Picture: THINKSTOCK
Picture: THINKSTOCK

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A TRUE copywriter is a lover of words. We collect words and store them in Consol jars in the pantry of our minds. And when it’s time to write a piece, we reach in and find the perfect words.

These words are specific, hand-picked and non-interchangeable, because to a lover of words, there is a fine distinction between "aubergine" and "eggplant", "whisking" and "mixing", "delicious" and "scrumptious". The difference depends entirely on context and the feeling buttons you want to press.

As a writer in advertising, I often feel like a novelist trapped in a headline. Much of what we do is finding the punchiest way of expressing ideas. Long copy seems to have one foot in the grave, and social media and mobile-speak have ensured we express ourselves in manageable tweet-bites and sentence-skewers.

And so, finding the perfect word is a skill and an art and a thorough joy — a joy most certainly killed by clients who track changes on word documents, and grab any word from the recycling bin and spit it out as an offering from the gods.

I’ve often felt the reason copywriters exist is because we grow up loving words and bathing in them like Cleopatra in milk. We notice the way consonants collide and vowels aerate. We’re conscious of words that sound like what they mean, and we’re thrilled when partnerships between words are revealed, such as Sonny and Cher or Pinky and The Brain.

We take pride in our ability to select the right word, so when clients sweep in and spill disapproval over our words like red wine on a white tablecloth, we resent it.

At this year’s Design Indaba, the festival for design and creativity, one of my favourite speakers was Naresh Ramchandani. He articulated something I’ve always felt instinctively.

He explained how writers "see" words in their minds. Through a talk called "Eight words", he made a vivid argument for the fact that there is power and simple magic in words that most people hardly ever consider.

One example was an ode to the word "pathetic". He observed that it starts with a "sharp, withering ‘puh’ sound" that signals that it means exactly what you think it does. Its root word is "pathos", which means "you’re pitied by the whole of humankind".

Finally, he said the last sound, "tic", is like you’re spitting in someone’s face. Ramchandani calls "pathetic" a "lethal insult" and "the H-bomb of the English language".

What Ramchandani reiterated for me is that words are indeed visual for a writer. They explode in your mind, splattering into syllables, sounds, photos or giant three-dimensional letters with unmistakable meaning and feeling. The beautiful detail of words are to writers what Pantones, serifs, kerning and leading are to designers.

Ramchandani’s talk was a celebration of word lust. It was a tribute to the fine choices a writer makes and an affirmation that how a writer stitches words and ideas together is not accidental. It is meant to move you, to make you feel something. Ramchandani says, "A perfect piece of writing can kick you in the guts or make your heart swoon or twist your thinking inside out."

A few weeks ago, my team and I were working on a radio spot in which we referred to regifted gifts as "dodgy".

The client’s debrief asked us to replace the word "dodgy" with "unwanted" or "undesired". If Ramchandani was in the room, he would have said a regifted gift is flung towards you without thought or love.

It hurts to receive a gift with dusty, original giftwrapping and a card hastily scribbled to some other friend that is not you. It is much like a ball to the face in the game of dodge ball.

With this in mind, dear client, would you please reconsider your debrief — and leave my word alone?

• Gordhan is a creative director in advertising.