A speechwriter colleague friend recently talked to a recent recipient of a Master of Fine Arts—a playwright.

Told the playwright that play writing is a little bit like speechwriting—writing for the ear, writing the way people talk, and all that. Put the young man in touch with me. I began as always by sending a standard “so you want to get into speechwriting” piece, meant to ward off any dilettantes.

Then I told him—and see if you agree with this, yourself—

I hear myself being particularly discouraging, these days, to folks with pure writing backgrounds trying to get into exec comms. Even at universities, where MFAs might be valued—and you should find and talk to the communication director for [the president of your university]—the focus is not on fine writing, and so fine writers without administrative experience are not valued, by and large, until they get it.

People who do communications for university presidents, especially in the current sociopolitical environment, are strategic counselors first, playwrights last.

And in the corporate world, fine writing is barely valued at all, and whole corporate executive communication departments are devoid of a single person with “speechwriter” or even “writer” in their title.

So my advice, if you’re looking to make a living beyond writing plays, is to find an institution that you think you’d like to work in, and get a foot in the door in communications anywhere … maybe starting with your alma mater, but think of arts institutions, etc.—and build your organizational comms chops with a longview of writing speeches.

That advice may differ from others … but it’s how I see it, from here, for guys like you. (Like my mother, who graduated in 1960 from the University of Michigan and went to work at an ad agency because “no one would pay me to keep writing papers on Chaucer.”)

Cheers. Let me know if you have more questions for me.

David

Garry Shandling said, “Life is short. But not short enough!” I’m sure my note was discouraging to the young playwright. But was it discouraging enough?

Direct quotes from me, talking to my dog, Eddie:

“You’re a good baby.”

“You’re MY good baby.”

“You’re a goodie.”

“My sweet little baby.”

“My good little baby!”

“Who’s my good baby?”

“Are you a good little baby?”

And so on, all day long.

But let’s unpack that.

I realize “good” is doing a lot of work in those comments, especially for an immaculately untrained animal that:

Eats our socks (and barfs them up).

Jumps on me when I don’t want him to, runs from me when I call him.

Barks at every dog that walks by our house (ostensibly because he believes he’s the only dog who deserves to exist).

Jumps up on every house guest until we give him an expensive rawhide to eat instead.

Jumps up on people in other houses—including the host of a barbecue where he ruined all the hamburgers and murdered the entire party. That almost made the papers.

Legendarily escaped my supervision and ate the entire chicken shawarma picnic dinner of a five year-old girl and her father at Smith Park, in Chicago. That should have made the papers.

And just last week while on a run with me, lunged for a sandwich that a homeless man was eating on a bench, in Humboldt Park. I barely managed to yank the leash fast enough to avert a travesty of social justice—I had not a dollar on me—that would have made the papers: “Bougie Bernedoodle Unburdens Unhoused Man of Lunch; Jagoff Jogger’s Profuse Apology Falls Flat.”

If that’s a good dog, what would a bad dog look like?

And yet: “You’re so cute I could just poop my pants!”

Also: “My little funny bunny!”

This week here we’ve been talking about how companies often spend money on communications that may or may not have a direct impact on the bottom line. Here’s a Boeing commercial from 1975 that tries to charm the American populace in such a way as to cause airlines, eventually, to purchase Boeing airplanes. I mean, it could happen!