I used to be a copywriter for a retail catalog. Golf, to be specific. If you’ve ever written (or read, for that matter) catalog content, you know there’s not a whole hell of a lot of creativity that goes into it. Even still, there were headlines to write, and 120 words to cram into a 25 word space- all of which had to be approved by 1.) our buyers 2.) the company… NIKE, Cobra, FootJoy, TaylorMade, or whoever. It was very unlikely that anything I ever wrote actually ended up in the catalog because it got changed somewhere down the line. But hey, they paid me, and I wasn’t complaining.

Except that I was. Every single day.

What were they paying me for? They wanted me to be a machine. To churn out content that filled the space they had, regardless of what the words actually said. I was screaming inside- I wanted to describe that cashmere golf sweater with descriptive, fluffy words: soft, comfortable, fitted and stylish. I even tried a few times… my antics got me called into the creative director’s office for a not-so-friendly reminder that I was supposed to stick to the phrases chosen by the manufacturer. Was I the only one who saw the irony in that?

It got worse.

There were busy periods, and slow periods, as goes the golf season. During our downtime, we would socialize throughout the day. Not for hours on end, mind you, but for a few minutes to break up the day when we had nothing else to do. A lot of that time was spent collaborating with the designers who were laying out the magazine. How could we improve the flow of the middle spread? How could we make the NIKE promo pop more? Our entire department was written up for spending too much time away from our desks. The catalog department- the most creative room in the entire building- was forced into silence. Reprimanded for “talking” when our work was done, and we still had five hours before quitting time.

Obviously, I couldn’t take it- I eventually left the company. I’m not the most creative person in the world, but I was outraged that any even mildly creative idea I had was sat on- and with pleasure, it seemed.

So why did I just go to all the trouble to tell you about my previous life?

Because as much as I hate that such a place exists at all, I’m thankful for it. Having gone through the torture has enabled me to appreciate a truly creative environment even more. The ability to bounce ideas off of co-workers, ask questions if I have ‘em, and even laugh about the funny thing that happened over the weekend are things I definitely don’t take for granted. Some people do, though, and it’s a shame. So, if you’re lucky enough to have never experienced creative hell, count your blessings.

I, on the other hand, was lucky enough to find relief with another company. But the stars don’t align for everyone. I find myself thinking about my previous situation every now and then- and wondering if there were other ways I could have made it better. Would a heart to heart with the creative director have done the trick? I’d heard someone else had lost their job for challenging her, but that was only a rumor… a rumor that essentially prevented me from making my move. (Reminds me of something my dad always said: It’s easier to quit a job when you already have another one waiting for you. I didn’t have anything lined up at the time.) What if I had created a list of ideas to make that middle spread flow better- and presented it to her instead of collaborating with the designers? I may not have received credit for my ideas- but I’ll never know because I never tried. In a small way, I regret this. 

There’s a saying that really resonates with me- but I’ll admit I have no idea who said it. “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change the way you think about it.”

Here’s your daily creativity exercise: If you could do one thing to make your creative environment better, what would it be?