Sucking and writing.

I’ve been writing like a sonofabitch lately.

Since my week off in Cape Cod, I’ve come back to a storm at work. And sometimes, at least for me, the way to get through a storm is to stick to doing what you do best. For me, that’s staring a problem down and trying to write my way out of it.

I worry often about my inability to stop being a creator—to stop writing ads and turning fulltime to reviewing ads, critiquing ideas and improving them. I do that, too. But I feel just as I’d feel if I were in a busy kitchen.

I don’t merely want to see if the sauce needs salt, the meat is tender enough, or if the sprouts are browned properly. I like being in the kitchen. And I like cooking.

Sometimes I worry.

Of course I worry.

Worry is what I do best.

Have I, old as Methusaleh Bernbach, kept at it too long? Is it undignified to still be pitching ideas? Is it indulgent of me to still be writing—everything from social tiles to spots?

I also worry about how much I have left. There’s that feeling I’ve always had, since Hector was a pup. What if I fail? What if I have no ideas? Or worst, what if the ideas I do have suck?

Yeah.

I go through all that and more each time one of our creative imbroglios rears its powerpointed head.

But then, as I do, I do what I do.

I write something.

Sometimes, it doesn’t suck.