How Creative Weirdness Drives Powerful Content

I’m a creative person. I’ve always been good at art. I did my art O’Level early at 15 and ultimately took an Honours Degree in Graphic design and Illustration. So far, so ordinary. But having recently seen my husband fall over a stool that I’d moved a couple of feet from its normal position, I realised creativity affects my world much more profoundly than I’d thought. He’d come a cropper over something I’d have noticed without thinking, which means his mental map of the world must work differently from mine.
I know exactly, to the millimetre, the physical location and position of absolutely everything in our house, from the furniture to paintings, rugs, sculptures, ornaments, books and plants. I also know exactly how things sit in relation to one another and in comparison with everything else in a room. If an object doesn’t sit comfortably next to all the other objects in its vicinity, I can’t resist changing things according to the rules set down by my incredibly fussy inner interior decorator. I like to make sure every view in every room, from every angle, is wholly beautiful.
I can easily spend fifteen minutes arranging fruit in a bowl. I’ve spent twenty five years searching for the perfect red lipstick. I really can’t bear some colour combinations. If something isn’t quite the right colour, shade, tone and pattern, it won’t do. I almost always get it right first time, but last year I painted the kitchen at our new place three times before I found a colour that was just right. And I can’t buy clothes online, since it’s impossible to get a 100% accurate idea of colour on screen.
The oddest thing of all? I can’t put my finger on why an arrangement of objects or a colour combination feels totally right or utterly wrong. It just is, in much the same mysterious way as adding a single brushstroke or mark to a painting can make or break it.
This obsession with colour, pattern, placement and the relationships between objects is a lifetime thing, something I’ve been concerned with since early childhood. It comes from my equally artistic mother, who frequently spends hours on what she calls ‘arranging lemons’, family shorthand for creating random acts of beauty. And while I wouldn’t change a thing, it would be quite nice, just now and again, to walk into a room without being made miserable by the colour scheme or repelled by the arrangement of the objects within it.
So what does all this have to do with copywriting? It means I take great care to write content that is beautiful, that flows properly, that sounds pleasing to the ear when you read it, with no nasty lumpy, clumsy bits. Which in turn means it’s lovely to read and delivers lots more marketing ‘oomph’.

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