Slaying Unicorns

Fuck Glory – Startups are One Long Con

I’m in my early 20s. Startups seem to be the only way out of 40 years of mediocrity in TPS-land for me, so I don’t really think I have much of a choice. It’s startups or nothing for me.

Or maybe I am being myopic? Are there more options to be had in life than mediocrity/wageslavery vs glory/startups?

— Random HNer

Startups are glorious! So raw, so close to the bone, so mettle-testing: 100-hour work weeks, sleeping under your desk, ramen, putting it all on the line, changing the world.

You know what else is glorious?

Glory.

“Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori,” is one of the most famous lines from Horace. You’ve probably heard it. It means “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s fatherland.”

Here’s another one — drawn from Plutarch, allegedly said by Spartan women to their sons, as they gave the boys their shields before battle:

“Come home with your shield or on it.”

Come home with your shield — honorable, glorious — or die, for you will be without honor, and without glory.

Ancient times were all about glory. Glory’s not so big any more, but it used to be huge.

Glory was a way for fat old statesmen and generals, who never saw battle, to tempt young men to die by proxy for politics and petty schemes.

When glory failed to tempt, it was used to taunt, disdain, and guilt.

Or, as jwz puts it, “trying to make the point that the only path to success in the software industry is to work insane hours, sleep under your desk, and give up your one and only youth, and if you don’t do that, you’re a pussy.”

It’s about fucking time we talked about the fact that the worship of glorious death, and the startup mythos, are the same damn thing.

Every fucking time you see somebody using glory to hagiographize young men & women who are doing something clearly stupid, you must ask:

What is this raft of shit, and why are they trying to get me to paddle it?

And make no mistake, bartering away your “one and only youth” (jwz again) working 100-hour weeks on a web site for the promise of a big fat carrot on the end of a stick 80 million lines long, dangled by a fat statesm–venture capitalist, who will make 3x or 10x or 100x more than you, in the vanishingly unlikely scenario that you “succeed”… is clearly stupid.

So what are the motivations of the people pushing glory — pardon me, startups?

Money. Follow the money. They want a piece of you. Investors have to have projects to invest in.

The more kids who buy into the crazy dream, the more racehorses the venture capitalists can bet on, the more little soldiers the VCs can set on the board. The harder those kids work, the more theoretical chances the VC has that of one of his many investments making it big.

The harder those kids work, the less they question.

Post-hoc justification kicks in the more pain you inflict on yourself — because obviously, if you’re so terrible to the person closest to you, you’ve got a good reason, right?

It must be worth it, right?

I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell.

— General William Tecumseh Sherman

Remember, if you question it, you’re a pussy. Startups are hard. So work more, cry less, and quit all the whining.

You’ve got no fucking shield so you might as well lay down and die.

Who are these crazy fuckers who say these things? What the hell do they get out of it?

But wait! Questioning a speaker’s motivations is an Ad Hominem Fallacy! Paul Graham says so in How to Disagree.

Oh, he did, did he? I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but isn’t that nice and pat?

As someone who has certainly studied rhetoric more than Paul Graham the Instant Expert, let me assure you:

Questioning a speaker’s motives is not only not a fallacy, it is a sign of healthy debate.

Otherwise you’re a wide-eyed sucker just waiting to be taken.

It’s especially critical to question the motives of the speaker whenever he urges you to glory, by tempting or guilting — and whenever he tries to sell you his religion.

You must be sharp, questioning, alert. You must be on your guard.

Inevitably — without fail! — those who sell glory, who sell religion, who sell noble wars, will not be in the trenches with you.

And that, my friend, that is all you really need to know.

There is no Mojito Island. There is no pot of gold at the end of this evil rainbow of suffering. There is no Asgard. There are no 70 virgins.

When you die, however sweet and fitting, you are dead. As the Roman poet Marcus Valerius Martial wrote, “Glory paid to our ashes comes too late.” Glory paid to the ashes of your days, burnt and gone, comes too late.

Fuck glory.

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori:
mors et fugacem persequitur virum
nec parcit inbellis iuventae
poplitibus timidove tergo.

How sweet and fitting it is to die for one’s country:
Death pursues the man who flees,
spares not the hamstrings or cowardly backs
Of battle-shy youths.

Hi, I’m Amy. Like this? You’ll like the rest of what I’ve got to offer: philosophy, tough talk AND practical information on what to do about it. Follow me on Twitter or Subscribe so you don’t miss anything important.

Money / Selling / Slaying Unicorns / Thinking like a Slayer — 4 Comments
18
Oct 10

When Selling Turns You Evil

Does selling make you evil?

Am I evil? Wicked? Slightly naughty?

Well, am I? Some certainly would have you think so.

There’s a lot of people out there who think commerce is evil. The exchange of money for goods and services? Yep, evil. And inherently manipulative. That’s what they believe. It doesn’t matter whether there’s “undue profit-seeking,” or the rude exploitation of information asymmetry. It doesn’t matter whether the seller has some kind of power or edge over the buyer. It doesn’t matter if the seller is the tricksiest, slickest snake in the grass, or the world’s most honest downhome folky grandpa.

Commerce = EVIL. That’s what they believe.

Yep. Lots of people are doing the believing. And an awful lot of them are “in tech.”

Then you have me. I’m not only selling things (gasp!), but I’m selling things that teach other people how to sell things (double gasp!). I’m the meat puppet of mass consumerization! Me = double plus ungood evil. Right?

Anti-Cinderella Syndrome

Now, maybe you don’t think that Commerce = EVIL. Or at least, not so strongly that you’d admit it. You probably don’t think I’m evil, since here you are, reading my blog. (Unless, of course, you’re keeping your enemies closer. In which case, let’s snuggle!)

But I do have a question for you, because there’s something I like to think of as Anti-Cinderella Syndrome, and I see it all the time in otherwise smart, clever, intelligent, thoughtful, and creative people.

If you would be so kind, finish this sentence for me:

I think I could create some awesome products, or have created awesome product-like things already, but I’m afraid of setting a price and selling because…

A. I’m scared people will laugh at me, and/or hate me

B. I’m scared I’ll do it wrong, and screw up my business

C. I’m afraid that, as soon as money enters the equation, I will become obsessed with profit, damn the consequences! I will do all sorts of immoral things. I won’t be able to stop myself. I will lose my soul, doomed to become an evil marketer. The primrose path, you know! The primrose path!

If you felt more than a passing familiarity with Option C, then fret not: you sure as hell aren’t alone. And no, you wouldn’t become evil overnight. In fact, you are very moral. That’s the source of the whole quandry, isn’t it?

Because, in reality…

You Have Anti-Cinderella Syndrome

At some level, you believe that putting on a set of shiny glass slippers would transform you into a different, slicker, eviller person.

Or rather, you believe that that evil manipulation-ness is already hidden inside you, just waiting for the right set of glitzy huaraches to set it free.

There’s something about money — or specifically, profit — that makes you worry you’d turn all green and slimy.

Luckily, that fear? Not based on reality. And there’s an easy way to ensure that particular grim fairy tale never comes true.

Curing ACS

The cure for Anti-Cinderella Syndrome really is simple:

Do good. If you have Anti-Cinderella Syndrome, you’ve got strongly held ethics. Maybe you hold your ethics strongly because you’re concerned about them. But the point is, you have them. So stick to them. Create a product that reflects those morals — create immense value. Help people. Create something that leaves the world better than it was. It’s not that hard.
Make your mission bigger than selling your product. Take your good product, that leaves the world better than it was, and ask, “What’s the Bigger Thing? How does it help people?” That good result and make that your mission. If your fervent mission is to ensure that good result for everyone, including your potential customers, you will never have to worry that you’ll steer them wrong.

I Do Good, My Mission

I didn’t pull this out of my ass — it’s the philosophy I’ve developed while trying to run my own businesses in the most ethical way possible.

Here’s how I figured it out:

Do Good: My products do a lot of good — I help freelancers earn more, and make better decisions; I help people make their web apps faster, and learn new skills; and, last but not least, I help people like you create, launch and sell their own products.

The Bigger Thing: Foster (and encourage) healthier, happier, smarter indie biz.

Ergo, My Mission: Help people kick ass with their small businesses.

My mission is to help every indie biz I come in contact with. That makes it easy for me to navigate any dilemma: When a person has a problem, or wants to know if my products are really for them, I don’t have to worry about whether I want their money or not. I give them the answer that will help their small biz the most. Even if that’s a “No, this doesn’t make sense, please take your $700 elsewhere.” Or even if it’s “You know, your needs are really more suited for our competitor.”

It’s crystal fucking clear.

There, dilemma solved.

The Bottom Cinderell-y Line

If you create a product that’s good news, people will be glad to hear about it. Your audience will love to find out about it, buy it, use it. (Except for a tiny portion of haters, who don’t buy anyway.)

And if your mission is larger than “move product,” then you’ll have a nice and easy ethical guideline to follow. You won’t have to wonder, you’ll sleep like a baby, and again, your customers will be happy.

Also, little woodland creatures will be your friend.

The end.

Want to learn how to create and sell products in a happy, woodland-creature-loving, ethical way? Dream about quitting freelancing for the green fields of product-hood? My 30×500 Launch Class is filling up, so be sure to check it out!

5-Second Slayage / Copywriting / Slaying Unicorns — 1 Comment
31
Jul 10

Trying to sell Nourishing Gruel?

Yum! I'm getting hungry just looking at it.

Enjoy this time-honored recipe, beloved of new business people:

Take 1 awesome, adjective-rich person. Drop into a bowl of potential customers.
Fold in a generous dollop of desperation
Toss in any other ingredients you have on hand.
Puree until bland and consistent.

Serves 4, but don’t expect ‘em to get excited about it.

On paper, Nourishing Gruel has the broadest appeal of any food: it provides perfectly adequate sustenance. It has no flavors or textures that could offend any palate. It is perfectly un-objectionable.

Which, naturally, is the reason Nourishing Gruel’s got top billing on the menu at your favorite restaurant. Thank you sir, may I have another? Right?

Whaddaya mean, you don’t like flavorless slop of indeterminate texture?

Nourishing Gruel in Action: Nervous Fashion Designer Edition

I ripped the following lines from would-be fashion designers hoping to charm their way into the Garmz marketplace. All four are about dresses, all four desperate to get their fashions manufactured and their dreams fulfilled.

But that’s where the similarity stops.

Can you tell the Nourishing Gruel from the real dish?

Exihibit A: For every stylish girl from 20′s to 30′s who wants to look sophisticated and classy.

Exhibit B: A fresh girly look with a modern edge to it.

Don’t think, just pick with your gut: Which one is the real dish?

Exhibit C: A dress made perfect for summer by airy canvas and light blue gradient lines.

Exhibit D: Perfect dress for various occasions.

Everybody Tastes

Maybe you can’t tell a USP from your own left butt-cheek… but you should be able to tell that Exhibit B and C are very, very different creatures from Exhibit A and D.

They feel different. Not necessarily better. But stronger, more real.

Broad Appeal… or Too Boring to Live?

Nourishing Gruel is mush. You can’t do much with mush. It doesn’t give you anything solid to either grab onto, or push away. It just leaves your fingers all goopy and gross.

Real dishes, on the other hand, have flavors and identifiable ingredients… a texture, and taste, that you’ll either love or hate. Real dishes are packed with meaty nouns and limber adjectives, all the better to sink your teeth into.

Real dishes are detailed enough for you to form an opinion.

Change the Recipe

If you’re afraid your product will appeal to nobody, then, well, it’s only natural to try to broaden its appeal as much as possible to ensure you get somebody. Sadly, this results in Nourishing Gruel.

You think you’re widening the net, but in fact, you’re just enlarging the holes.

You wouldn’t buy it, so don’t try to sell it.

Stick your neck out and offer your customers something real.

Have you been battling the Gruel?

What techniques do you use to avoid it?

Have you seen any great Gruel examples lately? (Or counter-examples?)

5-Second Slayage / Pricing / Slaying Unicorns — 27 Comments
26
Jul 10

A Simple Rule for Pricing Newbs Who Got The Fear

Double rainbow! Double dip! Double down! Double Plus Good! It's so beautiful I'm gonna cry. (cc jermudgeon)

Do you want to earn more money? Do you like nice, hard-line advice that you can easily apply without sitting down and having a cup of herbal tea with your feelings?

Because for once, I’m not going to faff about trying to teach you the True Nature of Value. That’s another post. Series of posts. And I want to be sure you’re ready.

Today it’s just you, me, and a simple rule that you can apply today, without thinking, to improve your profits.

Here’s the One Simple Rule. Are you ready? Reaaaaaady? Wait for itttt… drumroooooll…

Double. Your. Price

Yep: Double Your Price.

Take the price you feel in your gut is right… and double it.

There you have it: a simple, clear, no-room-for-wiggling rule that will help you dramatically increase your profits.

Why does it work?

It works because you’re a Pricing Newb Who Got The Fear, and because you must start with the price you feel in your gut is right. That part is key.

You’re a Newb. Your gut is uneducated. Your gut cannot be trusted.

Your price-uneducated gut is more afraid of scaring people off than it’s scared of having shitty profits. Just like your statistics-uneducated brain is more afraid of dying in a plane crash than a car crash.

Therefore, the price your gut comes up with will be extremely low, unhealthily low. Probably by half — or more. Ergo, doubling will restore you to pricing health.

Case Study: Me

But, unlike many business bloggers, I’m not just speculating based on what I read other people do. I experiment on myself first.

As you might know, I wrote me a little ebook once upon a time.

We originally sold the beta version of JavaScript Performance Rocks! for $19, to the intersection of people who were both Early Adopters and Had A Coupon. A few people without a coupon paid $25.

When the book came out of beta, we raised the price. My original plan was to bring the cost up to $29, a modest raise of $5.

But I had educated my gut about price in the mean time, and instead, I womanned up — raising the price to the incredibly lofty $39.

In other words, I doubled the price.

And the results?!?

Now, this is not scientific to the third decimal place, but… I just divided our total income by the number of sales, and come to the conclusion that the average price for each sale was $29.

Working backwards with the other statistics, I found that:

approximately 42% of all sales were at the beta-only price
approximately 57% of all sales at the highest price.

Did sales slow down after we raised the price? Well, yes, compared to the launch price, we sold fewer copies per month on average, although not by much. A higher price will do that to you (except in those weird times when it increases your sales!)

But raw sales are meaningless to a self-published girl like me. The real question is: Did doubling the price hurt our profits?

In a word: no. In fact, high price sales sooooooo didn’t hurt our profits that…

High price sales generated 75% of our income with only 57% of total transactions

That laughter you hear? That’s me, on my way to the bank.

I rest my case.

And I repeat: Double. Your. Price.

What are you pricing?

What type of thing is it? Who’s your audience? Do you Got The Fear?

Talk to me.

PPS — Love tough love? Then you’re gonna be in heaven when you click that Subscribe button, buddy. Or subscribe by email. Or, heck, be like the cool kids and follow me on Twitter for even pithier advice.

Hard Work / Productivity / Slaying Unicorns — 16 Comments
19
Jul 10

Happy Burnout

It’s Happy! It’s Burnout! It’s… Happy Burnout! (cc sizumaru)

I love the controlled chaos of entrepreneurship. I love writing, marketing, scheming, reaching out to people. I’m a pop-outta-bed kinda girl, always looking forward to the big adventure.

Except lately.

Lately, there are days when I just can’t muster up the energy to choose what to tackle. Lately, when I sit down to write, it feels like a funeral dirge, not a jig. Lately, there are days when I can’t stomach the idea of adventure at all.

The confounding thing is, everything’s going so well. I could barely ask for more. I’m electrified, joyful, and glad… and very clearly burnt out.

Yes, folks, that’s right — I’ve got a bad case of Happy Burnout. Burnout caused by, as it were, an excess of awesome.

Happy Burnout Happens

As a stoic workaholic, believe me, I know burnout. Burnout knocks me on my ass, makes me wanna scream “screw you!” to the world, drop all obligations and go into hiding.

But not Happy Burnout. Happy Burnout looks different, and feels different.

Any questions? (cc mike9alive, curt deatherage)

Burn yourself out on things you love, on intrinsic motivation rather than external obligation, and the core symptoms will be similar — listlessness, disinterestedness, lack of creativity. But the psychological icing is a different flavor altogether.

With Happy Burnout, there’s no rotten, spiraling self-talk. You don’t hear that venal little whisper to damn it all to hell. For me, at least, that voice only appears when I’m doing work I shouldn’t be doing in the first place.

Happy Burnout hard to spot, for that reason, and these:

Happy Burnout lacks vicious and destructive thoughts
Happy Burnout can arrive one hour, and leave the next
Happy Burnout leaves you very functional, most of the time
Happy Burnout sneaks in, rather than announcing itself with a crash
Happy Burnout leaves you puzzled why you don’t want to do the things you love

Happy Burnout is different.

Happy Burnout is a sneaky little bastard

Regular old familiar burnout is like a game of One More Thing KABOOM!.

Suddenly, a client asks for one more thing… one more thing goes wrong… one more thing piled on… and it all comes tumbling down. Kaboooom!

Happy Burnout is One More Thing — hold the Kaboom.

You can imagine how this change in pattern disrupts your coping strategies. Or, at least, disrupts mine, because typically, I skirt burnout, waiting for that big kaboom, feeling it build up. So I’ve been chugging along happily, taking on big, lofty goals — and when things went well, with no blow-up pre-shocks, I took on more.

No kaboom. Never a kaboom.

I was waiting for an advanced notice, but it never came. Even my stress level didn’t seem noteworthy. I was enjoying it.

Entré the sneaky little bastard.

Happy Burn-Out looks (and feels!) like great success, like everything’s going just right… up until the point where it isn’t. But then it can get better again. Until it isn’t (again).

I’m in it now, and I can tell you that it sucks. I’m overjoyed one hour, and totally whatever the next.

That’s nothing like Angry Burnout, where I was furious at all the external obligations, and the people associated with them. It’s nothing like Rebellious Burnout, where I want to tell the whole world, “Fuck you — I want off!”

And it wasn’t even Constant Burnout, where I was totally incapable of getting into anything, ever.

Happy Burnout can come in waves, alternating even minute by minute.

I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.

A Recipe for Happy Burnout

Here’s a foolproof way to create Happy Burnout, a recipe I can guarantee since it’s worked so well for me:

work late into the night
work on weekends
crash every few weeks and veg — instead of taking true breaks
withdraw from friends because you are busy and/or apathetic
travel a lot
take on a lot of different types of projects at once, e.g. building a new product and also remaking your apartment
take the “I’m sick!” messages from your body literally — you have an infection, not a stress problem

And, finally, the last, most critical step:

really love what you’re doing

Because it’s this last one that changes Rebellious Burnout, Angry Burnout, Constant Burnout into Happy Burnout.

Happy Burnout can only come about when you really enjoy your work. When your work fires you up — and burns you to a crisp.

I’m not special, and neither are you

I thought burnout was a thing of the past for me, because external obligations that made me sick were a thing of the past for me. (Well, except tax prep.)

Heck, we’d even just hired an intern — and a crackin’ good one at that. We had help. I was different. I wasn’t making the mistake that other entrepreneurs make. And I was only doing what I loved.

Yep… my work has been passionate, autonomous, intrinsically motivated, emotionally rewarding, and aligned with my Core Values.

And therefore, I thought I was immune to burnout. I thought I was different.

Bet you’ve never heard that one before.

What to do about it

Well, I’m not totally out of the woods yet, but I can tell you what’s helped me so far:

Not working all the damn time… Or working all the time, and spending all of the rest of the time with friends, or on other projects, or consuming media.

… Even if you love it.

I started taking weekends off, almost by accident, and wow, what a difference. I can feel the Happy Burnout symptoms fading away, and I’m excited to write again, and scheme again, instead of throwing up my hands.

Tearing yourself away from work you love is hard. Trust me, I know. I’m great at avoiding work I don’t love, and very, very bad at avoiding work I do love.

But you know that phrase, “Find the work you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”? Clearly that’s not the case: Work is work. It uses up our ability to think critically and manage ourselves… even if we enjoy it.

I’ve certainly learned that even if it feels like I’m “never working a day in my life,” I still need to take the weekend off.

Are you in Happy Burnout?

Or have you been? Please chime in. I want to hear about it. If we share our experiences, we’re all that much richer and better prepared for it.

I’d love to hear…

what got you into Happy Burnout
what it felt like, how you realized it for what it was
what you did to counteract it
how that worked
what you’re doing differently now

Ideology / Money / Slaying Unicorns — 24 Comments
18
May 10

Don’t bite the shit sandwich

CC thecheals (ps - it's Nutella)

The “startup” world is bursting with bullshit (or, if you prefer, ‘unicorn dust’).

There are bullshit peddlers on every blog-corner. They don’t want merely to get you to read. They don’t want merely to sell you their products now and again. They want to sell you on their religion.

There are two reasons to sell religion:

To feel validated
To sell something else under the cover of righteousness

Many startup writers want to sell your their ideology because they feel validated as human beings by your agreement. That’s not incredibly skeezy, it’s just human. (Though perhaps a tad bit unself-aware.)

And then you have the other group.

There’s a handful of people, prominent people, who drive their propaganda machines with a purpose: they want you… as grist for their industrial mill. They want to sell you on BIG things (high-dollar consulting, high-dollar seminars, systems), or they want a piece of you directly. An investor can’t exist without products to invest in.

They have skin in the game. Their outcomes hinge on whether you buy in.

So they lure you in by dressing up a shit sandwich.

Mmmmm! they simper through browned teeth. Tastes delicious! Just like chocolate!

Go big! Worry about scaling! Hire a CEO! Take investment — here’s how! Don’t charge! Sell your company to a big company! Never mind that it’ll gobble you up, chew you up, and spit you out as so much gristle!

I’m not one of them

I won’t lie: I’m trying to sell you on an ideology, too. That’s what I’m doing right now, in fact. And I will try to sell you products. I make some pretty fucking awesome products.

But I will never try to sell you a shit sandwich. My whole raison d’etre is to eliminate the selling and eating of shit sandwiches.

I am tired of seeing smart, capable, motivated people derailed by the idea that they need a plan for liquidation. That they need VC. That they have to grow big, and that the only way to do that involves a poisonous four-letter word spelled F-R-E-E.

Wanna drop that shit sandwich? Here’s what you do

This is the backbone of the new religion you can install to replace that shit sandwich in mid-chomp:

The best business model in the world is the exchange of goods and services for money.

If you have to dream up monetization strategies, you’re doing it wrong. Wal-Mart’s board of directors does not sit around their big, shiny mahogany boardroom table and propose monetization strategies. We all hate on Wal-Mart, but you’ve got to admire their ability to turn a profit. Which they do by charging money for things.

Because you don’t monetize a business. A business has the exchange of goods & services for money baked in from the start. And it it’s baked in, the idea of monetization is moot.

Money is better than monetization.

It’s shorter.   It’s sweeter.

It’s easier to say.

 And you can spend it.

Selling direct to your customers — providing value, solving problems — is one of the best highs there is. And it is a helluva lot more rewarding than trying to figure out how to fuel your car with your click-through rate.

That’s the ideology I hope you’ll adopt

Because, frankly, I want more people to see the light.

I want the world to be full of small, savvy, spunky businesses, like mine. Not for my ego’s sake, because I’m an arrogant SOB and I don’t need you to validate my choices. The one thing I don’t need in this world is to feel safe.

The icky, gooey bottom line is this:

It kicks total ass to work directly with your customers.

It kicks ass when you — designers, developers, writers, teachers — realize that you’ve had the power all along. That you can make your own products, that you don’t need a book contract, an angel investor, a gilded invitation, or even permission.

The fancy word for that is “disintermediation.” The not-so-fancy word for that is fucking awesome.

Now kwitcherbitchin, drop that shit sandwich, muster up your arrogance, and go forge yourself a business.

Create value. Charge money for it.

Disintermediate.

Change the world.

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