No big deal, just words.

In The War of Art, Steven Pressfield recommends offering up an invocation to your muse before you begin writing.

I tried this, but it didn’t work, and I think it’s because my muse isn’t like an Olympian goddess.

My muse is more like my dog.

My dog knows nothing good can come of being called into my office when I’m about to write.

He won’t come to anyone who calls him—not even to me. Like today, he looks at me, wheels around, and heads off in the opposite direction.

All he wants to do is sleep, and he knows he can do that anywhere. Why not go somewhere mellow, in the sunshine, where people don’t need him so much?

If you’ve never met, then you can’t just come up and pat him on the head, the way you might do with a normal dog.

You have to pretend you don’t notice him at all, sit still, and wait for him to come up and sniff your shoes.

Don’t make eye contact until he’s completed his investigation, or he’ll run away and you’ll miss out on the greatest love of all.

It is only once he believes that he alone is the interested party that you may then reach down and pet him, with humility.

Not on the head, please. That’s fine, right there.

You will also be permitted to give him a treat at this time, signaling your commitment.

He can’t at any time suspect you care more than is appropriate for a stranger, or for someone who is about to write in her office.

But once he knows you’re just here to play, then he will be your pal, and you can have great adventures together.

So when it’s time to write, here is what I tell the muse who is like my dog.

An Invocation to Dog

No big deal.

I’m just opening stuff on this little machine and clicking and clacking and letting ideas come out.

And then moving them around so they make sense.

Or deleting them if they don’t.

It’s really not a big deal.

And even if it was, it wouldn’t be up to me.

Since I am here, I might as well write something.

And while I’m writing something, I might as well entertain myself.

Where’s the ball?

This is the only kind of muse invocation that works for me—maybe it will work for you, too.

If it doesn’t, you can also sun yourself on the floor for 2 hours, then wake up and start writing.

Whatever you want to do, you know, I don’t really care.

Commenting policy: If I like your comment, it will be approved. I don’t always comment back, but I will nod my head and tent my fingers and say, Ahhh, yes yes yes. Your comment need not bother with fancy footwear or rational undergarments. But it does need to feel comfortable—both for you to write and for others to read. If it doesn’t feel comfortable, and if I decide I don’t want it taking up people’s brain spaces, I will let it softly float away. Perhaps one day it will return to you, and you can tuck it into bed.

Read all 6 smart comments. Posted by Kelly Parkinson on February 14, 2012.

What to do when clients are waiting for you

(HINT: The answer is not “hurry up!”)

When I was a kid, my stepdad bought an Ooga horn so he could pick me up after school without getting out of the car.

I’d be on 2nd base in kickball, and the Ooooooooga would call me out.

Everyone laughed, but I knew the guy behind the windshield wasn’t messing around. Run. Both. Ways.

One day when the music teacher kept us late, I came out to find my stepdad. He put his hands around my neck and squeezed until I understood I was never to keep him waiting again.

I don’t think about this much. It happened a long time ago. I’ve moved on.

But do you ever notice how you tend to fixate on certain business issues?

Mine was keeping people waiting.

Every deadline was an Ooga horn, but I didn’t see the connection.

My fear of keeping people waiting actually kept people waiting even longer, because I kept having to talk myself down from the fear.

It kept me from creating new products.

In my fear of keeping people waiting, I had created a business that kept people waiting.

What do you do when clients are waiting for you?

I tried getting rid of deadlines. Obviously! But that didn’t work, because then people were waiting and feeling uncertain, so I brought them back.

At this point, I had my a-ha! moment. Saw the Ooga horn connection. Realized I could experiment with this.

Here are the approaches and tactics that worked for me:

  1. No more proposals with specific deliverables. Now we have mutual agreements. I say, “We’re committing to work together for x months, or the equivalent of x hours of my time a month. We’ll meet once a month to plan out what makes sense that month.” Sounds risky, because what if they need to know exactly what they’ll get first, or what if they just want to start with one little thing? For me, having lots of people waiting for a bunch of little things reflected a lack of commitment for both of us. I wanted a handful of committed people rather than 15 people who “just want one or two things.” There is freedom in communicating what’s true for me and what I want, and in giving others permission to say “yes” or “no.” (I learned that from my client, Annette Saldaña.) If my business isn’t reflecting what’s best for me, how can I give my best to others?
  2. Not deadlines, not milestones, but windows of momentum. This isn’t about the work being “on time” or “late.” This is about momentum. Every day, I commit to keep moving. When I’m working closely with someone, momentum is all that matters. It’s how I measure success on my own projects as well. What doesn’t work: Trying to force a solution in response to the fear of waiting. Insights whisper. They need naps. And they’re worth waiting for because they solve so many problems at once.
  3. Build a comfortable reception area. Waiting doesn’t need to feel like you’re on hold at the dentist’s. If someone needs to wait before I’m available, a book sets the stage for our work together, like The Art of Possibility (thanks to Sarah Bray for recommending) or Selling to Big Companies.
  4. Give self way more time than you need—instead of as much time as you hope you need. I avoid self-trickery by waiting until I’m tired to schedule blocks of time in my calendar. Also, new requirement. 1 afternoon nap a week.
  5. Become okay with the worst happening. “I will never have a good idea again, people will all tell each other how terrible I am, and I’ll have to sell hot oatmeal breakfasts to the neighbors.” It sounds ridiculous, spelled out like that. But I also became okay with it. Whatever happens, at least I kept showing up. I can live with that.
  6. Think of clients as sailors who play tennis. My clients aren’t parents waiting in the parking lot, or children waiting to be picked up from school. They’re sailors who play tennis on their ships. I’m the tennis pro who visits, gives tips, and sets up matches with interesting people. Ultimately, they’re responsible for their game. This also helped me manage my time. Four ships a month is a good number for the kind of work I like to do. We can play mixed-metaphor doubles.
  7. Say ”yes” to the opportunity that excites you, even if you’re booked. I was asked to give a writing workshop for a team. I said “no” at first. Clients were waiting for me, I was busy, I’d never given a writing workshop to a team before, etc. But the team and the organization were too cool to resist. It felt right. Best decision ever. Preparing for this workshop opened up a dreamhouse of possibilities for what could happen in my business next.
  8. Close the door to new clients. I’m going deeper with the clients I already have. Doing this has given me space to create the “system of everything,” rather than customizing a new solution for everyone.

People are still waiting, and I am still working on the things they are waiting for, but I am also working on my relationships with people and the things they wait for. And I’ve managed to carve out a bit of time each day to work on this new thing, which won’t have a waiting room or reception area of any kind. (We’ll all be too busy creating and living it up.)

Commenting policy: If I like your comment, it will be approved. I don’t always comment back, but I will nod my head and tent my fingers and say, Ahhh, yes yes yes. Your comment need not bother with fancy footwear or rational undergarments. But it does need to feel comfortable—both for you to write and for others to read. If it doesn’t feel comfortable, and if I decide I don’t want it taking up people’s brain spaces, I will let it softly float away. Perhaps one day it will return to you, and you can tuck it into bed.

Read all 4 smart comments. Posted by Kelly Parkinson on February 7, 2012.

A 10-minute SILENT EDITING DISCO

I went to a SILENT DISCO at a music festival last year. Was I the last person to hear about these? Hundreds of people dancing in total silence, with a silent DJ who looks really into it.

You can hear everything if you put on the wireless headphones they give out. It’s also fun to take them off.

After about 15 minutes of dancing, you’re ready to go.

It’s a nice metaphor for editing.

Editing feels stupid at first. No one knows what you’re doing over there—they can’t hear the music. But they can tell if you’re into the music, and that’s what counts.

Writing is like the secret music in your headphones. Editing is like dancing.

Editing is best in short bursts, and in the right mood. You need to keep it loose, but dance with intention, my friend.

Want to grab a pair of wireless headphones and try it?

INSTRUCTIONS FOR YOUR 10-MINUTE SILENT EDITING DISCO:

Pair up with a friend so you don’t have to dance alone.

Start your dance mix, set a timer for 10 minutes, and start EDITING. But only for 10 minutes.

Then take a nap. (You can only DISCO twice if you take the nap first.)

Use these questions to guide you. Make tweaks, but don’t get pushy. Keep moving. Do the easy parts first.

  1. When you wrote this, did you allow yourself to write 4 pages for every 1 page of copy you intend to use? Or were you trying to force the outcome to happen too soon?
  2. Read it from the perspective of three of your favorite clients, and report back.
  3. Send this to someone who gets you. Say you only want to know the parts that moved them or that sparked their curiosity or excitement.
  4. Did you write this in a bad mood, or from a fearful place? Time to delete. Remove all but one of the explanations you find. And see if you can cut that explanation in half.
  5. Anything else just feel off? Embellishments that ring false, or phrases that sound defensive or aggressive? What’s behind that? (Write about how you want it to feel, but don’t try to wordsmith it just yet. How can this feel true?)
  6. Are there unnecessary words? Sections? Can something be cut & used as a blog post instead? (Are you trying to do too much convincing within the sales page itself, without using other types of content?)
  7. What’s the simpler way to say it? Is that simpler way the truest way for you to say it?
  8. Does your call to action provoke their curiosity?
  9. What’s the one thing you want them to do? Is every element on this page serving that intention, or are you packing it with more stuff in hopes there will be something for everyone? Do you need to break this up into sub-pages or a series of emails or posts?
  10. Did you use bullet points, or did you intentionally not use bullet points? Either way is fine, as long as you thought about it.
  11. Did you do the scanners a kindness by incorporating headlines and bolding places to catch their attention?
  12. Do the headlines make you want to read what’s beneath them?
  13. Does anything in here provoke a “duh…” response from your people, and how can you tweak it so it doesn’t?
  14. Does anything in here provoke a “huh?” response from your people, and how can you tweak it so it doesn’t—without over-explaining?
  15. Are you playing hard to get, or are you falling all over yourself to persuade them?
  16. Does this incorporate insights from customer interviews and testimonials?
  17. Does this take a new approach or say it in a way no one else is saying it?
  18. Is there a clear problem this solution is solving?
  19. Is the problem presented in a way that gives the reader a mini-epiphany about the nature of the problem?
  20. Is the problem something one might actually feel proud to have (or at least RELIEVED to read about, like someone finally gets it?) Or, are you making the problem sound shameful, condescending, embarrassing? Is this a smart-reasonable-intelligent-creative-person problem? Or an unsophisticated-person problem?
  21. Are you pandering to the audience by telling them they’re smart and creative? (As if they don’t already know.)
  22. Where is the surprise, and can we move it to closer to the top? Maybe so it’s the headline? What’s the most surprising thing you can say about this? How could you reverse what’s expected?
  23. Does the first sentence leave them feeling incomplete and needing to know what you mean by that? This is good.
  24. How are your transitions? Does it transition smoothly from one point to the next?
  25. Do the headlines incorporate problems & benefits?
  26. Did you address the most important objection?
  27. Did you cover the benefits they already want—sneaking in a couple they never would have thought of?
  28. Did you give proof points, if possible, for the benefits? Can you track them down–or ask for support?
  29. How do you feel about it overall? Are there parts that just don’t feel like they’re grabbing you, for some inexplicable reason? Like they make sense and they’re correct, but they’re just not pulling you in?
  30. Type-os?

Commenting policy: If I like your comment, it will be approved. I don’t always comment back, but I will nod my head and tent my fingers and say, Ahhh, yes yes yes. Your comment need not bother with fancy footwear or rational undergarments. But it does need to feel comfortable—both for you to write and for others to read. If it doesn’t feel comfortable, and if I decide I don’t want it taking up people’s brain spaces, I will let it softly float away. Perhaps one day it will return to you, and you can tuck it into bed.

Read all 3 smart comments. Posted by Kelly Parkinson on January 31, 2012.