Thank You, Part VI

Growing up, I thought my father had the world's most consistent routine. Sure, he had been a reporter in St. Louis and Minneapolis. But by the time I entered the world, he had settled into one career: college administrator. He drove the same two miles every morning to the same building and spent 35 years protecting and bolstering the reputation of the same institution. His commute was so automatic that I would sometimes have to gently remind him that my baseball practice was not, in fact, on campus.

I could easily create the illusion that my own life has been different from my father's--full of uncertainty, risk and volatility. The recounting of life is, after all, editing. Go back to 1989, the year I lived abroad, and cut to the 19-year-old me crouched on a rooftop in Jerusalem, listening to gunfire as the Palestinian intifada burns below. Cut to the next summer, as I haul a soggy backpack down Dublin's damp streets, jobless and homeless. Dissolve to a blizzard on the Indiana Toll Road as I white-knuckle it 500 miles to Minnesota in 1993, my five-speed Isuzu I-Mark stuffed to the roof with two guitars, four bags of clothes and one terrified cat. Cut to the morning of Feb. 4, 2008, as I kiss my wife and son goodbye and head through the back door into a new life with a mortgage, no income and no knowledge of the economic apocalypse just around the corner.

All of this would be true, and yet it would also be a horrible lie. The Jerusalem rooftop was half a mile from the real action, and the events I witnessed were orchestrated every day at 2:00 for the CNN cameras--including the rubber bullets. That summer in Dublin? I was with two good friends, we had beds at a youth hostel, and we found a decent flat (and some odd jobs to pay the rent) within a week. The tense drive to Minnesota? Maybe it wasn't exactly a blizzard, and my grandparents awaited on the other end, ready to house me in their cozy suburban house until I found an apartment.

As for that February morning six years ago, I won't say my first day of self-employment wasn't terrifying (it still feels like the only truly risky thing I've ever done). But I've come to feel the secret forces at work that soften the uncertainties. In fact, I've consistently found myself receiving far more from my clients and colleagues than simple economics can account for. There's the agency that gave me my first Conk Creative freelance project--and has given me work nearly every month since. There's the stalwart client who invites me to employee events as if I'm one of the tribe (and the CEO who let me use his cabin for a writing retreat). There's the colleague who threw me into a meeting with two guys who wanted to make a war movie, then had the nerve to trust me to write it. There's the colleague who not only sends me consistent work, but always manages to pick me up when I go through all-too-frequent periods of self-doubt. And there are too many more to mention in one post.

My father passed away unexpectedly in May, and his death illuminated a life far more intricate and complicated than I could have comprehended as a child. When he died, I expected support from friends and family. What I didn't expect were the comforting words and heartfelt cards from people I work with, some of whom even attended the funeral. I've learned quite a bit in six years of self-employment, but perhaps the most valuable is that clients and colleagues can also be friends. They're the reason I always know that deep down, despite some frightening unknowns, the support around me is real. It's fear that's the illusion.

Thank You, Part V

You're probably friends with one of these people. In fact, you might be one of these people. I'm talking about the ones who get in a car, start driving, and then after five minutes say, "So where are we going?"

I used to make fun of people like this. Then GPS and Google Maps came along, and it was clear that instead of them having to adjust to the world, the world was apparently adjusting to them. They actually had it right. There was no reason why you shouldn't be able to get behind a wheel, know nothing about your destination, and still have every reasonable expectation of getting there safely and on time.

By now, the analogy is obvious. Five years ago, I actually did become one of "these people." Not only do I now routinely enter my car without knowing where I'm going; in a bigger sense, this is how life itself now operates. My father, who had the same steady job for 35 years, used to automatically drive toward work even if he was supposed to be taking you to a Saturday Little League game on the other side of town. If there's an opposite problem, I have it. This morning, I got in my trusty 1998 Honda knowing vaguely what I needed to do for the day, but I started driving without knowing exactly where and how I wanted to do it. (Of course, with me this literal "destination angst" really comes down to "which coffee shop do I want to park myself at for the first two hours of the day?" A first-world problem if there ever was one.)

I've learned in five years that some things about the self-employed life will never change. You'll never know, as a former boss used to put it so well, "where the next dollar is coming from." Even next month. But somehow you learn to trust yourself, and that's the hardest part. After five years, I still wake up wondering if I can really write, or even think. I worry that if I'm totally on the wrong track. That I've just gotten "lucky." That my clients might all go away tomorrow. Or, worst of all, that none of my clients are real, and are actually all part of an elaborate joke being perpetuated by Ronaiah Tuiasosopo.

For someone who helps people hone their own messages, I have a hard time explaining a focus that encompasses everything from concepting movies and TV spots to writing brochure copy about spark-ignited gas generator sets and the impact of federal poverty guidelines on health care reform. And I have a hard time relating a business model that involves one office for marketing and two others for screenwriting. I'm not sure what my son thinks that I do, because whatever it is, it's probably never going to show up as an option on some "what do you want to be when you grow up" worksheet he sees in school. All he knows for sure is that I leave around 8 a.m. and come home at 6 p.m. I started doing that on my first day of self-employment, even though I had nowhere to go and no work to do. I thought I did it for him, so that he wouldn't be scared and think that anything was wrong or had changed with Daddy (see: "projection").

What do I know after five years? That I work for good people who do good things and have a bigger perspective and purpose than just selling widgets to make a lot of money. My only rule is that every client I work with has to pass the following test: Are you a basically rational person? Do you listen? Do you have a sense of humor? What I've found is that people who score a "yes" on all three are loaded with lots of other good traits. And that's what I'm so grateful for after five years. That I have that. And when you have that, other things just seem to fall into place.

After driving for 10 minutes this morning, I ended up today at the St. Paul CoCo (a.k.a. my "second" screenwriting office). I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to write this post. I didn't bill any time or make any money by doing so. But the sun just came pouring through the window, and on the sound system, Paul Westerberg is singing, "I Can't Wait." 'Nough said.

Thank You, Part IV

When I was a kid, I used to sit down one morning every December and read my father's collection of Christmas letters. He started writing them before I was born, so it was a compelling snapshot of a life in progress ... not only mine, but of each member of our family. If you could turn each paragraph written about you into a single image, stack those images like a deck of cards and flip through them, you could see an animated representation of your character, and the pattern and trajectory of your life.

Having entered my fifth year of self-employment, I now have a new "Christmas letter pattern" in the works. I don't mean my own family Christmas letter, which I model closely on my father's. And I don't mean the family photo I take every year in front of our house on James' birthday (that one is to literally create a flip book one day that will show James growing and his parents shrinking). I mean these digital thank you notes that I started writing on January 15, 2009.

Before writing this one, I went back and read the three previous entries. The flip book pattern that I see emerging is a combination of fear, shock and wonder. I will never forget the day (really the middle of the night) when I decided to "go it alone." I will never forget the odd combination of fear and liberation that ensued the moment I handed in my resignation letter a few days later. I will never forget the shock of having people offer me advice, office space, free services, and (most important) paid work in that first year. And I continue to be filled with wonder at where this whole thing is leading me.

As a writer, I should avoid cliches. But I can't avoid the metaphor of walking a tightrope with no net. That's still how this feels, and I think it always will. But rather than using that as an image of panic, I now realize how much that feeling focuses you. With so much at stake, you have to figure out what you can and can't do. Or, to use another cliche, you have to know what you know, and know what you don't know. You have no choice but to leave what you don't know to other people, be as confident as possible about whatever talent you do have, and strike a balance between the two.

Most important, I find new and surprising avenues of gratitude each year. Friends become clients. Clients become friends. And I experience unexpected support for other endeavors (I can't get through this without vaguely referring to "Memorial Day," nee "Souvenirs") that have gone farther than logic or probability would dictate. I sometimes feel that this tightrope has taken me into a strange land filled with the realistically impossible, or the pragmatically fantastic, or some other clumsy oxymoron. And I'd just like to say "thank you" to everyone who has gone there with me, and formed the invisible safety net below.

 

Playing with Type

No, I'm not talking about fonts. I'm talking about taking well-known personalities and letting them play with their image. There are basically two ways to go if you want to entertain: Have them play against type, or have them poke fun at their existing type. I did the latter with Joe Mauer, and this is the new spot for Anytime Fitness that was just released on YouTube today.

Self-Congratulatory Marketing

I tend to pick on certain brands, but it's only because they're ones that I actually "use," so call it flattery by criticism.

Lately, I've observed a trend that I'm calling "self-congratulatory marketing." I walk into Chipotle (as I do, let's face it, at least once a week) and see that the popular quick-serve restaurant is temporarily wrapping its burritos in gold to celebrate its 18th anniversary and promote its mantra of "food with integrity." As part of the effort, you can also pick up a fake, semi-Onion-style newspaper at checkout called The Gold Burrito Digest.

Walk down the corner to Starbucks, and you'll see what that often-ridiculed-yet-still-popular brand is doing to celebrate its 40th anniversary: a refined logo, a Tribute Blend coffee, and CEO Howard Schultz's new book, Onward.

Don't get me wrong: It's smart marketing to use a company anniversary as an opportunity to do something different, attract some earned media attention and generally shake it up for loyal customers.

But there's something about these two promotions that strikes me funny. There's just a little too much "me" in them, and not enough "you." Chipotle is merely drawing attention to its ingredients, but not offering customers anything more (maybe every 100th golden burrito is free?). Starbucks probably thinks that it's rewarding customers by giving them some new product offerings, but there's not a clear sense of, "Thank you for making us who we are." It's all about them.

It's a little like saying to your spouse, "In honor of our 10th anniversary, I'm going to remind you of all the reasons you married me." Really? Is that all?

The Competitive Catch-22

Rather than write a traditional post on this topic, I thought I'd represent the point a bit more dramatically.

[A cold corner office. A CEO turns his computer monitor to face a marketing director, taps the screen.]

CEO: Why aren't we doing this?

Marketing Director: Doing what, exactly?

[The CEO frowns, folds his arms.]

CEO: I explained this when you were hired. When it comes to marketing, I want us to be different, to do things no one else is doing. We need to be pioneers, outside-the-box thinkers. First adopters, not copy cats. Creative. That kind of thing.

Marketing Director: And you think what this competitor is doing is ground-breaking and creative?

CEO: Take a look for yourself.

[The marketing director leans in, examines the work.]

CEO: Well?

Marketing Director: You're right. It's very good.

CEO: Then why aren't we doing it?

Marketing Director: Actually, we talked about it.

CEO: When?

Marketing Director: Ten months ago.

CEO: We did not.

Marketing Director: I brought it to you personally, almost this exact idea. And it had a lot of support. Sales loved it. But then one person derailed it.

CEO: Who?

Marketing Director: You.

CEO: Me? That's impossible. Why would I shoot down an idea that everybody's talking about?

Marketing Director: No one was talking about it back then. You said it was too risky. I think you also said it was, quote, weird.

CEO: Business is founded on risk!

Marketing Director: You said it was unproven. Our policy was "Appropriate Risk," which meant waiting for tangible "proof of concept" in the marketplace before engaging resources.

CEO: Exactly. That's smart policy.

[The marketing director turns the computer screen back toward the CEO.]

Marketing Director: Well, I guess we have our "proof of concept."

[The CEO stammers.]

CEO: You've made your point. Now go and do something just like this.

Marketing: Only different, right?

CEO: Exactly. And then think of the next idea before somebody else does.

Thank You, Part III

About three and a half years ago, while still working at an agency, I did a small side project for a friend. When the project was done, I had to put together an invoice. And this forced me to pretend, just for the briefest of moments, that I was self-employed.

Mind you, this was something I had never actually considered possible or realistic. Aside from "being a lawyer" and "visiting Branson, Missouri, "owning my own business" was, in fact, the one thing I knew I never would do. I was far too risk-intolerant, not to mention pathologically under-confident.

The next thing I remember is typing "Conk Creative" in the upper left-hand corner of the blank word processing document. I did it without really thinking. And then a strange and magical thing happened. You know that movie-like feeling when you meet someone and instantly feel as though you've known him or her your entire life? It was like that.

"Conk Creative." Just like any story or character, it now existed simply because I typed it.

Six months later, I turned in my resignation letter at the agency. Two weeks after that, I woke up with no clients, no income and no clue. It's difficult to describe how terrifying and liberating that felt. And it's almost disturbing to realize how closely related "fear" and "freedom" are on an emotional level. I felt as though a cliche had been proven correct: There's nothing more terrifying and liberating than walking a tightrope with no net.

But here's the thing: Doors have flung open in the last three years that would have remained shut had I stayed ... let's see, what's the real opposite of self-employed? ... "other-employed." What you realize is that you do have a net below you. It's called "family." It's called "friends." It's called "colleagues." Sometimes it's called "complete strangers" and "people you never thought you'd meet."

I haven't negotiated that rope perfectly, and indeed, the real challenge will always be learning how to maintain balance. Today, I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who has broken my fall and gotten me right back on the rope.

3 New Spots for Anytime Fitness

How to Dilute a Brand in One Tag Line

I'm sometimes amazed at the number of times I've encountered a brand that seems to want to work against itself. It often goes back to the element of any brand that is most fundamental to its audience, yet most ignored by its owners: the name.

As a hypothetical example, imagine a company called All Things Gardening. You're called in because the company feels like it needs an image facelift, and one of the first things uttered by the sales director is, "We need people to know that we're about more than gardening."

"But you're called 'All Things Gardening,'" you reply.

"Yeah, but nobody thinks about our name anyway, and we don't want to change it."

If you think this sounds extreme, you're right. But you'd be surprised how close to reality it comes. In fact, every morning when I listen to the radio, I hear the most current version of it ... and not from some regional or Mom and Pop company, but from one of the best-known brands in the world: General Motors.

You know the burgeoning world of hybrid and electric cars? Well, you may be aware that GM is in the process of launching its long-awaited, much-vaunted Chevy Volt. The advantage of the Volt is that it's a plug-in electric hybrid vehicle that delivers the petroleum-based equivalency of 93 miles per gallon. Yet every morning on the radio, I hear the words, "sponsored by the new Chevy Volt: it's more car than electric."

Um, what?

It's pretty easy to connect the dots on this. Some market research group or department presented Chevrolet with focus group data showing that people are skeptical about electric cars, because they assume they can't go as fast, don't offer the same amenities and raise more risk of breaking down on the highway than their catalytic cousins. Therefore, the logic goes, we need to "downplay" the electric aspects of the car. Sure, it's called the Volt, but we need to reassure fearful consumers that this car is okay for them to drive.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. If you're presented with credible data that says exactly that, you don't take a "but" approach, you take an "and" approach. The Volt isn't "an electric car, but seriously, it still performs well"; it's "the most powerful electric car on the planet," "the electric car that packs a punch," "the electric car that gives all the power to you."

People know when you're hiding something; don't make it easier for them. I will soon be in the market for a new car, and you can bet that I'm going to give a lot more attention to the Nissan Leaf (because Nissan is embracing its leadership in electric cars) than to the tentative and under-confident Volt.

A Creative Way to Communicate Brand Position

Proudly releasing the newest Conk Creative production for Anytime Fitness. This one may appear to be about the coolness of the illustration and editing technique. It's actually a deeper effort that starts with serious thought about brand positioning and goes from there.

See what you think and let me know.

Distracting or Enhancing?

I recently came across this very interesting technique for literally animating somewhat dry (though to my mind, very interesting) material.

What do you think ... does the drawing enhance your understanding of the information, or detract from it?

The Customization Catch-22

Once in a while, I encounter one of those "feedback loops" in the marketing/advertising process. These are the little memes of thought that sound good and rational in a meeting, yet in actual execution lead to small inefficiencies at best and huge problems at worst.

The latest is something I call the Customization Catch-22.

The scenario is this: Your company needs to produce some piece of marketing. It could be a trade show booth. It could be a good old-fashioned "sell sheet." It could be a brand-spanking-new website. In the pre-development process, the subject of "customization" comes up. This is usually, but not exclusively, centered on attracting vertical markets. "Let's do something for the financial services types." "Let's show health care companies that we have experience in their space."

That's almost always a good idea. But here's the rub: Often, once you start going down this road, you fall into one of those "focus vs. inclusion" traps that I so love to write about. If you're going to call out technology companies, then why not your higher education experience? Your public sector experience? Retail? Agribusiness?

So you have to call out everything lest you alienate one industry or lose one opportunity. The result: You risk creating the impression that you specialize in everything, which is a logical impossibility. Or you have to create so many separate Powerpoint slides, brochures, etc., that it becomes impossible (and expensive) to manage them all.

I wish I had an easy solution to the Customization Catch-22, but I don't. I think it's more useful to look at it as a symptom rather than a problem. Is it a red flag that your company (and your brand) isn't focused enough? Is it a sign that focusing on vertical markets isn't your best sales strategy in the first place? Is it a wake-up call that you really do need to pick just 3-4 verticals that present the greatest opportunity and not worry about the rest?

Chances are, it's at least one of these. And addressing the bigger picture is the only way to pull yourself out of the Catch-22.

SOUVENIRS Behind the Scenes

Just for fun ... this is a recently produced video showing some making-of footage of my script, Souvenirs (hopefully coming to a theater near you next year).

Focus vs. Inclusion in One Photo

Actually, if you call your business "Pizza and Pasta," you don't deliver variety. You named your business "Pizza and Pasta." By its very nature, your name precludes variety. That's the point. Can I get a pint of Egg Foo Young? No. Can I get three soft-shell tacos? No. Can I get a pizza or some pasta? Yes. Because that's what you sell. It's right in your name.

Introducing the Coalition of Angry Kids

Here's an idea: Find out that September is Childhood Obesity Awareness Month, have a client that's willing to go a little bit against the grain, and produce some TV and radio spots (supported by print ads in People magazine, USA Today and Delta's SkyMiles inflight magazine) all in an effort to attract earned media stories by saying something unexpected and controversial.

It worked. On the national level, Conk Creative's COAK campaign was covered by papers like The San Francisco Examiner. More important, on the local level it led to dozens of local TV stations interviewing Anytime Fitness franchise owners. Still more important, the offer attached to the campaign has so far drawn more than 26,000 takers. That's nearly 30,000 qualified leads with a high potential of becoming members.

Sure, a handful of people were a little miffed by the message. But if you're not offending someone, you're simply not saying anything interesting.

Handshake Watch: Concur

Concur, Inc., you're on notice.

Really, Caribou? Really?

I hate to keep picking on Caribou, but when I see this while standing at the counter, it's hard to resist.

Don't Be Afraid of Specificity, Part II

With apologies to my readers, I'm finding that I can't let go of the "specificity" idea. Ever since I wrote about it last month, I feel as though I've been bombarded by additional examples of the necessity for specificity (say that three times really fast).

The example I've even started to use in meetings ... whether we're talking about products, services or story ideas ... is "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." We all remember the movie, right? It was a huge, global, overnight cinematic sensation. Yes, even I (a movie snob) saw it. Yes, I laughed all the way through. No, I never watched a minute of the spin-off TV series. Now imagine if this conversation had taken place with a studio development executive when Nia Vardalos was pitching the idea:

"It's called 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding.'"
"Greek, huh?"
"Yes, Greek."
"Not many Greeks in this country."
"There are millions, but that's not the point ... "
"Kind of alienating to only focus on Greeks, don't you think?"
"The point is, the movie can apply to any number of cultures."
"Not sure what you mean."
"Italians, Mexicans, maybe even Irish ... they'd all identify with these characters."
"Then why say 'Greek'?"
"Because I'm Greek. I know Greeks."
"But we need to be inclusive. No Irish person is going to see a movie with 'Greek' in the title."
"Sure they will, once the word of mouth spreads."
"Either we take out the 'Greek' or we consider doing different versions for each ethnic group. And that would be expensive."
"You don't have to do either. Trust me, these characters are universal."
"If they're universal, then why make them Greek?"
"Because I know Greeks, like I said ... "
"If Greeks are universal, then why is there anything to 'get to know'?"
"Have you even read the script?"
"Pass. Got anything else?"
"I've got a buddy flick about cops where one guy is super straight and the other one is totally crazy."
"Tell me more ... "

This Is What Brand Confusion Looks Like

It may appear as though I only comment on branding as it relates to coffee companies. Understandable, since it is a passion of mine. The moral of the story here is, if you're going to change your logo, flip a switch. Don't say "we'll do it gradually" or "we'll do cup sleeves in a phase one, and cups themselves in a phase two."

Are You a Philosopher or an Economist?

When I started my personal blog, my fourth post (dated May 1, 2007) was called "Philosophy & Economics." Sounds riveting, doesn't it? Apparently I had been on an audiobook bender, and I had filled my head with, among other things, a history of the great Greek philosophers, and "Freakonomics" by economist Stephen Leavitt. As esoteric as the topic may sound, I still hold to the fundamental idea: Philosophy is about how the world should be; economics is about how the world is.

The question is, are you a philosopher or an economist?

Most people, including entrepreneurs and marketing professionals, vacillate between the two, and this was never more clearly expressed than in a book I recently finished: "Pour Your Heart Into It: How Starbucks Built a Company One Cup at a Time," by Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz. Starbucks started with a philosopher's mindset; it was out to introduce good coffee to the United States--specifically dark-roasted Arabica beans. It's easy to forget now, but before Starbucks, America lived on Brim. (Without Starbucks starting the movement, I wouldn't have the luxury of drinking coffee at superior local haunts like Kopplins.) Starbucks established the coffee bean and roast it thought superior, then, like any evangelist, set out to educate and convert the masses. And it worked. The product was radical at the time. It aroused curiosity and spread by word of mouth, one person at a time. And remember, Starbucks originally only sold beans and coffee-makers. It didn't serve actual brewed coffee or espresso.

Then Schultz went to Italy and experienced the espresso bar. He decided that serving espresso was the logical next step for Starbucks. He faced massive resistance from the company's founders. It was anything but a smooth transition. In fact, Schultz had to resign from Starbucks, start his own company, and then buy Starbucks back. But it happened. Still thinking like philosophers, Starbucks sought to educate the public. It maintained strict parameters on how it served espresso. And it worked, as people flocked to the then-new drink in droves.

But then things got interesting. Competitors started popping up and were more willing to think like economists. They might not have had the same quality of bean, but they were open to doing some things its customers wanted that Starbucks was not willing to do. For example, they served lattes with skim milk vs. whole. Starbucks refused to do so because skim milk affects the quality and taste of the drink. Starbucks customers started to complain. And more important, walk across the street to competitors. Starbucks was caught in the middle between philosophy and economics. It had build a customer base (but not achieved profitability) based on strict quality, but its business plan required massive growth to be profitable. At what point did it need to stop preaching and starting listening? And at what point would that mean selling its soul?

Schultz decided to think like an economist, and Starbucks began allowing skim milk to be used in its espresso drinks. Some people would say this was the beginning of the end for Starbucks; many others would argue that it was the beginning of the beginning.

Much as it's fun to rip Starbucks for all kinds of things (the greatest Onion headline of all time was "Starbucks Opens in Rest Room of Existing Starbucks"), Schultz has by and large managed to navigate the philosopher/economist tempest pretty damn well. He's never compromised on the bean or the brewing, so by being a philosopher, he's managed to beat lower-quality competitors like Gloria Jeans. But by also being an economist, he's profitably introduced frappucinos, Starbucks ice cream and even music into the mix (all the result of customer suggestions or employees' ideas). He sums it up by pointing out that Starbucks will add hazelnut syrup to a drink if a customer requests it, but it will never sell a bag of hazelnut-flavored beans. Believe it or not, that actually makes sense when you read the book.

I do think Starbucks officially lost its way with the introduction of VIA instant coffee ... a case I made in a previous visual post. And of course they've had to scale back in recent years. The company is certainly not perfect. Its reputation has always been more corporate than it views itself, but it has also been a rather exemplary corporate citizen when it comes to employee ownership and health benefits.

It's easy to be a rigid philosopher, but philosophers end up frustrated and bitter because few people think exactly like them. It's also easy to be a free-wheeling economist, but pure economic thinkers ultimately stand for nothing other than making money. What's terribly, terribly difficult is to walk that tightrope and make good decisions that lean one way or the other ... to listen to your audience without compromising your integrity. It's not a terribly sexy idea, and there's no public award for it. But in my book, it's actually the key to real success.