The Never-Ending Story

The Never-Ending Story

I’ve seen my fair share of writer’s portfolios over the years, and one thing that jumps out a lot is how many of them knew they wanted to write for a living early. That they fell in love with language the moment they could hold a pen, that their first word was onomatopoeia, that they were penning award-winning poetry by the distinguished age of 9. 

For me it was a tad different. I didn't know what a copywriter was until I was 22, and at roughly age 9, I was actively deterred from the craft by my year 4 teacher. Who, one fateful parents’ evening told my mum I wasn't being realistic with my writing and was far too focused on finding happy endings.

For a child of bitter divorce, I thought that was a little mean-spirited. But looking back, Miss Bolton wasn't being cruel. She was just preparing me for 2026.

Geopolitical instability. Economic unease. Cultural exhaustion. AI’s here forever, yet the bubble’s about to burst. The notion of work is evaporating but no-one can afford to retire. The headlines are not fun. The outlook’s not cheery. And naturally people — mainly my poor mum again — ask me whether I'm worried AI is coming for my job a lot. 

The answer is, touch wood, no. 

I might be more stressed if my job was just writing headlines or churning out AEO-friendly web copy. But there's more to it than that, especially when you think of writing as less about the words we use and much more about the stories we tell.

Now, a quick history lesson. 

Consider how young everything we rely on in branding really is. Anthropic’s only 5. Figma, 9. Canva, 14. Adobe’s having a mid-life crisis at 44 and Pantone’s eyeing up retirement in its 60s. But then there’s the stuff I actually rely on to write: books, 2,000 years. The alphabet? 4,000. And then narrative-based stories, which depending on which cave you visit (see below), date around 11,000 years. 

It’s an artform that’s persevered through all manner of dynasties, technology and cultural upheaval, and yet which remains as relevant as it has ever been.

Here's the irony. Everyone's bugbear with AI is that it's too democratised, that it's levelled the playing field and made designers of us all. Yet what's more widely understood than storytelling?

We all hear hundreds, and we can all tell a couple. The only ones that can't, it turns out, are the likes of Gemini, ChatGPT and Mr. Claude himself. 

Why? Because to tell a story you need to have experienced it. To have felt something, to have an anecdote or an awareness to draw upon. And sure, they can try, but it's never quite right, is it? It lacks the resonance of the poetry we spill over pints, or the spiel your gran's already told you eight times today. It's missing that human quality.

This matters for brands more than anyone. In a world where AI spits out messaging frameworks in seconds and visually impeccable identities in days, a story does something execution can't. It gives us the confidence to look beyond the polish. And, crucially, it leaves room for other people to open their imaginations.

I learned this on the bottom bunk back, growing up reading The Hobbit or Harry Potter. What I loved was how much you pictured in your own head, while, on the bunk above me, my brother was reading the very same words, imagining something completely different. 

The best brands work like that. We've spent years building rigid systems that prize consistency but quietly strip away the reader's role. The good work happening now is looser, freer, more real. It trusts and encourages people to read between the lines.

That's what I want every brand we build at How&How to do: to tell a story that’s tight enough to tick off our client’s needs, but open enough that a hundred people can picture a hundred different things. The skill we have to unlock to do that is gauging when you've done enough to set a mind whirring, without explaining every last detail. A sentiment no better summed up than by Ben Affleck: "Craft is knowing how to work. Art is knowing when to stop." 

So, in short, I guess Miss Bolton was right after all. 

The future of creativity isn't about tying everything up with a neat bow. For me, it's about leaving enough space for people to imagine and interpret their own outcomes, their own emotion, confident they can fill in the gaps and make their own leaps forward.