To certain people there comes a day
when they must say the great Yes or the great No.
He who has the Yes ready within him
reveals himself at once, and saying it he crosses over
to the path of honour and his own conviction.
He who refuses does not repent. Should he be asked again,
he would say No again. And yet that No -
the right No – crushes him for the rest of his life.
Exciting times at Ogilvy towers – we’re recruiting for a new year of Ogilvy Planning Fellows. Junior roles in planning are few and far between – this is a really coveted route into the ad industry. (You should probably apply.)
So to celebrate, Ogilvy Fellows past and present got together to start you off with a list of recommended reading – whether you’re applying to the Ogilvy Fellowship or not, this is a pretty handy list for young ad-sorts.
Ok, so there are a few on there I wouldn’t leap to read myself, but take a look at the list and see what takes your fancy – print it out and take it to the library. Read.
My really recommended, though hardly groundbreaking, suggestions are:
But I’d like to give you a tip that wouldn’t make other advertising reading lists:
A bit of a hangover from my days in contemporary art, this book is absolutely nothing to do with the business of advertising, but everything to do with the business of ideas and creative thinking. Pretty handy for a wannabe planner, right?
Only gradually do you come to appreciate that the occupation you aspire to is harder than you thought, that the supply of other young, self-anointed apples of their own eyes is inexhaustible, and that you’re not as uniquely gifted as you’d thought,” she says. Far better to spend ten years “fetching lattes” than fall victim to a big break: “It’s surely a fine emotional art – dousing your hollow hauteur without quenching the fire in your belly altogether – but the kids who master it come out the other side both shit-hot at their professions and bearable as human beings”
From Christine Smallwood’s great profile of Lionel Shriver in this week’s (July 22nd 2013) New Yorker.
1. Decide you must.
2. Develop deep respect
for feather, bone, claw.
3. Place your trembling thumb
where the heart will be:
for one hundred hours watch
so you will know
where to put the first feather.
4. Stay awake forever.
When the bird takes shape
gently pry open its beak
and whisper into it: mouse.
5. Let it go.
(I have a deep and unfair suspicion of poets I’ve never heard of, but this poem by Kathleen Lynch bucks that.)