There once was a lady on a train...

I suppose there’s a place in the world for the limerick. I also suppose I enjoyed them as a child.

Recently, I was jarringly reminded of how seldom I consider the limerick – and perhaps how little respect I have for its place in the creative realm – when a fellow commuter seated in front of me on the train decided to read a book of limericks to her two children. Out loud. Over and over. And over again. What I learned from the experience:

1. There once were a lot of old men and old women. They make up nine-tenths of the characters in limericks.
2. It’s virtually impossible to concentrate on your own reading when someone nearby is reciting limericks out loud. Try it.
3. Amateur limerick readers find it necessary to overemphasize the rhyming words, while adopting an annoyingly sing-song cadence to the lines.
4. No one should ever read more than two limericks out loud in one sitting.

About half-way into my commute, the woman announced to her children and her surrounding victims, “We’re only a third of the way through the book.” I suddenly felt a very strong inclination to share with the youngsters the only limerick I’ve managed to retain over the years. You know, the one that begins, “There once was a man from Nantucket…”

After a while, the woman shared a most welcome observation: “They get a little boring after a while, don’t they?” and called it quits. A collective sigh of relief could be felt throughout the car – and the kids didn't seem too upset, either.

"Just a Writer"

On two occasions recently, I found myself feeling internally defensive about my chosen career as a copywriter.

The first time, the president of another agency asked me what I do at my agency. When I said I was a copywriter she sighed, “Sometimes I wish I was still just a writer.” I know she meant me no harm; it was more a reflection of her own busy workload and I suppose a desire to return to less stressful, easier days as a writer. Still, it stuck in my crawl.

On the second occasion, I was lunching with a group of agency coworkers, discussing past jobs. An art director was lamenting about a previous position at another agency where he worked for a creative director who, as he put it, was “just a writer.” In other words, he wasn’t qualified to be a creative director, overseeing the work of designers. This may be true – I don’t know the guy or anything about his experience or talent. But it struck me as a derogatory statement about writers in general; i.e., “he can’t be my boss… he can’t have creative oversight… he’s just a writer.”

“Just a writer.” It’s a demeaning sentiment, whether intentional or not. It’s that little word “just” that makes all the difference. Just a writer; nothing more.

Thankfully, I have enough pride in my work and my position that I don’t take it too seriously. But every now and then it sneaks up on me and leaves me feeling... “just” a little annoyed.