Independent Writers of Chicago
There's nothing like getting a glimpse of your own epitaph to get one reflecting on the backstory behind the stone. Here's mine:
I started my Advertising career in retail, cutting my teeth writing copy for Wieboldt’s Department Store. (Back in the 70’s, State Street was teeming with department stores that housed their own Ad Departments. Excellent training grounds for fledgling copywriters.) After two years of meeting daily deadlines, I itched with greater aspirations. Bent on getting into a big, glamorous agency, I aimed straight for the world’s biggest: J. Walter Thompson (JWT), its Midwest headquarters located in the John Hancock Center. Could a girl opt for anything more glamorous?
Hearing of an opening there, I put together a portfolio of samples that included a spec TV spot for 7-Up (“The Uncola,” one of JWT’s prized accounts). The Group Creative Director interviewing me was so taken with the spot, he wanted to literally take it. And produce it. So they hired me, if only because if they didn’t, they feared I would sue them. I was welcomed into a group of the funniest, most talented, creative (and good-looking ;0) guys and girls you’d ever want to meet. (Sorry, but “men” and “women” sounds too mature. We weren’t.) I loved all my co-workers. One of them so much that I married him: Ken Marier (French for “to marry”!), the agency’s audio engineer and video producer, who was soon recruited into a competing agency.)
This all occurred in the post “Mad Men” era. Women came flooding into the ad industry at all levels. Glass ceilings were shattered. FYI, contrary to many stereotypes about “ad men,” never once have I experienced sexism. We were all on equal footing with the guys. I know I was treated as such. I thrived, writing copy for TV, Radio and print on countless Fortune 500 accounts whose products ranged from Kibbles ‘n Bits to Boeing, to Hyatt Hotels. Garnering awards and instrumental in helping win new business, I rose through the ranks, reaching VP/Creative Director within 12 years. It was the gleaming, Golden Age of Advertising. Until…
Like an alien space ship, a new regime descended upon the agency, transforming it into a writhing, venomous snake pit. I was breaking out in hives, losing weight at an alarming rate. My only escape was to come home, jump in the tub, and immerse myself in fairy tales. (I didn't’ do drugs.) This went on until one point where a TV spot of mine that had just been produced was sabotaged by my “superiors.” Their handiwork caused the client to lose beaucoup bucks. They made me the fall girl. I was fired.
I immediately called Ken to break the news. His instant response: “Good!” He lived through over a year of my suffering, constantly insisting that I quit. Now the decision was made for me. Plus, I got severance. (Good!) “But,” I lamented, “what about our routines? I loved our routines!” To which Ken replied, “We’ll find new routines.” A cloud burst open. The sun broke through.
Shortly thereafter, I recalled what I once wrote on a yellow legal pad: That it was my dream to be a freelance writer. The whole 9 to 5 construct never did appeal to me. I always fantasized about having the freedom to work whatever hours I wished, picturing myself sitting mid-day at an outdoor café, reading novels while sipping a cappuccino. (Which, to this day, I’ve yet to do.) Ah, the good life!
I immediately launched into overdrive. Fishing for freelance work, I called 100 ad agencies. Only one bit: The Ad Agency. Clever name! We hit it off and my experience there mirrored the halcyon days of JWT, resuscitating my belief in the biz. I answered Want Ads in the Chicago Tribune and was hired for another long-term gig. Another fantastic experience. I was on a roll. But one thing I did miss: the camaraderie that comes with working day-to-day in an office, with people of kindred spirits. Those times were joyful. Freelance can be a lonely existence, especially between gigs.
My dad, Eric, a star copywriter at Leo Burnett, told me of an organization called Independent Writers of Chicago. Sounded perfect. In 1989, I joined. My profile and credentials were published in IWOC’s Member Directory, a hard copy booklet that was sent annually to hundreds of Chicagoland businesses. (At the time, there was no “online.”) It didn’t take long before employers came a-calling. I’ve said it before and will repeat it once more: I owe my freelance career to IWOC. The jobs came marching in. Jobs from a wide variety of clients whose businesses ranged from large to start-ups, all requiring different types of ad- and marketing-related writing needs.
Thanks to those clients, I’ve expanded my repertoire from writing for TV, Radio and Print, to saying “Yes!” to writing Websites. Video scripts. Blogs. Direct Mail. Press Releases. Case studies. Brochures. Trade articles. Newsletters. Catalogues. PowerPoint presentations. Advertorials. Social Media. And more.
A word about advice: As writers, we’re always advised to market ourselves as specialists. I admire those who are. But I prefer to be a generalist. It’s more attuned to my psyche. I enjoy learning about a panoply of products and services. There’s an intrinsic drama within them all. Thanks to the gigs obtained largely via IWOC, the products and services I wrote on included everything from Schneider National Trucking & Logistics to the Peninsula Hotel Fashion Show. From community-minded motorcycle clubs to Mercy Hospital’s Cardiac Clinic. From Catholic Charities Foster Care to a wildly irreverent recruitment campaign for Burger King – the last of which was given high praise by a New York Times advertising critic. And on and on.
The unfunny thing is, for 14 years I only sporadically attended IWOC’s monthly meetings. Afterwards, I’d run right home. Never did I attend a post-meeting dinner. Everyone else seemed so “professional.” Highly intelligent. They struck me as card-carrying members of the Algonquin Roundtable. Frankly, I was intimidated. While impressions by some may be to the contrary, I’m basically an introvert. It takes me a while to acclimate myself to any social situation. Only then could I let loose. Throw off my glasses and unpin my bun.
But something nagged at me. With all the work I was getting through IWOC, I felt the need to give back. I volunteered to write IWOC’s press releases, using them as a creative outlet, writing them in my own style. I did this from 2004 to 2012. Apparently my releases caught the attention of the late, super great IWOC co-founder, Catherine Rategan. She insisted I run for the Board of Directors and refused to take “no” for an answer. I was dragged in kicking and screaming. Flashback to my first day of kindergarten. But as in kindergarten, once on board, I acclimated. Made friends. Became comfortable in this new role.
After serving on the Board for two years, participating in numerous fairs, fests, helping conduct workshops and writers’ boot camps, and contributing ideas (such as our TED-like talk, “Life in the Freelance Lane”), I was approached in 2016 by then President David Steinkrause and ever-lovin’ friend and IWOC-er Betsy Storm. They begged, pleaded and cajoled me into running for IWOC President. I said, “NO!” Didn’t matter.
Once again, I was dragged in, kicking and screaming. This time, it was more like when I was a gangly 14-year-old taking swimming lessons. The instructor tried convincing me to jump in the deep end. I couldn’t. I’d run to the edge of the pool, teeter, then scurry back to safety. This went on for 45 minutes. Fed up, the instructor finally just pushed me in. Screaming, I sunk to the bottom, then swiftly bounded up to the surface. Treading water, I looked around…realized I was still alive…beamed up at my mom, and shouted, “Hey, this is nice!” Same with being President. Once in, it was nice.
In this new role, things I learned about myself surprised me. I was able to revive dormant leadership skills (acquired at JWT) and develop new ones. Still drawing on my Advertising experience, I had a knack for seeing the big picture, zeroing in on the heart of problems and arriving at solutions. I even found it relatively easy to make decisions, since many options are often obviously unworkable, impractical, unproductive. Case in point:
In 2016, IWOC was hemorrhaging funds. We had less than two years left to remain in business. Expenses had to be cut if we were to survive beyond that. The lion’s share of expenses was the monthly payments meted out to all the Committee heads. Paying people in a non-profit volunteer organization? Kind of nullifies the meaning of “volunteer,” does it not? I explained the situation to each of the heads. Fortunately, they willingly agreed to give up the payments. That alone helped extend the life of IWOC to where we are now.
Another thing I learned. Or at least was confirmed: writers are an eccentric bunch. (What, Moi? Guilty as charged!) But I enjoyed dealing with them all. Or most of them anyway. I was honored when they came to me to complain, or to seek advice, or just to gossip. I enjoyed playing mother hen, and especially, being considered a good friend – many of whom I cherish.
Not going to lie. I know I’ve also ruffled feathers. I never felt good about that, and made amends when I felt I was wrong. But not when I knew I was right. Which leads to yet another thing I learned: No matter what you do, you can’t control how people interpret your actions. All you can do is do the best that you can.
One of the things I found particularly rewarding was when I was able to help give to others what IWOC gave to me: the opportunity to succeed. Being a mentor of sorts, I got a vicarious thrill in watching them discover their own strengths, muster the courage to take wing and soar. If having played some part in that was all I accomplished as IWOC President, that would have been enough.
But of course, that wasn’t all. When I assumed the President’s role, IWOC was a vibrant place. To ensure that zeitgeist continued, I, along with fellow Board and Committee members, kept the momentum going in full swing. Over the last 10 years…
I could go on, but you get the idea. IWOC was buzzing.
And then came COVID.
No need to relive the angst of that era, but while the world and other organizations were screeching to a halt, IWOC kept going. In order to do so, I had to take a crash course in conducting meetings via Zoom. While meetings and networking in person have always been one of IWOC’s reasons for being, Zoom was the next best thing. At least we were able to still have programs and board meetings. At least we were able to survive. Other long-standing writers orgs did not.
Even so, something since then had changed. People started to retire. Switch vocations. Other factors started to grow and encroach on IWOC’s territory, such as online writers groups and the avalanche of online recruitment agencies. It all added up to a dwindling membership. And with that, dwindling funds. What to do? Was IWOC about to sing its swan song?
What’s more, I was beginning to grow weary. I was taking on more than a President ought, filling the gaps in every Committee, not to mention being responsible for the multitude of detailed technical aspects that go into conducting Zoom meetings and programs. In my 7th term (2023) I wanted to step down, when out of the blue, an opportunity to merge with the Writers & Publishers Network materialized. It ended up fizzling out. And then, three years later, something miraculous occurred.
Recently, Board member Joseph Wycoff came to the rescue and volunteered to be President. HALLELUJAH! His passion for IWOC and fresh ideas for moving it forward has rekindled my excitement at the prospect of a bright future. On September 29, IWOC members elected a new Board of Directors determined to join Joe in building that future. I will be remaining as President Emeritus to advise, counsel and train in order to ensure a smooth transition.
In closing, I have to say, passing the presidential scepter along to Joe is leaving me a bit melancholy. In the past 10 years, I’ve grown in ways I never expected. Made friends that I hope to be lifelong and that go beyond IWOC. I’ve even come to love attending the after-meeting dinners at the Tempo Café with my fellow IWOC-ers. The conversations. The laughs. Our own Algonquin Roundtable! But between you and me, honestly, relinquishing power isn’t easy. Ask any nonagenarian in Congress. Still all in all, I’ve a sense of great relief, knowing the scepter is being passed to capable, trustworthy hands.
Alas! I can finally rest in peace.
-- Laura Stigler
Copyright 2011–2025, Independent Writers of Chicago 1101 Davis St. #1006 Evanston, IL 60204
