Welcome back to the Christian Story Lab! Today, we’re diving into the dangers of originality.

Yes, originality—the glittering goal of every writer—has its magic. But lurking beneath your wiggling toes is a trapdoor waiting to spring.

Before we tackle that, let me set the stage: I’m not a car guy.

The best car I owned was a 1989 Jeep Wrangler YJ. Six-cylinder. Antique plates. In the tropical paradise of Vero Beach, it was a topless wonder, soaking up sun for most of its existence.

Then came kids, and my topless days came to an end. Minivans and SUVs entered the picture.

That's called a Beach Bum Bummer.

These days, we drive a Lexus that was gifted to us (trust me, I’m not rolling in Lexus money).

Want more proof of my car illiteracy?

Once, I drained my transmission fluid—thinking it was the oil—and then double-poured oil into the still-full tank. Classic me.

Now that you know where I stand on car knowledge, let’s talk about the latest social media buzz: Jaguar’s newest “ad.”

If you haven’t seen it, buckle up. It’s a treat. . .laced with strychnine. Painful, yet worth unpacking.

Sigh.

Social media gurus are frothing at the mouth to dissect this nonsense. But since this is a writing newsletter, I’ll sidestep the debates on “wokeness” and the contrast with Volvo’s recent ad, which is literally everything Jaguar did wrong, done right.

Instead, let’s focus on the one colossal mistake Jaguar made from a writing perspective.

They tried to be original.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not against originality. In fact, I’ve been having lively discussions with fellow Christian writers about the process of niching down.

I’ll also be in a LIVE discussion with Karl Vaters on Tuesday about why niching matters.

Here’s the trap of obsessing over originality: you risk losing the plot entirely.

Go back and watch the ad again. If you can stomach it.

Let me ask you: What’s missing? (And yes, I hear you: taste, good sense, a positive brand vision... The list is long.)

But what’s the key element that’s absent?

Some of you are starting to see it.

Yes. That’s it.

The car.

I may be a noob when it comes to marketing, but this feels like a simple truth: if your product is a car, maybe—just maybe—the car should appear in the ad.

I get the concept. I do. The idea was to “break the mold” and reject the status quo. But there’s a line between creativity and stupidity.

People don’t buy Jaguars because of guys in ruffles. They buy Jaguars because they’re fast, sleek, and make you feel like the coolest person on the road.

Let’s step away from Jaguar for a moment and focus on something that actually benefits you.

Their slogan, “Copy Nothing,” is garbage. It’s as bad as when Pretzels ran their “You can never be too thin” ad.

As Christian writers, we don’t “copy nothing.” In fact, we do the opposite.

We copy everything.

We see what we like, and we copy it. Then we test it. What fits, we keep. What flops, we toss.

Of course there’s a lot more to how you do that effectively in a way that amplifies your voice and hedges against the inevitable AI takeover. But that’s for those who join us in The Lab. We’re just talking principles here.

Back to the nonsense of “Copy Nothing.” It’s a hollow platitude. It’s not how you grow as a Christian writer.

Copy everything.

David Perell talks about studying the greats and paying attention to that internal voice that says, “This isn’t me.”

That friction is where your style emerges.

The Christian writer's way is to find the heart of your message—the one thing that truly matters—and hammer it home in a hundred creative ways.

Study what works, take what serves your vision, and shape it to fit your voice.

But ignore all of it to “copy nothing”?

No, dear reader. Don’t “copy nothing.”

Copy everything.

And keep what works.

Write on 🤙

Payton

This Week’s Christian Creator Highlight!

Nate has been a member of The Lab since we launched, and I am excited to cheer him on with the launch of his first game, Save The Miners. Check it out 👇