I Wrote a Viral Essay in 2009 & Now I'm a Professional Copywriter
If you were a fly on the wall during a Norris family dinner, you’d notice we’re all trading funny stories, barely waiting for one to end before starting another. Especially after time apart, the stories flow endlessly—not in a “this story relates to that” way, but more in a “are you done yet so I can go?” sort of way.
There’s an unspoken rule about these family stories: they can be exaggerated for flair, but they must remain authentic. My mom is our resident fact-checker. If my dad veers off course, she’ll chime in. “Who’s telling the story?” he’ll quip, asserting his creative liberties.
One of my mom’s sayings is, “You are your father’s daughter,” which is true, especially when it comes to storytelling. But there was a time in high school when I strayed too far from authenticity and got caught—badly. It was so dramatic it practically went viral (2009-style), spreading through hallways, classrooms, and eventually to my parents.
Let me tell you the story.
The Story
It was my sophomore year. I was freshly 16, with a driver’s license and a reputation for bending rules. My honors English teacher was impossibly kind, a little gullible, and had a closet full of sweater vests. I, on the other hand, was attempting to cultivate a “bad girl” aura. Spoiler: I was very chalant, but trying hard to appear otherwise.
That semester, we were assigned a creative writing essay. Essays were my thing—I loved them. They had to be, because I never actually read the assigned books. While others leaned on plot summaries, I thrived on spinning pure creative gold at the last minute.
The night before the essay was due, I procrastinated until late and then wrote the hell out of it. Genius flowed onto the page as I told the story of Auntie Rosemary, one of my parents’ dear friends. I described her vividly: the blue M&M sweatshirt, her endless wildflower garden, and how she taught us to jump into the snow from the hot tub, only to dash back in, shivering. At her house, we ate with our hands—maybe to avoid dishes, maybe just to annoy my mom. It was easy to wax poetic about the magic of Rosemary.
But then, for dramatic effect, I took creative liberty. I decided that Rosemary had passed away and wrote a heartfelt conclusion about how I saw her spirit in every garden, every wildflower. It was poetic, beautiful, and—let’s be honest—totally untrue. I skimmed it once, hit print, and called it a masterpiece.
A few days later, someone said, “Hey, great essay,” in the hallway. My stomach dropped. My dad worked at the school as a history teacher and football coach, but he and my English teacher rarely crossed paths. There was no way they’d discussed my essay...right?
By my next class, two more people had mentioned it. Panic set in. I later found out that my teacher loved my essay so much, he read it aloud to another sophomore class. Anonymously, of course. But one of my teammates in that class recognized the story and decided to blow my cover. “That’s Erin’s essay,” she said. “And Rosemary isn’t dead—she was at our game last week!”
This was my first lesson in the dangers of creative liberty. My teacher, likely perplexed, brought up the essay to my dad at an all-staff meeting that afternoon. And by the time I got home, my parents had a copy of the essay.
The Dinner Table Showdown
I walked into the house, mentally preparing for damage control. My plan was simple: deny everything. At dinner, I learned my parents hadn’t read the essay yet. It sat face down on the dining table, taunting me. My sister was home from college, just in time to witness my humiliation.
I begged them not to read it. My dad, naturally, insisted. We sat in silence as he read the essay—the longest three pages of my life. Finally, I confessed: “I made it all up. Rosemary’s alive. I wanted the essay to be dramatic!”
They burst out laughing. I had to call Rosemary to explain, while my family laughed in the background. Rosemary thought it was hilarious. I realized that while the lie itself wasn’t a big deal, the shame I felt over being caught was what really stuck with me.
Lessons for Telling Compelling Stories in Marketing
Balance Creativity and Authenticity
The essay resonated because of its vivid imagery, but it unraveled when I stretched the truth too far. In marketing, creative storytelling must still feel authentic. Consumers trust brands that balance imagination with honesty.Specific Details Are Key
From the M&M sweatshirt to the wildflowers, the essay’s magic was in its specificity. In marketing, sensory details make stories relatable and memorable, helping your audience visualize the experience.Surprises Keep Readers Engaged
The dramatic twist—claiming Rosemary’s passing—was attention-grabbing, even if it was untrue. In marketing, surprises or unexpected elements captivate your audience and make your message stand out.Emotions Drive Connection
My teacher shared the essay because it made him feel something. Whether humor, nostalgia, or poignancy, great storytelling evokes emotion. Aim to make your audience feel deeply, and they’ll remember you.Craft Stories That Are Shareable
The essay went “viral” in 2009 terms because it was compelling enough for people to retell. In marketing, shareability stems from clarity, relatability, and an irresistible hook that others want to pass on.