Don't worry, I'm not dead. I know that's what you were all secretly thinking. I had just contracted a terrible stomach bug from my nephews, who act as incubators for viruses of all kinds, providing a genetically exact match for my constitution. So I just lay in bed and threw up and watched Woody Allen films and pretended I was being a Fashion Model in New York.
Also, I had to submit my article for The Daily Onanist, which hopefully, you may see at some point in 2009. This took quite a lot of doing, reminding me of the difference between blogging and writing for print. Namely that, when I write on the blog I do so in the almost certainty that no one is reading and so express my unpleasant ideas in their raw, ill-thought-out form whereas for print I become obsessed with the fact that it will be printed indelibly onto paper and therefore last for years and years and shown to my Mum by someone at the Lobotomy Club and bring the Comstock family name into disrepute so it better at least be well-written alright? Suffice to say, I ended up submitting an early draft, because the late ones were dead neat but severely boring.
Incidentally, I reckon that's the reason that even print ads that are real pony are infinitely more satisfying for copywriters than web work and that the industry's resistance to the interweb is actually internal, unreasonable and, as it were, grassroots. All advertising is hopelessly transient, but the idea that what you're writing isn't even worth printing out is just too miserable for words.
Anyway, today's Monday Morning Memento Mori comes from Sister Ainara in Spain. It's getting like a latter day Blue Peter this blog, only without the drugs. I present to you her meditation in ink on the subject of deadlines.
Have you ever wondered why they're called deadlines? Is it because when you're dead the only things that will be left to signify for you existence are the things that you've created in your lifetime?
Enjoy that FMCG brief now.
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