Devils Tower on the horizon

May 25, 2010


Devil's Tower (c)AAA

There’s a stretch of Interstate 90 – near the Wyoming/South Dakota border – where, on a clear day, you can see Devils Tower on the horizon.

When I was young, we’d drive past it in the early morning on the way home; our trip from Jackson Hole to Sioux Falls always included a break for the night in nearby Gillette.

It looks no bigger than a thimble. But there it is. Just a few miles away, promising something fantastic – that is, if you’re willing to veer off track and head in a different direction.

There’s a lesson there, I guess. About the limitless potential of traveling the nation’s Interstates. Or about following your dreams.

Whichever works for you this morning.

Tags: Career, On..., Travel, Vilhauer |

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Jupiter’s Band

May 21, 2010


Jupiter lost a band.

Jupiter. The planet. It lost a band – a band that measures thousands of miles across. Just woke up one morning and it had gone away.

I doubt Jupiter has changed much since it first entered our lives, probably in a grade school science book, its massive gravitational pull represented by a tie-died circle in between the familiarity of Mars and the beauty of Saturn. The picture we saw then is much like the picture we still see today. Stable. A planet, right? A PLANET.

Well, until now.

The band will come back – it always does – but what if it doesn’t?

There’s a lesson here. It’s different for everyone, but it still follows the same pattern: you wake up, and several years’ worth of slow, incremental change comes rushing in at once. It takes a special kind of person to see that happening in real-time. Most of us simply end up surprised.

Ask newspapers. The traditional advertising agency. Yahoo.

Ask those in charge of shaping the political landscape. Ask the multi-millionaire rock star who’s failed to keep track of his money. Ask the Cleveland Cavaliers.

Ask someone who wakes up to find they’ve spent ten years at a dead-end job, wondering where the time had gone, frightened that they’ve let opportunity pass and, oh god, is it too late to turn back?

Our takeaway, I suppose, is to open our eyes. To make sure that, whatever it is we’re doing, we’re moving forward and evolving. Or, if moving forward isn’t a goal, to at least make sure we’re happy. Because, after a few years, after a glacier’s pace of adjustment, after the slow shift of tectonic plates, we might jar awake and discover what we’ve lost.

Ask Jupiter.

Tags: Career, On... |

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Seek. Meet. Learn. (Repeat.)

May 18, 2010


You don’t know everything. I don’t know everything. No one alive knows everything.

Change “everything” to “everything in your chosen field” and it still won’t be true. Change it even further, to “as much as you need to know” and now you’re just fooling yourself.

It’s true that you know something. I know something. Everyone knows something. We all know different amounts of something – some are experts on one kind of something, and you might have a solid grasp on another kind of something.

But, when it comes down to it, we don’t know the same somethings.

This is where the greatest potential lies: in swapping somethings and gaining a more complete picture of the things that make up our world.

Stop Me if You’ve Heard This Before

When we encounter people with a vast amount of knowledge, we ultimately have three choices: we can compete, we can defer, or we can learn.

Competition comes from arrogance and shows an unwillingness to grow. Deference is steeped in anxiety and a fear of being seen as stupid or dull or unskilled.

Learning is humble. It makes us better, while simultaneously giving a little dap to the person we see as the teacher. It builds relationships. Oh, man – there’s that word. Relationships.

Relationships, people. We’re not talking social media 2.0 synergy blah blah, but real relationships – built upon common interests, tied together by respect, unconcerned about whether you’re properly networking or if this is just a waste of time cuz you’ll never get funding from this sap without twisting the knife.

Nope. We’re talking real relationships. The ones without an agenda. The ones that benefit both sides.

Ask Stupid Questions

It doesn’t have to be all career-oriented and serious. It can be just an informal chat on something you’re interested in.

I don’t know as much about radio (or plants for that matter) as Ted from Rock Garden Tour, but I had a blast talking to him the other day about radio and plants and the art therein. I don’t know as much about indie rock as Scott, but that didn’t stop me from trying to follow along as he rattled off a billion bands I’d never heard of after recording The Ledge. I ask the photographers I admire about photography. I pushed into the world of Web and UX with expert knowledge and direction from one person who will become my boss in a few weeks and another who I only know through the Internet.

I’ve learned from all of them by asking stupid questions.

That’s. How. You. Do. It.

I won’t deny it. I’ve been that Competition guy. And I’ve been that Deference guy. I didn’t want to look stupid so I didn’t want to talk to people who were smarter than I was and in the event I did – watch out! – I tried to outdo them.

I’m willing to bet that you’ve been there too. Or maybe you’re still there.

It’s not easy to break out of those habits. To talk to people. To glean knowledge, not force it. But if I’ve learned one thing in the past decade, it’s this:

Stop trying to KNOW. Start trying to LEARN.

The Moral

Seek out the people you admire. Offer to buy them lunch or a beer or a pack or basketball cards or whatever it is that gets them excited and just talk to them about whatever they’re passionate about. Ask questions, but mostly just listen.

You’ll get more. They’ll get more.

Everyone wins.

Tags: Career, On..., Technology |

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I’ve (almost) arrived

May 11, 2010


So let’s just say this is probably a decade or more in the making.

It started with a bunch of crappy basic HTML sites for hardcore bands and fake wrestling leagues and it turned into a blog before blogs became “blogs” and, now, after I had convinced myself that I was supposed to be a teacher, and after I spent a few years managing a call center, and after I finally understood that I should be either writing or working on the Web (and the writing opportunity came first) here I am.

Here I am.

(More specifically, here I will be in four weeks.)

I’ve spent four years writing ads and marketing. And I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned how to talk to clients. I’ve learned how to break out of my shell. I’ve learned how to embrace the knowledge that people can offer. I’ve learned to be humble.

And, to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if I still had something to learn in the next three weeks, as I graciously make my exit: about humility and closure and saying goodbye to something I might never had said goodbye to if things had worked out a little differently.

But I move. From one industry to another. To learn new languages. To sermonize about content and architecture. To serve the role I’m probably already hardwired to serve.

More than that, I move to a culture I’ve always admired. One that can develop a project like 48 Hour Magazine. That can still get excited about progress, understanding that everything changes, always, constantly. That continues to mix sardonic wit with soul-bearing clarity.

I’d call it a testament to positive thinking if I believed in all of that zen crap, but, really, it’s a testament to persistence, my ego unwilling to allow progress to move forward without grasping a part of it. I’ve always wanted to be a part of the Web, and, success willing, I’m now in a position where I can help a bunch of Web people make a bunch of awesome Web things.

It’s in my blood, I guess.

Granted, there are a lot of people that I respect that have had it in their blood for even longer, and (justifiably) view me as a punk who doesn’t know what he’s in for. I’m okay with that. More than anything, I hope I can prove myself.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

“Hey, Internet. I’ve been pretending for a while. And I’ve been a big fan for a long time.

But I’m one of you, now.

Be gentle.”

Tags: Career, Content Strategy, Technology, Vilhauer, Writing |

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Web sites need scripts, too

April 7, 2010


It’s old (well, SIX MONTHS old, which is, like, a BILLION YEARS in Web time) but I stumbled across a great quote from the illustrious Karen McGrane that sort of sums up why I’m so goofy excited about the idea of words – and other content – getting some real mainstream attention on the Web (and why I’m so surprised it hasn’t happened sooner).

“We’ve spent the last 5-10 years on the web just figuring out how to build a printing press….great…now, look at any other great media property and what goes into making that great media property. The same thing has to happen online.”

-Karen McGrane, speaking at Atlanta Showcase, September 2009

And upon reading that, I remembered my own thought – something that came to light in MY OWN HEAD. It’s one thing to say “let’s do this, because it’s obvious you guys,” but, let’s face it, there are still a lot of people – people in a position of budget allocation – who don’t get why we need to worry about Web words and content.

In other words, when put into a position where we’re forced to explain the importance of content strategy to a Web client who just doesn’t “get it,” we need to develop real world examples and comparisons that resonate with a traditional marketing mindset.

Because these people probably aren’t Web people. They’re marketing people. They’ve taken a class, you know, and they’ve been raised on television and print and direct mail and why do they need a Web content strategy when all the words they could possibly require are already on this brochure that their niece designed seven years ago.

Put it in their terms.

Compare it to television.

Every Web site is like a major television commercial shoot. There’s a director who drives production – the programmer – and there’s a videographer who can make everything look beautiful – the designer. And on equal level, there’s the writer who penned the script and set the initial mood.

This script writer? That’s your content strategy team.

Would you spend $100,000 – or even $1,000! – on a television commercial, but skip the script?

Of course not.

So why do it with a Web site?

And suddenly, things begin getting a little clearer.

—

(McGrane quote via Leen Jones, who is also illustrious when it comes to that content strategy biz-ness.)

Tags: Career, Content Strategy, Technology, Words, Writing |

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On solving creative block

March 10, 2010


To those encountering someone who works in the creative industries:

The best antidote to self-doubt – and by doubt, I mean the crippling block of creativity that all writers and designers and programmers and artists assume will lead only to ruin – isn’t reassurance. Reassurance is just words; regardless of sincerity, the creative will see them as platitudes – flimsy and loose, like paper in a three-ring notebook.

Nor is it enthusiasm, sympathy or understanding. These often result in dismissal, resentment and further doubt, respectively.

Offer your trust, however, and things change. The minute you place your trust in a creative’s opinion is the same time those previous doubts begin seeming inconsequential. Silly. And then, just like that, they vanish.

It’s a play to the ego, in part. But more than that, it’s comfort in knowing our creative skills are still worth something. That we can still make a difference, and you’re willing to risk your own project to make it happen.

Tags: Career, On..., Writing |

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On the wrong side of history: an ode to the Sega Dreamcast

January 18, 2010


I was a Sega Dreamcast devotee, which is to say I was one of those guys who fanatically defended a system that was, from the beginning, doomed to fail.

Here’s why: it was the best system on the market, and if you don’t believe me you’re an absolute fool who knows nothing about video games. Oh, man, don’t tell anyone, but I just GEEKED OUT on you right there.

The Birth of Dreamcastness

This was the winter of 2000, about a year after release and a few months into my job at the St. Cloud FuncoLand, a trashy yet endearing video game store that specialized in hoarding valuable Super Nintendo games and hounding Playstation 2 fans. The store was a comic book cave without the comic books, replaced instead with their more expensive and more acceptable counterpart, and we held our opinions high and our rants even higher.

And we were all Sega Dreamcast devotees. We were enamored with the little system. Its awkward controllers (which we defended, despite hypocritically hounding Xbox owners for their system’s too-small paddles), its optimized-Windows operating system (which allowed for countless imports), its NFL 2K series – it was all a dream, representing the future of video gaming.

But it wouldn’t last. Another two years and it was done. Gone forever. Its final coffin nails were hammered in by Sony’s grasp on a key video game truth: a good system is key, but great games are crucial.

The Death of Dreamcastness

I, and the lot of us, landed on the wrong side of history. In doing so, we also saw a legion of like-minded customers – people who came to us for advice, who we coaxed into like-mindedness – landing on the same side. The wrong side. The losing side.

When new technology is released to the world, we’re blinded by what’s happening now. We can’t help it. There are no rules. There are no trends to follow. There are no clues as to which technology will ultimately win out. Simply put, the landscape has yet to be mapped out.

This leads to a costly choice. We hyped the Sega Dreamcast – and, doing so, convinced hundreds that it would be worthwhile, costing them a good chunk of money and (eventually) agreeing that, while the Dreamcast was the better system, it wasn’t the most successful. And a non-successful system isn’t going to make games, rendering the “better system” argument null.

The Moral

So there we sat. The wrong side of history, hanging out with betamax, the Sega Game Gear and the ABA, patiently waiting for HD DVD to join us in a few years.

But it wasn’t all for naught. When the Nintendo Gamecube was released, I had learned my lesson. I sat back. I waited. And, despite the pro-Nintendo leanings of our store, I correctly predicted it would fail.

I had been burned before. I now understood what it was like to be on the wrong side of history. I now understood the importance of waiting a few rounds before entering the fight.

—

(Oh, BTW. This longish Dreamcast soliloquy was inspired by Consollection, a fantastic, probably totally exhaustive timeline of the video game console.)

Tags: Career, Technology, Vilhauer |

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