It seems like I’ve been a marketer forever. Today, I call myself a “marketing consultant,” and “marketing” was in the title of many of my corporate roles.

Marketing’s been a big part of my identity for years. So has being paid for my creativity. No one ever offered me a role by saying, “Okay, we’re hiring you to be creative. Now, go!” But I’ve always felt the pressure (and it’s usually a good pressure) to bring creativity to what I think, write, say and execute.

That ’70s Show

I’d love to say that I knew what marketing was when I was a kid, but I don’t have any memories of that. I do remember several defining moments where I knew that being creative, knowing how to write and understanding how to persuade was something I loved to do. It came easy to me, I got encouragement for how my brained worked, and I knew how to champion my ideas.

The marketing professional I am today started taking shape in the 1970s, or at least my copywriting skills began forming then. I remember being in sixth grade, where we had a spelling test most every Friday. If you scored 100, you received a candy bar from the teacher. And those were big ol’ fatty candy bars, not fun-sized.

All year long, I memorized those words and earned a candy bar each week. But then one week, I missed a word (wish I remembered it!), and the teacher walked by my desk without stopping to give me the reward. I was embarrassed and mad at myself. I missed that sweet treat, but the misspelling hurt worse.

“You’re So Creative”

Starting in junior high, my mom would repeatedly ask me to draw or write something for a church project. She was a minister’s wife (that makes me a PK) and would always lead fund-raising efforts or a special project. She’d stick a piece of paper and marker in front of me and pretty much demand I come up with a slogan or an image to promote her campaign. “Come on. You’re so creative,” she’d say.

Back then, I thought “creative” meant artistic, and I never could draw anything that looked good. (Still can’t.) But my mom loved everything I came up with, laughing in appreciation at my slogans and drawing attempts and saying they were perfect.

As I got older, I realized my creative mind was the part of me she encouraged. My drawing skills were secondary.

Long Drives and Limericks

Another memory of the creative partnership with my mom was when we went on a vacation to Estes Park, Colorado, or wherever else my family could go when dad got a break from church. (Being a minister is a 24/7 job.) To pass the time in the car, we relied on several games (“License plate bingo,” anyone?) — including making up limericks. I could think quickly on the fly, and my mom was good at it, too.

My dad loves writing poems, but I don’t remember if he joined in on the limerick-making — or if my middle sister Melissa did. Making my mom laugh at one of my rhymes (especially if it was her laugh/cry) was a reward for my creativity.

Many years later, my mom and I revived the game when I drove her from Kansas City to Savannah where she stayed for several winters. Good times!

“That’s Not Your Work, Melanie”

As a PK (preacher’s kid), I learned right from wrong early on. I often felt like I was called to a higher standard, but it wasn’t the church doing so. It was my mom keeping me on the straight and narrow. (She had the upper hand until I hit high school.) I remember being called a goody-two-shoes or teacher’s pet in elementary and junior high more than once. I don’t think it bugged me — more so, it was a little badge of pride.

Despite my good-girl rep in junior high, I did run into trouble with one teacher who accused me of cheating. I’d written a creative story about a conversation between a lion and a giraffe, typing it out on the Royal (or was it a Selectric?) typewriter we had at home. I don’t remember much about the story or assignment. But I do remember the teacher stopping me after class to ask if I wrote it. I wasn’t sure if she liked or hated it, but I knew she was accusing me of plagiarism. I said it was my work but her face told me she didn’t believe me. (That crushed me, Mrs. K.)

I haven’t been a perfect angel over the years and have done my fair share of rebelling. But I’m older and wiser now and living my life ethically is important. It informs how I run my business, too. It shows up in my writing when I source someone else’s idea or a statistic I found online, or when I make a claim about a company’s product or service in the marketing work I do. (We marketers don’t have an official “first, do no harm” oath, but we should!) Ethics keeps me honest on the pricing I charge and the promises I make to clients and other creative professionals I partner with.

Red Ink and sidebar annotations made me better

Another experience that shaped me happened many years later when I worked in financial services. I was in a role where writing was a big part of what I did, and the rest of my time was spent on project management and working with clients.

Our team wrote about 401(k)s, diversifying investments and saving for retirement. It’s an industry full of acronyms, jargon and concepts that are confusing to the average person. Because I was new to the world of retirement plans, I channeled my confusion into making sure what I wrote was easy for people to understand. This wasn’t dumbing things down. It was doing what I could to not to talk over readers’ heads.

Two senior communicators on our team, Julie Bartels Smith and Lavonne Seifert, edited my writing and the work of my other team members. It often pained me to see their red-inked comments and sidebar notes on my drafts, but I learned so much from these pros.

I knew Julie and Lavonne appreciated what I was trying to do with making things understandable, but they coached me to do more:

• Choose words with fewer syllables.
• Use fewer words in sentences.
• Write shorter paragraphs.
• Keep the writing at a sixth-grade level — and how this doesn’t mean Fun with Dick and Jane writing. It means easy-to-read copy. (Here’s a great article on the topic of reading levels.)

I’m thankful I worked with Julie and Lavonne for so many years and know I’m a better writer because of them.

Thanks, Mom, from Melanie the Marketer

Today, I get the occasional kudos and kind words about my creative mind, writing and marketing skills. Even if clients aren’t verbose in saying why they like my work, the fact that many work with me on a retainer basis speaks to them valuing what I do for their business.

My mom passed away almost three years ago and not long after I started my business. She didn’t get to see how my business took off two years ago or hear about the creative projects I work on. I can’t email her something I’m particularly proud to have crafted — or hear her laugh in appreciation at a creative headline or tagline I came up with.

Both of my parents encouraged me to be who I wanted to be and celebrated my work and life successes. But I have my mom to thank for nurturing my creativity. She was the center of my world back then, and I was her first-born. Making her laugh and getting her praise challenged and fueled me.

I’m still powered by her today. So, in that way, my mom’s still with me — celebrating my achievements and my adventures here in Arizona.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK