I got a job in advertising before I could shake my speech impediment.

A five-year old twin working on a Heinz Ketchup spot at Leo Burnett, I was lured into the biz by the smorgasbord of cookies and candy made available to us on the set. The fructose free-for-all was enough for me to overlook the gig’s lack of health care benefits and for my mother to exploit her reproductive freakshow. Fifteen years later, it was also enough for me to return to advertising in my college career. Unlimited cookies and candy make for an auspicious beginning; I was anxious to see where this was headed. 

After several internships, two years copywriting, and amassing a helluva portfolio, I’ve come to realize that advertising isn’t all unicorns and rainbows and wearing flip-flops to work. It’s agonizing over wording and commas. It's polishing turds in exchange for that occasional shining star. It’s writing 100 headlines, scrapping them, and starting anew in a different direction. And, as I realized most recently as a copywriter at Laughlin/Constable, it’s developing resilience for the client who tells you to go back to the drawing board. For the fifteenth time.

As I’ve learned, polishing turds does give way to the occasional shining star.

I'm living proof.