Quote Them: Why I heart my clients

"Tara Lynn is one of the most creative people I know, which is saying a lot, because I include in that world all the people at NIKE, Inc. I worked with when I was there."

Melinda Gable,
owner of the fabulous jewelry world of BlingBlingBaubles


Melinda has great hair. This I noticed first and cannot be blamed for this. It's thick and curvy and falls like swirling cream in mocha coffee.

Secondly, however, I noticed her frankness. It was refreshing and solid. None of that perfumed chitchat about her. The woman is a gust of passionate air, listing this way or that but always forward. Always toward a more evolved idea, a more grounded foothold, a wealth of sassy angles on productive ideas.

We met at a small table among the coffee smells and window light of Panera Bread. And there is where we brainstormed.

This is what I call my consulting sessions: brainstorms. I believe truly great ideas come from truly great tennis matches. Or playing catch. Or - if you prefer to avoid the sports analogies - hot potato. That's when I sit with you. And we put it all on the table. Everything. All the good, the bad, and the Clint Eastwood references. Then we toss it all back and forth, shaking through all the grit and sand and pebbles until only the gold nuggets remain.

We comb through them hair by hair. Together. And finding those few fine strands, those strongest threads, I help you build an empire. Or at least a really great head of hair. Like Melinda.

Trust me, everyone wants Melinda's hair.

As a business owner or sole proprietor, you have many options in front of you. Bottomless, at times. But what works? Which to try? Or is there an even better option out there? How can you best spend what marketing capital you do have? And what will bring the greatest results?

When every dollar counts, trial and error is simply not an option. You need what works. And then you need it to do just that quickly: work!

I can help you bring down the noise. Simplify and clarify. And, in the end, you'll know exactly where to go, how to get there, and with ideas you never considered.

Your marketing strategy should not only work, it should suit you. It should feel right. Not always comfortable, but always fitted to your personality and your business. It should even be...wait for it...fun.

If you are on the verge of greatness, but with marketing and directional obstacles standing in your way, I can help. Contact me today for a brainstorming session and start tomorrow on a marketing strategy that fits...precisely.

What makes you weak in the knees?

She doesn't have a name, though I think she looks like a Gertrude. Then again, I think a lot of females look like Gertrude.

Born less than a week ago, Gertrude introduced herself to my ankles yesterday. I was visiting one of my favorite farms and she was getting use to life. We hung out and shot the breeze about our mutual love of milk.

Gertrude doesn't have much to talk about. At least not yet. Five days of life isn't a long time to have formed too many opinions, though she does think the national debt situation is ludicrous.

What Gertrude did have practice doing, however, is falling. She performed it masterfully. And often. She stepped. And wobbled. Stepped. And shook. Stepped. And vibrated daintily at the knees, a sure sign of she'll do a fabulous curtsy when being courted.

Fell, she did. A few times. Fighting off the pull of that vibrating ground, Gertrude would, nonetheless, collapse in a pile of legs and shocked eyes, always giving an expression as if to say, "Why does this keep happening? I try so hard."

Then she would try hard again.

I couldn't help but admire her resolve and lean thighs. If only I had both. One more than the other. No, the other one.

Though walking was anything but surefooted and stable, she went at it constantly, stopping here and there for a head pat or a belly rub. She's a determined little thing. Gertrudes often are. It's hard to know if she's avoided the cynical approach because of her inexperience, her personal drive, or her pointed nose. Any and all could be responsible. 

Today I found myself wondering where I'd walk if, at each step, the ground hammered out "Flight of the Bumblebee" beneath me. Isn't that just a typical day? Maybe. Often feels that way. For Gertrude it is. For me, however, if given a choice I seek ground without rhythm.

What does that mean? It means procrastinating a prospective client pitch, contentedly nursing my current networks, writing what I already know and only peering from a distance at what I don't, choosing what I can do instead of what I might, sitting on my derriere instead of wobbling on my legs.

One position might take a while to see progress, but progress will come. The other is sitting on your butt. I'll leave you to determine how much progress will come from that.

Neither great choices. But choices rarely are anything close to great. If one was, we wouldn't need the other.

It's possible that Gertrude is simply a baby. A cute one. And had no lesson to teach. Then again, in her innocence and optimism, maybe she had one crucial thing absolutely right. Perhaps it's time to find out what makes us weak in the knees. Then run, even wobbly, toward it.

It's what Gertrude would do.

Entrepreneurs: Any ideas on unloading that backpack?

This looks onerous. Poor Sam. I feel for him. Wait...I AM him.

Entrepreneur? Check.
Tax burdened? Check.
Stick figure? Not today.

So we have a few things to differentiate us, like I have stronger thigh muscles. Strike that. I have thigh muscles. It doesn't, however, aid in that uphill climb. Every year, as per the year I started working for myself, I have a tax burden over my head that never vanishes.

I've tried paying it. But it only comes back around.
I've tried shooing if off with a broom. But hairy rodents don't scare easy.

It never goes away. I get it paid barely in time to pay it again. Over and over again I take out my checkbook, scratch out a number that should be going toward my mortgage or my vehicle repairs or my business future, and send it to the government never to be seen or heard from again.

That's the life of an American who creates their own income.

Yes. It can be done.
No. It is not easy.
Stop. Talking if you've never been self-employed.

We, the risk takers of the country, are dogged from daylight to dusk to "share" our wealth. Believe me, if I had wealth, I'd have no problem sharing it...with organizations and people of my choosing. Why? Because it's my money. And I've earned every single penny.

Understand me fully, please. I work for myself because I love it. And because welfare sounds dreadful. My clients are stellar. My work is challenging. My schedule is my own. Sort of.

This is what I was created to do. To be on my own. To face the wind and walk against it. To carve out a place for myself, even if that means one divot of a foothold at a time. Besides, I suck as an employee. Truly. Suck.

Here, among the rolling hills and stick-tights of self-employment, I survive best. But it certainly isn't due to a supportive government. It's in spite of them. (Which makes no sense since they reap the rewards of my success. You don't bite the hand that pays your taxes.) I survive because God deems it so. Because a repressive government hasn't beaten me yet. Because I'm just stubborn that way.

But how long? (shoulder shrug) That's a question all entrepreneurs live with. That's a question we wake up with in the morning and tuck into bed with us at night. And then it steals the covers.

If, at any time, you hear a non-job creator touting the moral high ground of shared wealth, introduce them to Sam. He's the one making their world possible. When he refuses to get back up again, no one gets back up.

That's a lot of responsibility for a cartoon.

VIDEO: Bueller...Bueller...Bueller

This SuperBowl Commerical will do one of two things: bring back fond memories or tick you off at messing up your fond memories. Either may or may not increase the likelihood you'll purchase a Honda CR-V. But isn't it fun to try?

Here's Broderick as Broderick in the spirit of Bueller:

Can nostalgia sell cars?

During my test drive the other night, my handwriting analysis/salesman said no, right after assuring my friend Kristin, testing driving from the backseat, that this -

- might return. But the wood-paneling would not.

The Unsalesman: a new twist

Come for the Jeeps. Stay for the handwriting analysis.

A new marketing angle?

Not exactly. But it worked. And, in business, shouldn't we do anything - legitimately, that is - if it works?

Here's the back story: I was roaming the South Point Chrysler Jeep Dodge dealership late one evening. This was after I'd dropped my own vehicle off at the service station and before my ride had arrived. I knew I shouldn't look at the new Jeeps. You don't frequent bakeries when on a low-carb diet, either. But I did it anyway.

Dain found me near a crimson beauty. Four doors and all for me. She hummed at me. I heard her. When he asked me if I wanted to take her for a test drive, I did the responsible thing and refused.

Yeah right.

If she hummed sitting idly, she sang like a siren on the highway.

When we returned, Dain offered to get me some numbers for me to obsess and wallow and fixate over, although he phrased it as "think about". That's when, as I began filling out the paperwork, he told me about his hobby of handwriting analysis. Hobby? I needed to see this.

With a sheet of paper and a scratchy pen, I scribbled out a page of blather and turned it over to him. From two paragraphs he could see that I:

- deeply valued my personal space
- generally hid my emotions
- could, at times, be quite gullible
- had a general optimistic tone
- nearly always went my own way
- valued physical things, from the outdoors to physical health
- and, once making up my mind, stuck to it.

"You got that from two paragraphs?" I've had lifelong friends know less.

My accidental wandering had actually led to a unique, memorable experience. Why? Because he had me not focusing on my finances but instead focusing on myself. Was this his sale's technique? His marketing mojo? To get the customer thinking about the customer, and then get that customer thinking about the customer and his product.
And then marry them.

My personal space would fit nicely inside that new Jeep.

Had he thrown in a cup of fresh fruit, I would have signed the papers and indebted myself with glee. It was quite remarkable. Testing driving a vehicle had gone from a technical experience to a personal journey.

It works for Dain. That's him marketing himself, whether he realizes it or not. It carved a niche. How can you forget a car salesman with a shtick like that?

Answer: You don't.

LinkedIn Polls: Do they need to make sense?

I answered it. Even commented on it. All before I realized it contradicted itself.

Is the electric car , the car of the future? Is there another way?

When reviewing the answers, I couldn't pinpoint mine. Who knew how I answered, which makes this poll scientifically sound.

Oh, those questions are tricky....with their open ended mystery and lascivious punctuation marks. When using them in your marketing copy, make sure they are facing the same direction.

So, in hindsight, is there a way to answer this doublespeak poll question? Or is there another way?

Trailer VIDEO: Monumental

Hmmm....

During a youth writing class last summer, a very talented, and equally stubborn, 13-year-old argued her case against history. Specifically, she argued a visit to a museum I had scheduled to take my class that afternoon.

Her arguments?
It's boring.
It isn't interactive.
No entertainment value.

We debated the validity of her claims (I asked her if she believed the bombing of Pearl Harbor was a rather dull story, or if there was simply nothing stirring about Titanic - both major motion pictures). Eventually, she relented to go, especially after I asked her if movies, those great bastions of education, where interactive. And, if so, how theater management felt about her running her hands all over the projector screen.

"You're saying I need to learn to like it," she said.
"I'm saying you've never really experienced it," I answered.

When we arrived, I challenged her to absorb the stories around her. To use it to build upon her writing. To take it in and make it part of who she was, who she would be. To recognize the priceless worth of the stories being told. 

When we left, she pulled me aside, her eyes wonderfully overwhelmed. "I never saw history like that before," she said. "I just never saw it. I'll never look at a museum the same again."

That, my friends, is getting a sweet drip of history on the tongue. And realizing it's far sweeter than imagined.