home. Those were hard times, too. But they were also times of a lot of growth.

I got laid off three weeks ago and I found myself unemployed for the third time. But I have to admit, this one is different. I feel lucky. Lucky that this isn’t the first time this has happened to me. Because fortunately, I can say that I learned a few lessons along the way.

First, nobody stays unemployed forever. It’s almost impossible.

Second, the jobs may go away but your talent never does.

Third, at least in my case, every job I lost led to something much better.

And fourth, you have to have joy in the journey. Back then, I used to be so obsessed with finding work that I would feel so sorry for myself that I couldn’t enjoy the present. Now that I have a wife and two kids I’m not making that mistake again. Being home is allowing me to spend more time with them and create fun memories that will last forever. The other day I heard a phrase from the musical, The Music Man: “You pile up enough tomorrows, and you’ll find you’ve collected a lot of empty yesterdays.” So true.

I’m very grateful for the lessons from the past. Thanks to them I can feel the peace and confidence I enjoy today. I’m also grateful for the lessons of the present. I’m learning that I’m more mature, that my wife is my unconditional support and sometimes she believes in me more than I believe in myself. Experiences like these are the ones that make you a better you.

I know someday my next job will find me. And there I’ll be again, dealing with poorly written briefs, tight deadlines and killer ideas being killed. Of course, I’m doing everything possible to make this happen. But for now, my biggest challenge is to enjoy the process until that day comes. That’s what I’m focusing on.

_____

Xavier Curia is bilingual copywriter from Mesa, AZ. You can see his work at http://www.xaviercuria.com.

As if I needed another project in my life.

But this one is designed to make me — and you — better at other projects. It’s called “300 Words,” and the idea is to put a little peer pressure on writers to be accountable for doing what they should be doing every day. Which is write.

Technically, this is a joint effort between Hugh MacLeod and I. But, honestly, it’s mostly for you and me.

Hugh wrote this post back in April about maintaining a daily creative quota. As you can see, he’s already putting in his 300 words, not to mention daily cube grenades, daily biz cards, and daily newsletter cartoons.

Hugh is already a committed and prolific writer, creator, cartoonist, and entrepreneur. He doesn’t need these cheap social experiments to keep him motivated.

But that’s why he’s GapingVoid, and we’re not.

Here’s the gist. All you do is sign up to become a contributor. This is open to anybody and everybody, provided you aren’t a spam artist. Once we make sure you’re not trying to give us $10 million of your Nigerian uncle’s fortune, we’ll approve you and you’ll be free to post.

Then to post, simply email your text to post [at] 300words [dot] posterous [dot] com and it will go up on the site automatically.

But remember, you have to become a contributor first.

And that’s it. A little more detail can be found on the site’s first post. But otherwise, it’s pretty self explainatory.

Now go write something.

Note From Erik: I met Harris Davis during a January screening of “Lemonade” in NYC and we instantly connected. He believes there’s a place for ethics and integrity in advertising as well as advertising schools. So do I. What do you think?

——

Back in November 2003 in NYC, an art director friend of mine found himself unemployed. With no compelling full-time or freelance prospects, he tried his hand at teaching advertising in a local university. The money sucked, but it was steady sucky money. And it was technically an ad gig.

Cut to three years later. He had become a wildly popular teacher with the students.  Killer portfolio pieces were coming out of his classes and several of his students landed great jobs after graduating. And, most important, he loved teaching. A lot. He even volunteered his own time to run an extra-curricular concepting class at night for his graduating students, which he recruited me to help teach.

After just one class session, I was totally hooked on this teaching thing. By the end of the 6-week class, we decided to start our own ad school. It was our lemonade moment. Now in its second year, The Mission unites our passion for nurturing creative talent with our personal values of social responsibility. You could call it an ad school with a conscience—the first of its kind.

So back to teaching, and the point of this piece. If you are in advertising but find yourself out of work (fairly likely if you’re reading this blog), or maybe just checked out of work, teaching can be a wonderful remedy. I’ll explain:

You get to play creative director.

Teaching allows me to do something that I’m rarely in a position to do at work, even though I’m more than capable. For two hours a night, one night a week, I get to spend quality time with creatives, review their work, discuss the thinking behind it and provide direction. I would never rely on an agency job to afford me that kind of professional development and experience, even if I was a creative director already.

You choose the assignments.

Unless you run your own agency or have your own clients, you don’t have much say in what you work on. Teaching lets you assign projects that you think will benefit the students most. And you can pick something new every week, every two weeks, or whatever you think is appropriate. The assignments I give are ones that I think my students will genuinely give a shit about and will enjoy doing the research and concepting for. Their passion for the project is usually pretty evident in the quality and range of the ideas they bring to class.

You write the briefs.

How many times have you gotten a brief from an account exec that is (a) a novel and (b) a novel written explicitly for client approval rather than a thumbs up from the creative department. As a teacher, not only do you choose what the students work on, but you author the briefs. We provide our teachers with a template to help them keep their briefs clear, insightful, thought-provoking and, um, brief.

You’re exposed to great ideas. Lots of ‘em.

With the ridiculously tight timing, silo’d work environments and rampant “just get it out the door” mentalities of most agencies, you rarely walk into a conference room and see 20 to 30 compelling, well-thought-out ideas tacked to the walls—pitches being the exception. Teaching gives you an opportunity to be literally immersed in great ideas dreamed up by eager creatives in a collaborative spirit. Their work might even inspire you the next time you sit down alone in your cube and put pen to paper.

You get excited about the business again.

Only a handful of agencies make you genuinely excited to show up every day. I never worked at one. And as a result, I constantly questioned my career choice and struggled to be as excited about being in advertising as when I first got into it over a decade ago. Teaching delivers on that much needed confirmation that, yes, you truly love this business—crap deadlines, hack bosses, uncourageous clients and all.

You get paid.

It’s not exactly your day rate, but considering the nature of the job (see all points above)—and the fact that it might be your only job—it’s a pretty damn good way to earn some scratch.

__________________

Harris Davis and Jeff Cooper are the co-founders of The Mission. They are actively recruiting teachers in NYC and other major cities. If you’re interested in teaching or taking a class, check out themissionnyc.com for more info and give them a shout.