Put yourself in my shoes: You’re an advertising copywriter in the days when advertising was if not king, at least somewhere close by in the royal court. You’ve got thirteen years of good work with good agencies behind you and the same wife you fell in love with twelve years ago. Plus three young sons with healthy appetites. To say nothing of a mortgage to match. So what’s the problem? Three problems: (1) I was fired several months ago; (2) I’m thirty-nine; (3) and the industry calls me “over-qualified.” That’s shorthand for “too old.” At 39! Ye gods-- Ah, but all isn’t lost. Eventually, due to luck, an accident of timing, and the intercession of various saints--plus the fact that I’m pretty good at what I do--I’ve just landed a fantastic new job. With one of the biggest agencies in the business. Writing ads for Coca-Cola, the best-known brand around. With good money, nice title, promising future, the works. Wonderful, right? Right. Except that all that good news was going to give birth to headaches the size of which I could only imagine...

All the best ads and commercials are written in high-powered advertising agencies in New York City, right? In fancy offices perched high on the gleaming towers of Manhattan, right? By mythical creatures just returning from three martini lunches, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong. And once more, just for good measure. Once upon a time I was fired. Again. I’d been writing ads for agencies in Chicago, Detroit, Minneapolis and New York. For almost twenty years. Then one day I found myself writing them in the sometimes sleepy, sometimes far from sleepy little city of Marion, Ohio. How I got there, what I did there, and all the rest of it makes a rather interesting story. At least to me. Although Gertrude Stein famously said, “There’s no there there,” don’t believe it for a minute. She sure wasn’t talking about Marion, Ohio. Read on, gentle reader, read on...