Round here

You may have noticed I haven't written a new post in a while (undisciplined).

And frankly, there have been a lot of reasons for that (laziness).

I've been unbelievably busy with work (couch potato). I've had family obligations (binge watching). I've been concentrating on other projects (lotto tickets).

But I did want to take a few minutes out of my busy schedule (napping) to do something I have never done before—offer a bit of advice to my fellow blogger and swing dance instructor Rich Siegel over at Round Seventeen.

Now, normally I don't make it my business to tell anyone else how to do theirs. I don't give other parents advice on how to raise their kids, although God knows with the devil spawn some of them have unleashed on the planet they could use it. I don't offer relationship advice, even though I know the secret to a long and trouble-free relationship most married men find out soon enough involves two words: Yes dear.

But since Rich is a friend of mine, I want the best for him and his blog because, and I think if you're followed me for any length of time and gotten past the crippling disappointment, you know I'm a giver.

So here's the advice: It's time to change the name of your blog. Not that Round Seventeen isn't a fine name, but based on my personal experience as of late, I don't think it's an accurate one anymore.

I can't remember the last time copy got routed less than seventeen times. For starters, once I've used up the entire three to four hours I get to craft a compelling brand story people will relate to, find humor in and want to know more about, it first has to get routed through several of what I like to euphemistically call layers.

The account team.

Strategy.

Account planner.

Product specialist.

Legal.

Associate creative director.

Group creative director.

Proofreading.

Executive creative director.

The cleaning lady on three.

And, if I'm lucky, then it finally makes its way to the client.

That's ten stops it has to make before it gets out the door. And if any of those people have a change, suggestion, idea, whim, opinion, thinks something's missing, thinks something else should be included, forwards a suggestion (mandatory) from the client or just. doesn't. get. it., then, as if I'd written it on a boomerang, it comes back to me for revisions.

After they're made, some well-meaning, highly intelligent, over-worked, underpaid and incredibly organized project manager gets to route it through all those people again. And again. And again.

Every time an "and" gets added. A "the" needs to be included. Disclaimers have to be changed (as if anyone reads them-thanks legal). Something gets underlined. A word gets bolded. An accolade gets deleted. Whatever the change, the copy suits up and does another lap.

By the time it gets back to me to sign off on, we're on round twenty eight. At least. Of course, as any writer in an agency will tell you, it'd be great if it stopped at twenty-eight. But sadly, predictably, it doesn't.

What people don't know about advertising is it's a lot like Groundhog's Day—the same assignments keep coming back over and over until the powers that be decide it's been watered down, legalesed and tamed enough to make it out the door to the client for their changes. I mean approval.

Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. And as I read this over, I see that would be easy to do. Great work, classic advertising, the kind you remember and talk about for years—I'm looking at you Apple 1984 spot—doesn't happen the first time out. I'm fairly certain anything good I've done and I'm proud of took plenty of victory laps around the agency before it saw the light of day. So I do realize in some cases, this painstaking and often frustrating process has its upside.

Anyway Rich, you don't have to do it today, but you probably want to think about a more realistic number for the old blog title. Of course I suppose it's possible a writer of your caliber may not have to go more than seventeen rounds.

And if that's the case, just forget I said anything.

Revisionist history

With the number of revisions almost every project seems to go through now, it seems like clients are less interested in making the work better, and more interested in securing their place in the Guinness Book Of World Records.

To my colleagues in the creative department, this isn’t exactly breaking news. But what has changed is the sheer volume of revisions.

Where it once was a middle-management client trying to show how he made an invaluable contribution to the process by changing the copy from sometimes to always, it’s now evolved into a cage match to see who can initiate the most changes.

The other thing is there are now more layers than ever. There's lower-middle management. Middle-middle management. Upper-middle management. Lower-upper management, and so on. Everyone who comes in contact with the copy feels like it's in their job description to have an opinion. And of course we all know what opinions are like.

My friend Rich Siegel even paid homage to the practice of client revisions by naming his book and well-written blog Round Seventeen. Every time I see that name, all I do is wish seventeen was where the revisions stopped.

There's an old adage about clients getting the work they deserve. Or maybe it's just karma. Either way, never is that more true than when the project manager brings the deck back for revision 68 (yes, actual number).

I think I’ve posted this story before, but it’s worth posting again. One time Paul Keye, a Creative Director/Copywriter and President of his now legendary creative agency, the long gone Keye Donna Perlstein, was in a client meeting. As the client was carefully scrutinizing the copy, at one point he turned to Paul and said, “I think it would read better if we changed an to the." Seeing the reaction on Keye’s face, the client followed up with, “What can I say? I’m a frustrated copywriter.”

To which Paul Keye said, “No. I’m the frustrated copywriter. You’re an asshole."

It would all run a lot smoother if the people who had the final say had the final say the first time around. Sure, it'd mean the middle-management types would have to actually find other ways to justify their almost six-figure salaries, and titles like Assistant Vice President Of Enterprise Integrated Product Analytics & Corporate Audience Targeting.

But if they really wanted to look smart, they could do it by focusing more on their jobs and less on ours. Their job is to make sure the work is on strategy. It'd be a far better use of their time if they stuck to that. It'd also go a long way towards making their corporate overlords and the bottom line more successful.

And the agency less resentful.