Stanton On . . . Writing a Book

When I would tell real-life stories about some of the weird stuff that happened during my career in the advertising-design business, people would say, “You oughta write a book.”

So, I did.

To those of you in the ad-biz, you don’t need me to tell you that it’s nothing like Mad Men or Bewitched. In fact, the ad-biz is a combination of ludicrous, funny, maddening and exhausting—all put into a blender.

My book, How to Sell a Chicken, is a series of anecdotal references to the aforementioned blender concoction.

For whatever reason, I kept a diary of sorts in my annual Day-Timers over my 40-year career of the weird, funny, quirky and idiotic stuff that happened. (For all of you under the age of 40, Day-Timers were appointment books one kept, before there were smart phones.)

My Day-Timers always ended up in the well-worn Tumi shoulder bag I bought in 1975 with money I couldn’t afford to spend. That brown-leather bag went with me everywhere for four decades, and at the end, it looked more tired and worn out than I did. Almost as tired as  the stories that were captured in literally 40 Day-Timers and other notes I saved along the journey.

The poor people who worked with me heard most of the stories more than a couple of times. To them, my sincere apologies.

But not having children, writing the anecdotal book created a sense of legacy by recounting some of the more bizarre—and cherished—memories.

To be clear, the book isn’t about me. I was just there when $#%& happened, and I somehow had the good sense to put the experiences on paper. (For those of you under 40, paper is . . . never mind.)

It took me two years and a dozen rewrites to get it to a point where I thought someone other than me actually might be interested in reading it.

In fact, much to my amazement, two valued friends who could not be more different, Hal Calbom and Pat Cashman, both liked the book very much. If nothing else, their feedback made me very happy and gave me the confidence to contact a publisher.

When one is used to thinking in 30 or 60 seconds worth of copy, turning out multiple pages and organizing the chapters is a truly big-assed effort.

I think-hope the result will teach people a little something about the ad-biz, perhaps trigger a memory or two and provide a laugh or three at a time when that seems like a good thing.

As I do at the end of the book, I want to add a shout-out to my favorite girl, my Mom. Whenever I would return to my hometown to see the folks, it always took her only about five minutes to ask, “Now what exactly do you do again, Rick?” I wish she could have been around to read the book. That would have helped answer the question for her, I think. OK, maybe not.

And a special thanks to Larry and Melissa Coffman, without whom the book never would have happened. So, please buy it and help keep an unemployed, retired ex-ad-biz guy out of the bars. Click HERE to purchase a copy.

P.S. And these reviews, to give your further incentive to buy and read:

“Radio and TV commercials aren’t essays, orations or manifestos. They’re spots. Concise, targeted and spare, turning on a dime in 30 seconds’ time.

In his ad-game memoir, Seattle’s Rick Stanton talks in spots. Anecdotes and characters abound. Lessons are learned and spurned. Bridges built and burned.

Stanton’s hilarious celebrations and laments are fast and loose and loving. And spot on.”

—Hal Calbom

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