Not Writing: Seth Speaks (on The Tim Ferriss Show), 2 of 3

"'Busy' is a trap."—Seth Godin

In his conversation with Tim Ferriss, Seth Godin notes that we can't let "busy" run our lives. Especially when it comes to interacting with our kids and giving them the kind of educational experiences they're not likely to get in school. Public schools these days are so focused on having kids memorize facts so they can regurgitate them on the tests that kids don't get a lot of experience with problem-solving. And that, of course, is the skill they'll need most as adults. Godin says parents should tell their children "I don't care how you did on your vocabulary test. I care that you have something to say." (1:36:00)

Godin also addresses the "busy" trap indirectly, by discussing his own non-work activities in great detail. He works constantly, blogs daily, probably has set in motion more creative projects than ten people—but he also makes time to create while not writing. If you ever want to know how to make honey-oatmeal vodka or artisanal chocolate, this is the podcast for you.

Godin collects cookbooks—and uses them, too. His reason for doing this really resonated with me. Especially when you're working on a long, complex task, he says, "it's satisfying to have a project with a definite ending." (15:00-ish) You cook. You eat. You have fed your soul as well as your family.

Tomorrow: Change-Making and Writing. (Don't miss yesterday's post on Failing and Creating.)

Funny/Not Funny

Whatever your political leanings, I think it's safe to say that this year's campaign is bringing us humor where we don't expect it and some truly un-funny moments when we're primed to laugh.

When the people who want to be president start sounding more like insult comics, can we trust them to govern the nation or will they simply begin a four-year term as Roastmaster-in-Chief?

I can't help but compare this year's crop of political laugh lines to the most famous one to emerge from the 1988 contest—when George H.W. Bush wanted to upgrade from the Vice Presidency. (Spoiler alert: he did.) At the Democratic convention that summer, Texas Governor Ann Richards combined two charges against Bush—that he was elitist and a poor communicator—into one memorable zinger. (Watch it here.)

That, my friends, is great political comedy. While the line might be perfectly at home at a Roast (that is, essentially, one function political conventions serve), it also gets the listener to think about, and laugh about, serious qualities that matter in a president. We want our presidents to understand how the "little people" live. And we want them to be able to communicate in meaningful ways.

When you're crafting a joke, especially in the business world, look at it from every angle. Make sure it's substantive as well as funny. Shows the author or speaker in a good light, and is funny. And if it's for a speech, rehearse the speaker to make sure the funny shines through.

I'll talk more about humor and business in my next post.

Bad taste

An agent I sometimes work with just sent around a notice to his list about a guy looking for someone to ghostwrite his memoir. "This is an incredible opportunity," the agent assures us, "for a writer enthusiastic about the subject matter."

I am not that writer. And I'm having a bit of trouble processing the idea that my agent is that agent. "The subject matter," you see, is organized crime—one particular subset of it. So that "competitive compensation" the memoirist promises? We're safe to assume he didn't get it by selling Bibles to old ladies.

My agent writes, "We expect a huge response from this listing." Of course they do. Gangster books beget gangster movies, TV shows, royalty checks. And let's not forget the bragging rights. You could dine out for the rest of your life on "the time the gangster told me..." But as the writer who sets that chain in motion, how can you separate the stories you're telling from the real people whose lives were ruined (or at least changed, not for the better) by the colorful old man paying your fee?

Yes, it's business. "Just" business. The book will be written, the money's going to go somewhere, so why not be the person doing the writing, or the agent taking in the commission? It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, that's all.

Listen!

You need to present your credentials to a potential client. But if they're in the room with you, it's safe to assume they already know something about your strengths. So what's the most important thing to say?

I once sat through a meeting that the leader of the pitching team started by presenting his and his firm's credentials...for two hours. Literally. (And yes, I literally mean "literally.") No one could derail the runaway train of his mouth - believe me, I tried. The only thing that stopped the monologue was an assistant popping in to see if we wanted to order lunch. Oh boy, did we ever!

In two hours of talking, he never managed to say the six little words that should start any first meeting with a potential client:

What can we do for you?

Say the six magic works and then close your mouth and open your ears. Because how can you serve your clients if you don't know what they want? (Click to tweet)

Many people talk about listening, but few people actually do it. I think that's because it requires a certain level of courage: What if what they want isn't what I want to do? What if it's beyond my expertise? What if I fail? It's a lot easier not to fail if you never articulate a goal.

Listening isn't the only way to win clients - I just think it's the best way. It shows you respect them and their business. It's a great way to build a relationship.

And what about that guy who delivered the two-hour monologue? Believe it or not, the clients actually hired his firm. But they never listened to a word he said.

My turn (and yours)

Maybe a decade ago, my then-partner opened a package at work and found a book. Someone had sent it to her because she wrote about small businesses, and this was a book of advice for businesspeople. Well, for people. And for businesses. But not, she thought, for her audience.

She called me: "I got this book about business. You're a business writer, maybe you'd like to read it."

"Who wrote it?"

"Some guy named Seth Godin." He edited it, she said, from contributions by a long list of people. She reeled off the names, the A-list of business writers: Dan Pink, the speechwriter who branded freelancing as a profession. Malcolm Gladwell, the brilliant social analyst whose work I first found in The New Yorker. And then, amid the who's who of business literati, one name leapt out. Not a business expert - as far as I knew - but someone I'd definitely heard of: My ex. Well, "ex" may be putting it a little too strongly. Someone I had dated after college and since lost track of.

And that's why I read The Big Moo. Not because of the subject, not because of the famous co-authors but because of this trailmix-munching creature I met at an old friend's party in the latter part of the 20th century.

They say you get something valuable out of every relationship. It took a few decades but that post-collegiate fling led me to Seth Godin, and I am very glad for it. I recommend his work constantly, especially to people who believe that "sophisticated" has to mean "complicated," that "smart" and "readable" cannot coexist.

Seth's most recent book, What to Do When It's Your Turn (and It's Always Your Turn), has some powerful things to say about fear and change and action. "Action," for a writer, means writing - something I have done only spottily on this blog, something I have determined to do more of in 2015.

And that brings me to Monday, Day 1 of a challenge to "ship every day" - blog every day for a week. Winnie Kao, the Godin-phile who created it, calls it the Your Turn Challenge. Join me. I expect to learn something about myself. Maybe you can too.

And I quote...

Which is more powerful?

A.
Abigail Adams reminded her husband John to "remember the ladies" when drafting the new nation's Constitution.
or

B.
Abigail Adams didn't just remind her husband John to "remember the ladies" when drafting the new nation's Constitution. She also issued a warning: "If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice or representation."

Many people know the "remember the ladies" quotation. And it's fine, as far as it goes. But look at the primary source (or in this case, the primary source as reprinted on a website) and you find something much more interesting. As far back as Colonial times, women were prepared to disregard laws that disregarded them! [Pardon me while I stop to imagine what history would have looked like if that rebellion had truly taken hold.]

But back to my point: Whatever you're writing, take the time to ferret out the primary sources. That's where the gold lies. (Click to tweet.) In the corporate world, that may just mean a 15-minute conversation with the person you're writing for.

Gatekeepers have their place in the business world - many executives keep impossible schedules and couldn't possibly speak to everyone who wants to claim their time. But if a speech is important enough to make it onto the speaker's calendar, it's important enough to have an interview with the speechwriter.

The gatekeepers may think they know exactly what the executive wants to say - and when it comes to policy and practices, they're probably right. But they can't supply the human touch, the personal touch that makes any communication memorable.

Gatekeepers can only guess at what the principal is thinking, They may know some relevant anecdotes but unless they shadow the exec 24/7, they won't have them all. And the more intermediaries between speaker and writer, the weaker the story becomes. It's like the children's game of "Telephone," where a phrase faithfully repeated down a chain of listeners ends up hopelessly garbled. "We won't obey laws that don't represent us" becomes "remember the ladies."


Interviewing the subject up front will save everyone time on the back end (less rewriting). And the end product - whether speech or op-ed, or just a post in an internal newsletter - will be stronger for it. And you can quote me on that.

Creativity & Focus

I read some very heartening research the other day.  Apparently, scientists wanted to track people's level of distractability.  After all, in the cubicle farms that pass for offices these days, you'd better be able to tune out Muriel's bitchin' from across the row and Joe's fantasy football conversations a couple of partitions to your left.  Given the working environments most companies put their people in, it stands to reason that they would want to hire people who can focus even in the midst of a hurricane.

Those kinds of people exist.  Only problem is, it turns out they're not particularly creative.

I'll pause for a moment while you picture my grin slowly spreading from ear to ear when I read that.

C'mon, you're grinning too, aren't ya?

Let me quote from the essay I read, "Don't Pay Attention" by Jonah Lehrer.  I'm guessing that some version of this essay will form part of his new book Imagine: How Creativity Works; I read it in an essay collection called End Malaria (so named because the proceeds from the book's sale go to a nonprofit whose mission is to...you got it).

Anyway, here's Lehrer describing the results of a test administered to 86 Harvard undergraduates - hardly an underachieving bunch:

"The test was designed to measure their level of 'latent inhibition,' which is the ability to ignore stimuli that seem irrelevant, such as the air-conditioner humming in the background or the conversation taking place in a nearby cubicle....Those undergrads with low levels of latent inhibition - who had a tougher time ignoring unrelated stuff - were also seven times more likely to be rated as 'eminent creative achievers' based on their previous accomplishments. (The association was particularly strong among distractable students with high IQs.)  According to the scientists, the inability to focus helps ensure a richer mixture of thoughts in consciousness."

So that's an interesting problem for Corporate America, isn't it?  Hiring smart, creative people is a laudable goal - but if you want them to stay creative (presumably they'll always stay smart), don't plant them in a cube farm.

Maybe treat them like grownups and let them work wherever it suits them.  It's one of the joys of being self-employed.  That, and having a window next to my desk that I can look out of whenever I please. Though my office isn't a completely distraction-free zone: my cat sometimes snores.

The Adam Gopnik School of Writing

Adam Gopnik may be my favorite living writer.  (If I think about that more I could probably add some qualifying adjectives like "nonfiction" - but why bother?)

One of the reasons I love his work is that he effortlessly links things that really ought not to be linked at all.  His piece on geopolitics in this week's issue of The New Yorker leads not with Kissinger or Spengler but with Paul McCartney and the Beatles.  A few paragraphs later, he even throws in a sly Yoko Ono reference.

You'll just have to trust me on that: The New Yorker has hidden all of this sparkling prose behind its firewall; all you get for free is a just-the-facts-ma'am abstract.  But do whatever you need to do to read the whole article. It's a great lesson in how weighty subjects need not be dull, and how a good writer can lighten them up without dumbing them down.