Monday, March 27, 2006
Apart from the newly orphaned computer and the few, inevitable pieces of paper, the table was empty. It was the first in the row of six desks we (inaccurately?) christened Writers' Block. It was the closest to the Creative Department's entrance and it was the first thing I looked at when I entered the room this morning.
It had been occupied by Mags, who had moved on in the proverbial quest for greener pastures.
Now, the usual clutter that gave a writer's desk that pleasant, lived-in look was gone. The action figures were gone. The knick-knacks were gone. The FHM calendar was gone. Mags had gone.
Mags was someone I genuinely liked having around on cigarette breaks, drinking sessions, and, when we got to work together for a pitch project, brainstormings.
I've met writers who merely reflected creative light like barren moons. Writers who, like will o' the wisps (also called fool's fire) that occur in bogs, managed to glow thanks to vast amounts of gas. Writers who deserved to be set alight with a tank of gasoline and a match.
Mags's flame came from within. And I am certain that flame will blaze brighter, so much brighter, with the new Agency.
Never got to say goodbye on Mags's final day at work last Friday. But I guess I never had to.
After all, the world of advertising is so small, I'm certain we'd meet again.