Archives for March 2010

Figured I should explain, since I’ve barely written anything lately.

I’ve been on small rations, computer-wise, for the last few weeks. My laptop (currently an enormous luggable Acer) has been doing downhill for about five months – the F5 key went, hell for web development, then the R key got shaky, both my shift keys are failing, which has forced me to draft EVERYTHING in Word, lest they go and I suddenly be missing capitalization. Then, of course, last week my track pad began to fail on 4/5 start-ups, causing me to resort to using my mouse. All. The. Time.

Now.

Under any other circumstances, I’d have been forced to make do until I could save up. I have on loan a netbook to type on, but that will be going back to its real owner shortly. For the projects I have going on in the very near future the netbook is an unfeasible option.

However, given my newfound love (You Need A Budget), some consultation with both my lovely wife, some fellow earthlings, I looked into Dell‘s options.

Bingo!

Without going into details, I’ll say two things; advice from friends on finances is not evil. Also, Dell’s customer support system is surprisingly awesome – three emails with them took less than three hours, and sometime around April 20th, I’ll be in business with an awesome Studio 17. It’s not the cheapest thing on the planet, but considering the other option is a throwaway laptop that would only last a year to two as my current monstrosity has, overspending to outstrip my needs in so astounding a manner is something I see as an investment in my future productivity. The backlit keyboard helps too.

What does this mean for my projects?

Thankfully, much of the principal writing for Dowager Shadow was done years ago – the writing we’re doing now is fill-in and editing based on beta readers vetting the plot. I expect that with perhaps a few exceptions (which I’ll try to warn people of) the stream there will go off without a hitch.

It does mean I’ll have to be less than scheduled on this blog. Sorry. I’ve made some commitments to projects run by others (I’m guest writing for and promoting three blogs next month and beyond) so I’ve decided to commit myself to the successes of new ventures, largely because of the lack of consequence this blog has at the moment. However, if I fail to post at least once a week, you’ve got my full permission to send hate mail or bash me on Twitter.

So I’ll be around – but until my shiny new toy comes in, I’ll be playing ninja.

A lot of self-help and personal advancement books talk about the utility of showing vulnerability in public. Hiding your flaws is counterproductive, especially for those of us whose business it is to be human above all else. There’s a problem with doing this intentionally, however, because it often comes off as making a claim to an inferiority complex.

“I’ve been a disciple of Brogan for a year,” you tell your clients. “And there’s no way I’ll ever be as good as him. But you’re still picking me, because of his strong influence on my work. A disciple is better than nothing, right?”

Do you have any idea how wrong this sounds?

I’m very familiar with inferiority. How familiar? I’m surrounded by a family of intensely well-educated people, who have staggering achievements compared to where I am now. None of them are famous, per se, but success is inextricably linked with certain measures of notoriety.

Snapshot of my family: My father is a well-respected member of the teaching community, among others, and holds two degrees. My mother is a nationally recognized fabric artist, who once upon a time taught at Red River College. My sister is one of the most intelligent people I’m ever likely to meet, and her husband is a brilliant graphic designer. My wife has forgotten more about art history and European history than you’re ever likely to learn since she got her own degree. My son knows more about physics at two than I did after High School.

What does this have to do with inferiority?

I barely graduated high school, a year late, have struggled with mental and behavioral control issues for most of my adult life, and I’ve only got seven years of work history at nearly twenty-eight. Compared to the half dozen degrees spread amongst my immediate family, I’m certainly the under achiever. But if I weren’t using this as an example, you’d never hear me mention it. Why?

Inferiority is counter-productive.

I’m a media dude. Lots of people I interact with are as well. In order to maintain and advance myself in this space, I need to not only work ten hours per day doing my paying work at Modern Earth, but also (when I’m doing it right) spend three to six hours per day tracking, tabulating, publishing, curating, communicating and cross-referencing the entire web as I find it. This means I work anywhere from ten to sixteen hours a day, on top of maintaining a family.

My business – my personal business, beyond the scope of my job – is to get famous, get respected, and back up that fame with skills far better than anyone else available at my level, no matter what my level is. That’s the shill, right there; I’m here to build my brand. Anything else amounts to telling you about my cat’s day, rather than mine.

Doing your work to the best of your ability is impossible when you’re even the least bit focused on how much better someone else might do it.

That’s the key to the difference between inferiority and vulnerability. If someone in your field is more skilled, you’re vulnerable from a business standpoint only if your prospects can afford the fees that come with the competition’s skill, success, and notoriety.

Does this make you inferior?

Consider it this way. Your competitor – the guy at the top of your vertical – can command a $10,000 per day fee. You, at your best, command $800. Are you inferior because of your fees? Not necessarily; you’re more agile. Businesses which could not possibly afford to shell out ten grand to hear your competitor speak can probably easily afford you one thousand dollar seminar fee. Plus travel expenses.

Another example? Perhaps you have a family member who was the absolute top of her game – a maverick author or publisher. But you? You’re a chef. What’s better, you’re writing a book about cooking. Are you inferior in this task to your family member? I say no, because you know your subject material – and an expert about anything can write far better of a book than a jack of all trades ever could, especially where subject matter is the key to the power of the work.

Claiming inferiority makes an assertion that there is only one kind of social currency: Skill.

Not skill at anything, but skill as a generalized measure of personal worth. This is a mistake so many people make, and yet sociologists study the concept of divergent social currency with hushed awe.

Stop worrying who’s better than you are and start working on making yourself better than you are.

Image by griffithchris.

Imagine you get asked a very simple question.

So you research. You dig in, follow the rabbit hole, and find a few dozen answers the exact question, plus a few more scenarios where the simple question may mean entirely different things based on external circumstances.

But here’s the problem; it’s all wrong.

It’s so simple, and it’s within your specialty, so you immediately assume you know the answer. But, it turns out, the question is deceptively simple – so much so, that you immediately begin to doubt not only the assumed answer, but the veracity of your skill at answering simple questions within your specialty.

The term we use around the office for tis kind of problem is “Analysis Paralysis” – coined by Susan, the SEO Sensei.

It applies to more than simple questions, but they can be a total pain to deal with, because they’re so unspecific that usually they leave a huge amount of steering room. The number of answers you find for simple questions simply can’t be handled without knowing some kind of process for refining these questions.

Like raw ore, the simple question has so much potential, so much possibility untapped that we’re tempted to find shapes in the rock. But by beginning to shape – to find answers – without first refining our understanding of the outcome we’re looking for, and defining our action plans.

How can we do that? By never allowing ourselves to answer a simple question with anything but pointed, directed querries which will help turn the simple question with a huge rabbit hole attached into a wide ditch which gives us only one possible answers.

So, simple question: does this make sense?