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.

VIDEO: Can this car commercial boost your business?

Finally. Old men are about to have their day.

They've been patient. Waiting. Holding all those stories to themselves, waiting for the day we sat down on the floor around their feet and turned our ears back to listen.

Meanwhile, our marketing has gone wide and thin. Instead of taking a potential client deep, we took them long. That meant quick Tweets and fluctuating Facebook posts, tossed out like seed in the wind. They spread far, while often never burying much beyond the top soil.

Now Audi has been the first to step up and ask Grandpa to tell us a story. Does it work?

Here's how Michael Staires accurately put it:

Back in 2005, Daniel Pink told us it would happen. He said that the future would belong to the storytellers. I'll bet even ten years ago if the creative director walked into the Audi boardroom and told the directors that he wanted to do a series of ads based on Herman Melville's "Moby Dick," with no references to horsepower or fuel economy or even plush leather seats or stereo system they would have fired him on the spot. How can you sell cars without extolling the features of the car?

You tell a story. That's how.

What can we learn from this? A few things:

1. Moby Dick is a classic.
2. Pretty boys may have outlived their selling power.
3. Audi is a marketing genius.

A good story will get attention every time. Extra emphasis on "good".

It needs to appeal, to enchant, it needs to promote while not selling. It also needs to entertain. If you aren't having fun with your marketing campaign, neither are your potential customers. What we call "professional", which subconsciously we really mean "dry, boring, plainly conveyed, and safe" is often a mistake we make out of fear of trying something new, something no one's seen before, something some will love and others will not. It's a gamble!

But it'll get attention. And the story, even more than glitz, glitter, and online neon, still gets attention.

So what do you do if you don't have a budget for videos? Ah. I'm so glad you asked. You create a newsletter campaign so dynamic, so enthralling, it's a one-page page turner.

If only there was a business copywriter who believed that "business is people and people are stories". Where oh where does one find such a writer?

Tough Job. His. Not mine.

Sat in on a photo shoot with client Mark Sherwood of 4E Fitness at Don Kreutzweiser photography. Was exhausting sitting in that swivel chair watching Mark do pushups. I'm going to be sore tomorrow.

Quote Them: Ah, Lil.

I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific.

Lily Tomlin

99 Ways to Improve Your Thinking

To think better, or even at all, Eddie Morra took a pill.

It worked. Sort of. In Limitless, Morra's skills in critical thinking, observation and problem solving increased, as did his overall troubles. For a chemically-enhanced smart guy, he was mournfully clueless.

So that's one option. Pharmaceuticals. Make sure you read the warning label.

Or, there's one possibility your liver will sit up and kiss you for, as creepy as that might be. And that's creative writing. 

It's great for witty Facebook posts, snazzy Tweets, and that dusty unfinished novel. What many don't realize is that it is also an unheralded, even hushed, protein-serum for the brain. In fact, The University of Georgia now requires all students to pass two Critical Thinking through Writing courses to obtain their bachelor's degree. No matter the major.

What do they know that the public doesn't?

That creative writing is the simplest, surest, as a writer I must also say the most entertaining, technique for critical thinking. It's like Jazzercize for the mind. Or, if you're partial to the Latin culture, Zumba.

During my 99 Ways to Improve Your Creative Writing class, you'll learn how to shake up your mental lags, to razor-wire your observations, to rocket yourself to a new terrain, to see things no one else does, while also discovering an arsenal you didn't know you possessed and the ability to shoot with precision.

Each Thursday night in February, we'll spend two hours learning these techniques and creative writing boons. You'll realize that fresh ideas aren't only for the few creatives in the world. They are available to all.

It starts with learning the technique to step outside of your thinking limitations. Strike that. There are no thinking limitations. With creative writing techniques, you can be limitless.

Enroll now! The class closes in a few days. Contact TCC, 918.595.7200.

The power you're supplying. It's electrofying.

It happened so inconspicuously. One minute the garbage disposal was there. Next minute, it was a silent gaping hole in my sink. When I flipped the switch, the sink stayed mute.

Not good.

Down the street, in the distance where a jackhammer or other such machinery making a jackhammery kind of noise, rumbled against rock and pipe, it also - apparently - rumbled with an electrical line and won. No electricity.

This reality, this stark and frightening truth, hit me where it counted. In my hair dryer. It wasn't going to work. And, because of that, neither would my hair.

Then it hit me in the iron. Meaning a day wearing wrinkly clothes.
And hit me in the heater. Which meant a day of multiple layers of wrinkly clothes.
And the stove.
And the refrigerator.
And the computer.

Dear Father in Heaven, that meant the internet was down. No way to work. No way to produce. Suddenly, my silent house rang with...well...more silence. The clocks didn't tick. The vents didn't rattle. The indescribable and ignored hum of electrical appliances couldn't hum. And, therefore, I couldn't ignore them.

It was anarchy!

Showers were no longer hot. Cell phones no longer charged. A light bulb teased me from it's socket, mocking and leering but never lighting.

I couldn't go on like this. It was too much, too exhausting. Everything was suddenly...dead. I felt useless and impotent. After a long and tedious battle against the nothingness, I succumbed. And gave in to the inevitable future - a life of bad hair, wrinkles, freezing showers, and room-temperature soup. Was there really any reason to go on?

Then, like a trumpet from heaven, my house alarm beeped, the heater kicked on, and life resumed. Electricity was back. Oh the honey of it. Oh the rejoicing. It had been so long. It had gone on forever. Days. Years. A century, even. Or, according to my watch, roughly 40 minutes.

Merry Christmas PSO and all you PSO workers. I love you.

Life of Crime. The difficult years.

Is there really any easy way to make money? Of course there is. You steal it. Yes?

Here's how:
1. Get a gun.
2. Get a victim.
3. Put the two in the same space.

Tada! Easy money. Right? Well...not quite.

Meet Anthony Miranda. He had all the equipment necessary to succeed in his lifestyle of choice (already served time for several convictions and now, at the age of 24, back at it again).
Gun? Check. Victim? Check. Pointing said gun at chosen victim? Check. Choosing a victim who is an ultimate fighter? Priceless.

In the end, Miranda ended up looking like...well...that...along with accidentally shooting himself in the ankle. Where did he go wrong? Who knows. Maybe he never learned to share his Oreo's in Pre-K.

But here's his fatal flaw: he lives without expelling effort. Literally, none. Not only does he refuse to actually be a benefit, not only to society, but to himself by earning his money, he is a terrible judge of character. He refuses to even think. Let alone work. He prefers crime because it requires nothing.

Supposedly.

But does he now look like a guy who is taking the easier route?

Here's the bloody (oops, sorry Miranda) truth: Life takes work. Forget the easy way out. There isn't one. Forget doing as little as possible. What about doing more? What about giving it everything we've got? What about breaking a sweat? What about testing our physical/mental/courageous limits and finding none? Could there be a benefit in living with effort? Could it possibly bring us satisfaction? A sense of purpose? Self worth? Appreciation from our peers? Are we really cool with sacrificing our integrity simply because we're lazy?

Apparently Miranda is. Sadly, his choice is a poor one. And, though he isn't looking very happy now, it's unlikely the heathen will change anytime soon. First, before life will get better, he must accept the premise of true success. That it requires all of us, all from us. All that we have to give. To our fullest. Unabridged. Nothing held back. Until we sweat the exertion and collapse in our beds at night totally spent.

That, my friends, is real success. It's sweet and whole and peaceful.

So what can we learn from Miranda's butt beating? That life without effort is no life at all. Also, never pick on a guy with a mean uppercut.

Meanwhile, until Miranda values his honor, neither will we. Feel free to point and laugh.

Ahhhhahahahah!