I feel bad about Nora.

          A gifted writer I admire has passed away. Surely you've heard of Nora Ephron.

          She is the author of bestsellers "Heartburn" and "Crazy Salad", and "I Feel Bad About My Neck". Nora received Academy Award nominations for Best Original Screenplay for "When Harry Met Sally", "Silkwood", and "Sleepless in Seattle", which she directed as well. She wrote "You've Got Mail" and the play, "Imaginary Friends".

          Few people have brought so much joy to so many. Here's a bit of what she wrote about handbags: "I hate my purse. I absolutely hate it. This is for women who hate their purses, are bad at purses, who understand that their purses are reflections of negative housekeeping, hopeless disorganization, a chronic inability to throw anything away, and an on-going failure to handle the obligations of a demanding and difficult accessory. The obligation, for example, that it should, in some way, match what you're wearing."

           I loved the way Nora Ephron wrote,the way she thought. She was sharpened to a precise instrument. If she was famous for anything, it was her vulnerabilities.We have that in common. Not being famous, being vulnerable. She said that when she was young, she wanted to write like Dorothy Parker.

           I hope you don't think it's inappropriate, but I'd like to end with this Nora Ephron comment, which I've laughed out loud about for years: "Sometimes I think that not having to worry about your hair anymore is the upside of death."

           Goodbye, Nora. We should've told you long ago that we loved you just as you were.

Contrarians in marketing.

         To succeed in advertising, you have to be at least a little contrary. You have to be tough enough on yourself to refuse the simple, easy answers everyone else thinks is just fine, and push yourself to deal with the tough ones.

          In my first days as an advertising copywriter, I relied on my wits to get the job done. No matter what the assignment, a pun here, a little wordplay there, a couple of product features,  and maybe a smart-ass headline and I was through.

          For trade ads, my friend Ashley and I even developed a formula for the copy, and it seemed to do the job every time.

          Then I got a new supervisor. At first I thought he was going to be a human red pencil, but he was just the opposite. He told me to read Emerson, whom he said had some very good arguments. And Locke, for clarity and rational development. And the New York Times Week in Review, to keep up with our culture.

          Over the next few months, my copy changed. In content and style. It became more thoughtful, more interesting, more helpful. Even small things became more interesting, like how to tell the difference in real Italian salad dressings, and why some hot cereal makers tossed out the most nutritious part of the wheat.

          Once I realized I wasn't going to be the darling of American industry by playing with words, I got better at thinking about ideas. I learned how to get at what Leo Burnett, the head of the big Chicago agency, called the "inherent drama" in a product. And in a customer's life.

          Marketers of all kinds should probably be a little contrarian, as well. Are we perfecting products in ways people won't care about? Is the fashion industry selling something different than what their customers think they are buying? Why won't we know "the next big thing" until after it comes out? What does Forever 21 know that Neiman-Marcus doesn't?

          Go the opposite way of your competitors. Zig while everyone else is zagging.