Quote Them: Groucho, wherefore art thou, Groucho

Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.

Groucho Marx

Is your business missing this fundamental ingredient?

People, God love 'em, are great. Yes? You know I love 'em. Unless they run into me with their Wal-Mart shopping carts, then I have only lukewarm feelings.

When people have ideas and stamina and passion and gumption and charisma and heavily-gelled hair, gosh darn it if I don't get thrilled to be a part of making them successful. It's what I do. I give them a voice. I craft their words. And I rarely slip a "gosh darn" in the bunch.

I save the hick slang solely for myself.

In my fury to promote them, I forget an existential need that no business can live without, including mine: self promotion! I promote businesses for a living. Yet I fail miserably at promoting myself.

Who me? Why do you need to know about me? Or what I've been doing? Actually, maybe you do. Maybe you - yeah, I'm looking at you, not literally of course, but go with that uncomfortable thought anyway - need me.

Why? Because, like me, it's time for you to promote yourself.

Here's a mini-story to illustrate my point:

The other day, whilest sitting in the midsteth of a brilliant media client, we hit the subject of self-promotion, namely himself. In half an hour, we had brainstormed for a mutual client and he had shared with me creative ideas tipped in gold.
Oil, that is. Black gold. Texas tea.
When I asked if he shared these ideas through blogging or a newsletter or Facebook posts, he told me a line I hear so very often, "I need to, but when do I have the time?" He went on to explain how his ideas might be stellar (and they are) but communicating them effectively...well, that's a struggle. 
"Ahh," I told him, "if only you knew a great written communicator."

Do I write business copy for his clients? Yes I do! But, just like me, he focuses on them and not on himself. It never occurred to him I could help him, too. That his creative business needed a creative copywriter. That for a fraction of the time it took him, he could farm out the work and get exactly what he wanted without all the strain on his time.

He could focus on what he does best, which makes him money, while I toil away ensnaring new unsuspecting clients for him with words that can weave a spell or a decent bath mat. Partnership in heaven? That might be overselling myself a bit. Let's just say "10,000 feet above sea level" and call it good.

And what does he get? To be promoted! But with style - his. To make a carbon copy of himself, basically, and then upload writing talent into the clone and give the glob a keyboard.

That's not exactly what I am. But I'm close. I'm very, very close.

In a world top heavy with written communication - emails and Facebook statuses and blogs and texts and newsletters and tweets - it's no wonder your typing speed can't keep up.

But I can help.

When the desire for a BB Gun outweighs all else

Oh dear Lord, the birds are back. Must break now and meditate on murder.

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.