Studio Non Troppo

Photo: Banana Donuts ~ Half Baked Photography

I’ve been reading some occasional writings by one of my favorite authors, Douglas Adams, and a vague response I was feeling when I reached the ends of a few them has become clearer, at least somewhat.  Adams wrote columns and also had a website in which he would send some of his wonderful, zany ideas out into the world and then, at the end, he would have some kind of cobbled-together, non-really-sequitor paragraph asking, essentially, “what do you think?”

It’s now obvious to me what I think was going on, because I recognize the symptoms in myself. On one hand, Adams had thought up something he liked thinking about, liked stirring around in his mind, and gotten himself to sit down and hammer the thing out, maybe revising a bit, maybe not. He complained constantly about writing but was drawn to it inexorably, too. So this bit, the part about having an idea, and playing with it, and then sitting down and writing about it, seems familiar to me.

I don’t think Adams was a greedy man; it’s not as if he would only agree to write something or send it out over the airwaves if he were guaranteed huge payments in return. That’s not how “play” works. At the same time, he wasn’t just interested in reading his own words…or in forcing people to read his words. I think of what he did as more like spontaneous, playful sharing, like an impromptu dance (I know this completely overlooks the whole editing aspect).

On the other hand, add to this, in the case of his columns and his website, which was an early attempt at this sort of thing, that Adams was looking in these cases for some back and forth. Some conversation. His H2G2 site was really trying to build an online community, as far as I can tell. And that’s where the “what do you think?” paragraphs come from. He was struggling with the ignition side of a conversation. Struggling in part because it was like a pick up line in a bar, uttered to someone he didn’t know personally but felt he wanted to know. Struggling also because it wasn’t part of the playful playing with the idea that had generated the rest of the column. So it was like this: spontaneous, impromptu dance, followed by feeling a need to deliver a pickup line to someone we don’t know but think we want to be talking with.

I recognize this now, because it is my experience with blogging. A little impromptu dance (in my mind at first, as an idea), and then it meets the constipating influences of my “responsible adult” brain and my “I’m trying to have a conversation” brain.  The “responsible adult” brain is the atavistic guilt telling me that I should be doing something “useful” or “productive.” The “trying to have a conversation” brain is my loneliness in not having more impromptu dance partners, more bizarre and brilliant half wits and one-and-a-half wits around, responding to the clearly nutso world we inhabit (frequently wonderfully nutso) by dancing at it. So that loneliness, with the carrot/used-car-salesman con of “the blog is the solution to your existential orange alert,” leads me to try to public-ify my dance, write it down in a blog entry, and close with “what do you think?”

I’ve had some generous commenters on the blog, who have made feel less silly about sending out so many pickup lines, but, and I guess I’m pretty slow to pick up on these things – shortcomings I’ve heard people talking about for years and have probably even pontificated on myself – the online world isn’t doing it for me, as far as the dance partners go. For a while, I tried to get myself around that by making an effort to find other people’s online dances, but it was still a pretty hollow feeling. I love all the context that comes from being in the same room, on the same physical dance floor, as another person. Text alone, graphics, audio, video – they don’t cut it for me.

Trying to use a computer screen as a window to the larger world sounds great, but I don’t want to be limited to making up the context for the characters I spy through that window. I’d rather be dancing in person, with people. My favorite writers make me feel that way, oddly enough. It’s lower bandwidth than my computer; it’s even completely asynchronous in that some of the writers, like Douglas Adams, aren’t alive today. But the writing can still make me feel (is it just imagining?) that Douglas and Doug would be, could have been, are, partners and friends.

I’m not going to write a “what do you think?” paragraph here. I’m not sure what I’m going to write next, or whether. It’s tempting to write, “so long, and thanks for all the comments.”

But I won’t. Or at least I’ll write this little bit more to say hmm, this whole thing sure is a tough nut to crack. I did enjoy this little chat (thanks, Douglas). Who knows what’ll come next? (That’s a rhetorical question. Don’t fall for it.)

Photo: MShades

When there’s more of something in one place than there is in another, that discrepancy can be a resource. The water at the top of a creek has more potential energy than the water at the bottom of a creek, and that’s why a water wheel can do something useful like mill grain. Or if you have fine silk fabric and the people around you only have coarse or low quality fabric, you may be able to exchange some of your high quality fabric for food or something else you would like. We’re used to thinking of benefits and value together.

But inefficiency and waste can also be resources in some cases. Lawyers benefit when two parties cannot come to an agreement on their own. Matchmaking websites make money in addition to matches because the process of finding a good partner for a relationship is rarely straightforward. The stock markets have built-in inefficiencies: they’re known as commissions, and stockbrokers don’t seem to mind them.

In thinking about how you’re trying to earn money with your business, have you considered how to leverage inefficiency and waste? Some of the strongest solutions to tough problems don’t just ameliorate failures; they use failure as a resource.

The only reason to travel is to do something that you can’t do unless you make the trip.

This is verging on a tautology, but some tautologies can be useful anyway. This one works like this: if you could get what you wanted or needed without traveling somewhere else to get it, you wouldn’t travel. You’d just stay home and get it.

If you just wanted an update from your manufacturing director in Belize on the production rate of your carbon nanotube umbrellas, you’d email from home. Getting the information doesn’t require you to drive to the airport, park, fly down to Belize, take the water taxi to Caye Caulker, walk down the beach until you found a suitable $18/night cabin, stow your stuff, walk down to the Split at the other end of the island, and meet your manufacturing director over a glass of rum and lime juice.

But you wouldn’t get that reassuring smile (or the taste of distilled sunshine) by staying at home and emailing, so that’s why you go.

It’s very easy to get mixed up on what constitutes the “ends” and what are the “means,” but it helps to take a minute and honestly consider, “what am I about to do here?” and “why?” It’s the only way to appreciate the trip.

Here, in no particular order, are three technologies I really appreciate. I admit I use the word “technology” broadly.

1. The candle

It has no moving parts (not counting the flame), and it contains its own fuel. It’s not a case of overkill. Dropping a candle might dent or break it, but the candle will still work. The light it produces is soothing.

2. The sidewalk

Again, no moving parts. It generally adds to the safety of being a pedestrian. Crack a sidewalk and it’s still a sidewalk.

3. Life

Plenty of moving parts. Quite a talent (though not unlimited) for self-healing. Predictable enough to reward those who observe and think; unpredictable enough to humble, thrill, and amuse those who observe and think.

OK, now how do most technologies stack up to these? They are frequently complicated in such a way as to make them extremely sensitive to jostling and bad inputs. Drop an iPod, and it won’t be an iPod. Leave out a tiny semicolon from that line of code, and watch the program crash.

Very few technologies are transcendent. Most are fussy.

As members of a CSA (community supported agriculture) program in Albuquerque called Los Poblanos, each week (or two, depending on what we want) we pick up a box of organic fruits and vegetables from them. Occasionally, due to travel or a full crisper drawer, we need to change our box pickup schedule.

The Los Poblanos website had a form-based way to change the pickup schedule. Or that’s what I think it was. It was a typical implementation of a typical technology to make a typical task possible.

Went I went to the site recently, though, their web designer had decided to put some more time into the interface, and this was the result:

With this version, I saw a representation of when my boxes were scheduled, and I could make the change I wanted easily. I hadn’t felt that the old way had been a problem, but when I experienced the new way, I realized why I liked it so much better.

The old interface was designed according to what a computer finds easy to do.

The new interface was designed according to what I find easy to do.

Spend a few minutes today looking at the implementations of technology around you. I guarantee you’ll find examples of person-ignorant design. What should the design have looked like instead?

It’s not the scarcity of money or time or knowledge. The real barrier to entry is uncertainty. If you knew that what you were trying right now would work eventually, you wouldn’t fret about spending your money or time. But unless you’re very good at practicing non-attachment or are the gambling type, that’s not how it feels.

It’s tough, not knowing if your work will create the outcome you think you want.

Photo: kwerfeldein

There’s a greeting card that asks (paraphrased), “what would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?” There’s a problem with these encouraging words, though (or with this platitude, depending on what mood you’re in):

Without uncertainty, most endeavors would become unbearably boring.

Ellen J. Langer has remarked that golf wouldn’t be much fun for long if you knew every shot would be a hole in one. Now that may sound like one of those annoying comments about lottery winners – “they were much happier before they won.” Yeah, yeah, we think. Just let ME win, and let me find out for myself whether I’ll be less happy.

But we don’t have the choice of eliminating uncertainty. Our perception that we could is illusory.

The only way through the barrier is to act even though we’re uncertain.

Photo: James Jordan

It used to be the “mailing list.” Now, it’s generally just called “The List.” Building and maintaining your List takes time, especially if you’re aiming for 10,000+ list members.

I find it helpful to have reminders at hand as to what I’m doing and why I’m doing it when I’m working on a long-term project, so here are four properties of a list that I hope will help you keep on track when building or maintaining your own List:

1. The List is a form of capital

Your list is a resource, but don’t think of it as a consumable. It generally takes other resources (time, at the very least) to build the list, and some ways of building a list are more expensive than others. If I offered to paint a wall-sized fresco of the Albuquerque downtown skyline (actual size) for anyone who will sign up on my list, I’d run out of time, money, and the willingness to look at the Albuquerque downtown skyline long before I had a list built.

Alternatively, if I gave away a PDF file with blueprints of my own design for a 1/20th scale model of the Duomo in Florence in exchange for a signup on my list, I’d have much less work on my hands. After I’ve put together the PDF, there’s no more effort involved in providing 20,000 digital copies than there is in providing 20.

Once you’ve built your list, it has an intrinsic value, regardless of how much effort went into building it. At that point, knowing how much time and effort was required to build the list, you will gladly put in the time needed to maintain your list capital.

2. The List is principal – don’t fritter it away

This goes along with the non-consumable nature of the list. Don’t sell out your list, and don’t squeeze the list for money. If you do, some members might still buy something from you, but they won’t like you for it, and they’ll leave. Instead, by providing value to the members of your list on an ongoing basis, you can expect to receive dividends in return. It’s a longer-term outlook. Think in terms of mutual benefit, and you’ll do well.

3. A business is made up of relationships, and that’s exactly what The List is

Selling a single product can bring some income, but getting orders for a product isn’t nearly as important as getting re-orders. If you’re getting re-orders, you have a business. And the only way to get re-orders is by building relationships. That’s the heart of the List idea.

4. The List isn’t a community in itself

Through your list, you have a relationship with each member. In general, however, the list members don’t have direct relationships with each other. Now if you work at it, you can bring some of the trappings of community to your list, by sharing selected members’ comments and questions with the rest of the list, for example.

There are different community/list mixtures available if you want to experiment. A blog with comments enabled will still have you at the center of the discussion, but participants can relate to one another directly through the comments. A discussion forum that you moderate would be still more community-focused. Besides the limits on your time, there’s nothing to keep you from building a list, running a blog, and moderating a discussion forum if you want to.

What questions or concerns do you have about building a list? Are they “why” questions, “how” questions, “when” questions? Or maybe “whether” questions? Please post your comments by clicking on the “Comment” button or in the comment window below this post. If you’re reading this post through an RSS or email feed, please stop by the studionontroppo.com site and share your thoughts. I look forward to your comments and questions!

Photo: greefus groinks

If there’s one thing that’s easy to do these days, it would be to sell exclusive information on how to make money online. There are a few requirements:

1. a good sales letter

OK, so maybe there’s only this one requirement. [Cue the laugh track]

Now, chances are you are not currently selling exclusive information on how to make money online.  Instead, you may be interested in setting up a business to make money online.  If this describes you, and if you’re considering purchasing a book or program to help you set up such a business, caveat emptor!

But let me elaborate.

You generally don’t have to worry that you might be swindled, that your credit card will be charged and you won’t receive anything in return. This really isn’t a common problem, especially if you’ve done your homework and looked at what people have to say about the products and companies you’re considering.

No, what you need to beware of is this: the product you purchase will probably have a lot of accurate, hard-won, insightful information, but you will feel overwhelmed by the prospect of actually implementing it.

You know intellectually that if it were really that easy to be making an income online, everybody would be doing it, so it can’t be that easy.  But a well-written sales letter can suspend your reservations, making you want to believe its claims.  In addition, if you go ahead and purchase the product, you may be convincing yourself in a mysterious, semi-conscious way that it will be easy for you to implement the program and that your success will be immediate.

But it won’t work out that way.

Instead, when faced with the twin realizations that 1) the product you paid for contains valid information, and 2) you don’t have immediate (read “instant”) success, you may decide it’s not possible for you to make money online, leading you to give up.  You’ll find yourself rationalizing that this project is just too hard.

That’s the emptor I’m talking about: you thought this was going to be easy (you’re not thick, after all!), but now you believe it’s too hard, and you are disheartened.  This feeling is really what you have to beware of.

What to do?

Consider this important, but often overlooked psychological truth: other people’s achievements can seem impossible to replicate when you are not privy to the individual steps they took to get there.

Social psychologist Ellen J. Langer describes this effect in her book Mindfulness:

Our judgments about the intelligence of others can be distorted by an emphasis on outcome. In an informal inquiry, my students and I asked people to evaluate the intelligence of scientists who had achieved an “impressive” intellectual outcome (such as discovering a new planet or inventing a new drug). When the achievement was described as a series of steps (and virtually all achievements can be broken down in this way), they judged the scientist as less smart than when the discovery or invention was simply named. People can imagine themselves taking steps, while great heights seem entirely forbidding. (p. 76)

The task before you was claimed to be easy but then felt impossible. By looking at it afresh as a process requiring a series of steps, and by using failure well, you can regain the confidence you need to get to work.