I met Kathy Hepinstall in Los Angeles in 1992.
That was a long time ago.
We were young writers then.
Well, Kathy was a real writer. I was a copywriter. She was a copywriter too, but everything she wrote was on a whole other level.
Back then, when I met a good writer, I would immediately compare myself, come up on the shorter end of the stick, and be filled with envy.
But not with Kathy. She was too good. So good that it transcended any petty jealousies and instead instilled the desire to always want to read what she wrote. See how she solved something. Get blown away by her idiosyncratic use of language.
After we met, we stayed in touch as she went off and did her thing at places like Wieden+Kennedy and elsewhere.
She eventually wrote a novel. Then another. And next thing you know, she was less of a copywriter and more of a writer-writer like Toni Morrison, Joan Didion and Cormac McCarthy.
I was still a copywriter.
I dreamed of writing a novel. Kathy made it happen.
Years later, I was chief creative officer at Chiat LA and Kathy was tired of being a manifesto-mercenary (she wrote the best brand manifestos) and ready for a full-time gig. We had a demanding client and Kathy would be perfect casting. She was like a lion-tamer for certain kinds of clients.
It was fun working with her and having her around.
Whenever it was time for her to show some work, it was always a treat. She’d have inventive ideas and kinetic copy, and she would present it in her funny Texas way.
She might try to really sell you on the idea and then catch herself selling you and remember that her ideas were always so good they sold themselves.
Then one day she quit. She wanted to be a writer-writer again.
You couldn’t begrudge that. You simply had to be grateful for the time you had with her and let her go.
When [Kathy Hepinstall] weaved a sentence, it was laced with gold and quicksilver and a dash of nettle.
That was a while ago, too.
I hadn’t heard from Kathy in a bit, and then, just a few months ago, she suddenly slid into my DMs.
We picked up where we left off. Just like that.
She was living in Mexico, married and had a writing class called “The Galloping Muse.”
She told me she was fed up with the literary world and was doing some freelance copywriting for income and feeding her soul a bit with her writing class.
She asked me to sit in and give her some feedback.
Sure.
Her class was smart and fun. Her visuals were goofy and surprising. Her message was helpful. I remember her telling the class to write from their unique voice, give the reader energy, get to the action quick, pay attention to the rhythm of your words, and be kind to yourself.
It was all wonderfully practical. And I got the sense the class came away feeling they could do it. They could really be writers, too.
And yet, little did they know that Kathy was touched by the Greek god, Apollo. That when she weaved a sentence, it was laced with gold and quicksilver and a dash of nettle.
Still, if you were an average punter, Kathy’s muse, Clyde, would help you kick.
I gave her a few notes on her class.
She wrote me back.
And then she was gone.
That was the last I heard from her.
Until the announcement on August 17th.
Her death makes me really sad. The fact that she was suffering so much makes me even sadder.
I hope she’s found her peace.
Kathy left us a lot of great work. Several books. And a blog that reads like something Charles Bukowski would be jealous of — raw, funny, dark and always poignant.
I’m going to miss Kathy. Miss that feeling that she was out there stomping around raising hell.
So now, like the rest of us, I’ll wait for her to reappear on earth.
Maybe as some mischievous crow or a bolt of summer lightning.
Godspeed.
Rob Schwartz is the Chair of the TBWA New York Group and an executive coach who channels his creativity, experience and wisdom into helping others get where they want to be. This was originally posted on his Substack, RobSchwartzHelps, where he covers work, life, and creativity.
Header image © The GallopingMuse.com
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