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.

The ad writer's 25-word vocabulary.

            Yesterday I read an essay about movie trailers. It was talking about how all movies are classified into genres. Those are their types. The romantic comedy, the spy thriller, the cowboy movie, and so on.

             From there, there are certain kinds of scenes the movie preview has to contain to be true to form in that genre. For cowboy flicks, that includes the riding in the hills, the goodbye to the girlfriend, the gun fight, and the ambush.

             The essay reminded me that in advertising we have our genres as well, both visually and verbally. In fact, it seems that each kind of advertising has its own 25-word vocabulary.

             The beer vocabulary would include "robust", "refreshing", "flavorful", "thirst-slaking", "full-bodied", "quenching", "cold", "limestone water", "real beer taste", and even "hearty" --- as in "the hearty part of the party". There's cosmetics ("age-defying" and "luscious") , soft drinks ("refreshes you through and through"), and cigars ("satisfying") ---  well, you get the idea.

             Beginners rely on these vocabularies, even silent ones. Fashion tries not to use any words --- they would defile the art. The 25-word vocabulary for fashion includes places (the Amalfi Coast),  climatic conditions (Moon over the mountains), and models at least 16 years old.

             JC Penney, trying desperately to be different from the others in the mass retail space, now runs ads without mentioning its name. Isn't that a breakthrough! Being the first to make customers wonder whatever happened to JC Penney.

            So while new advertising people are breaking their picks trying to fit in, the real pros are trying to stand out in meaningful ways. They're always striving to go against the grain.

            I know, I know. It's hard to write a space age genre commercial without using the words "galaxy" and "far, far away", or Latin-sounding planet names. But try. I know you can do it if you put your mind to it!

Dancing on the head of a pin.

         I used to worry a lot about the details. Is this the right word to describe a product's advantages? Does the copy need a better phrase, a catchier opening?

         That was back when I thought an advertising copywriter's job was words. I fussed over them, even in the days when that often meant typing everything over again. I used to drive the copy department secretaries crazy. Every time they'd finish typing a "manuscript copy" for me, I'd read it over one more time and find a way to say it better.

          I usually kept on "improving" to the very last minute. The minute before the meeting with the client. It often had unexpected repercussions.

         One day we were presenting a whole new campaign to General Motors. The idea was that GM's proving grounds were more important for automotive quality than the competitor's racing exploits. Every ad and commercial would have this long tagline: "General Motors cars are proved all-around. All-around the clock, all-around the calendar, all-around the country, all-around the car."

          As usual, I kept making changes. The meeting was at 1:30. At noon I gave my typist, Mary Margaret, the final revisions and told her I'd be back to pick everything up at 1 o'clock.

          When I returned, nothing had been re-typed. "I couldn't do it", Mary Margaret explained. "The hyphen key fell off my typewriter."

          That was one kind of problem from sweating the details. Another was that it kept me focusing on the trees instead of the forest. It kept me focusing on the words, instead of the ideas.

          I came to realize that you can have a beautifully worded dumb ad. I learned that what is said is always more important than how it is said. And my work started getting better and better results.

          Please don't get me wrong. Details are important. Language is important. "We just made the Atlantic Ocean 20% smaller" is much better than "Our new jets go faster".  But ideas are crucial. "Just do it" as opposed to "Our new athletic shoes now have better stitching".

         That's why advertising is harder than it looks. And watching good advertising is easy.

The end of talking pictures.

         "Nice language" my boss said about my script for my first TV commercial for Mr. Clean. It took me the better part of a month to figure out how devastating that comment was.

         Television commercials are about pictures, not words, and it took me a long time to learn to think visually. I had finally figured out print advertising, by forcing myself to study all those ads in the New York Art Directors Club annuals, and making myself come up with a "writer's rough" --- including the image --- for every ad I wrote.

         I learned how the headline and picture go together in print.  Not by both saying the same thing, but by completing each other. The headline should make little sense without the visual, and vice versa. (Think of the famous Volkswagen beetle ad: a picture of the car with the caption, "lemon". What a way to introduce the story of a small scratch on the glove compartment frame in a car the inspectors pulled off the line.)

         I also learned that if the picture is nice and the headline is nice, the ad is boring. And if the picture is tough and the headline is tough, the reader will be upset and turn the page. But if the picture is nice and the headline is tough, you've got 'em.

         But writing for TV didn't come easily to me at first. I seemed to be creating radio commercials with pictures. I would do the "audio" section of the script first, and then scramble to think up pictures to go with the words. My art-director partners never knew how to handle this.

        Next,  I went on to creating the visuals first and then writing the words. That was better, but usually my visuals were never long enough. An art director had to bail me out.

        Finally, I learned that I should start with the idea, neither copy nor visuals. Just the idea. A television commercial doesn't have to tell you everything in 30 seconds. Then taking that simple idea and telling a story about it. Finding a way to dramatize it, symbolize it, argue about it, create a metaphor for it, or demonstrate it. Then letting the visuals tell the story, with the words helping it along and making the selling idea memorable.

       After a while, you'll probably be able to do a tv commercial with no words at all. Voila! You've just invented silent movies.