The Corey Vilhauer Brand

November 19, 2008


“The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story.”

This past week, I was given an offer on one of our photos – a picture taken almost as a throwaway, rescued from the pile and produced into one of my favorites. A national publication wants to use it. And they’re willing to pay us. Us. Little amateur Corey and Kerrie, skilled in ways we never realized.

A friend of mine asked how this possibly could have happened. How do you take a photo and, a few weeks later, without any promotion or marketing, get it sold?

And the answer is easy: The Internet. An amazing tool. (As long as you use it correctly.)

Three years ago, my entire creative portfolio consisted of six articles for a local men’s magazine and one blog. Yet, I desperately longed for a career in the creative industry. I wanted to be a writer, but didn’t know how to position myself.

So it was complete blind luck that I began to realize my name was starting to gain a little equity, thanks to both a published column and, even more surprisingly, this little blog. I associated my name with Black Marks on Wood Pulp, one of the few consistent South Dakota blogs at the time. I made friends with other bloggers – primarily the political ones – left comments and became sort of well known in the S.D. blogging community.

The person I interviewed with for my first ever writing job was familiar with my blog. She enjoyed it. She hired me.

From here, I realized I had something. I submitted Black Marks on Wood Pulp to 9rules, gaining a larger audience and more connections. These – and most of the local marketing or web design personalities – turned out to be the first twitterers I ever followed – and, in return, my first follwers. I took up flickr to post our photos and, through a mixture of the three, my name was suddenly known for writing, photography and basic Wordpress blog design.

There are a lot of people out there who are much more talented than I am. So it has a lot to do with luck as well. But I’ve managed to make give my name value – both through recognition and results – in a way that I never could have without the ‘net.

And in giving my name that value, I turn up on more people’s searches. Because I have a background already, my creative endeavors are automatically given more credence. All things being equal, you choose the more well known person over the unproven kid, simply because you know what you’ll get.

To answer the question my friend asked, I simply put my stuff out for all to see. I unabashedly brace for failure, discover a lack of it, and forge ahead. I embrace feedback, write and contribute to the teeming humanity located within, and come out with something I can be proud of.

This networking, though for the most part passive, has given me – and countless others – a feeling of success. The type of success that drives us to continue creating, even if only to a small audience.

Because we know that, for every person who leaves a comment, there are hundreds who stop by and silently admire. For every person who complains or writes off, there are just as many who are coming across your work for the first time.

Because it’s always out there, my name continues to gain value. And with it, my creative endeavors gain traction faster than they did when I was starting up.

It takes a long time to build brand equity into a name. But given enough time, and the willpower to continue linking back to your identity, someone will take notice.

And when they do, you can finally begin to reap the rewards.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Blogging, Career, Photography, Vilhauer |

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Welcome, L.A. Times readers

October 16, 2008


My post on Five Parenting Books was picked up on Carolyn Kellogg’s Jacket Copy blog on the Los Angeles Times Web site.

From the post:

Litblogger Corey Villhauer recommends Marilynne Robinson’s first novel, Housekeeping, as an atypical favorite parenting book. He read it, he writes, when his daughter was very young.

In the weeks after Sierra was born, I would spend a lot of time rocking her to sleep. Long after she was out, I would continue to rock, back and forth, back and forth, simply holding her and feeling her warmth and weight and being amazed that she was real; a fully conscious part of our lives, not going anywhere any time soon.

So welcome, anyone coming from there. I rarely write about books anymore, but it’s good to get a little sugar from the MSM blogs.

Tags: Blogging, Books, Journalism, Literature, Sierra, Writers |

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My 2001 presence

October 1, 2008


2,960

Eight years ago, I had no Internet presence.

This is not completely true. Eight years ago, as we prepared to roll over into 2001, I was pretty active on the Internet. I had already created three Web sites, including a site for local band Floodplain and a personal writing site called “…Prying.” But I had no presence in the sense of searchable product. My personal sites were rarely linked to, so my standing in the world of search engine metrics was a big fat zero.

Google, eight years ago

Fast forward, and here I am. Nearly 3,000 results. Not a lot, but worthwhile. Nearly a thousand of these are surely BMOWP blog posts, and at least a thousand more are probably based on date and tag hierarchy in BMOWP.

Google, now

I say, “Here I am.” But really, I should say here we are. With blogging, social networking and the advancement of public records on the Internet, most of us can Google our name and find a vast amount of information, both self-published and governmentally controlled.

It’s an ego boost, for sure. And it’s an incredibly revealing exercise. What do others see of you? If someone searched your name, what would they find? How are you presenting yourself to the public, and is it okay with you?

I’m fine with my standing on the Internet. I feel I’m represented well. Others, not so much – ask any kid whose parents find drinking pictures on Facebook.

Where were you in terms of searchability eight years ago? In honor of Google’s 10th anniversary, they have set up a special Google search based on their January 2001 database.

Were you Internet popular in 2001?

Is there anyone whose standing went down?

Ask Al Gore.

Tags: Blogging, Meta, Vilhauer |

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Off the grid

September 7, 2008


This past week, I sat in the cabin of Kerrie’s uncle’s yacht.

(Seriously. A yacht.)

We sped across the Chesapeake Bay on our way to the island of St. Martin, scooting to the left of Hurricane Hannah for long enough to enjoy a handful of local stone crabs and a pitcher or two of Stella Artois.

It sounds luxurious, but it was short. Hannah decided to rear its windblown head in our direction, and we had to high tail it out before the waves became too choppy.

We hit some wind, the spray from the Bay coasted into the boat, and I found myself gently caressed by salt water, not quite soaked but certainly not dry. I inhaled the breeze, enjoyed the speed and relaxed. I was off of the grid, with no worries, no connections, and no responsibility. I was just living life.

Similarly, I was off of the Internet, too.

Aside from checking my e-mail once every two days, I had no contact with the Internet during my entire vacation. Ten days.

I enjoyed it.

No offense to the handful of people I call my “Internet Friends” – those who I feel I have some kind of odd connection with due to constant Twitter updates and flickr longing and blog reading, but haven’t actually ever really met in real life – I just didn’t miss you that much. (I still like you – wait…why are you un-following me on Twitter? No!)

There’s an urge to constantly update your life on the Internet, to keep creating, to keep pushing yourself out further and further until you can’t go back – until the very idea of disconnecting from the Internet is frightening.

And there’s a logical answer: we only remember what we find interesting. If you hold up for a few months and come back to the Web, you’ll find yourself forgotten, for the most part. It’s part of being a member of the exciting world of Internet Creativity – for good and for bad.

So I’ve always felt a twinge of regret when I don’t write for Black Marks on Wood Pulp, or if I forget to check up on my favorite blogs, or if I lose track of some connection in the world wide web. I feel as if I’m missing out, like those guys who get the Season Ticket package and feel they have to watch every single game. It’s part of my obsession with being a completist.

This past week, I was able to let it go. And it felt good.

I still had ideas that needed to be burst forth. My Moleskin was never in the right place at the right time. I had lost the spontaneity that I love, the idea that my thoughts can be put on the page RIGHT NOW and people will read it, immediately, without worrying about time constraints or publishing windows or any of that annoying shit.

But I suppressed them. I collected them, until now, when I’m back at the computer, catching up on some things, letting others go, feeling completely at ease with creating a gap in the continuity of the Internet life.

Think of this when you’re feeling overwhelmed with the amount of information available. Take yourself off the grid. You don’t’ have to go nearly charging through a hurricane to do it.

You just have to be willing to sit back, let someone else take the wheel, and breathe in the air.

Tags: Blogging, Travel |

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I’m back…

September 7, 2008


Chances are, you haven’t seen me around for a few days.

There’s a reason. I’ve been on vacation, in northern Virginia, where Kerrie’s parents now live. It’s about an hour west of Washington D.C., and right in the heart of historical Virginia, where the streets are all cobblestone and the shops all consist of the same warped windows that have lasted through two of the country’s most recognized wars.

But more than that, I’ve been on a mini sabbatical, a rest from the world, respite from my constant wordsmithing. I’ve been recharging, as they say, and I won’t lie – I feel it.

I feel like I’m bursting with inspiration, my mind ready to take on the challenges of writer’s block. I feel like I’ve got things to say. Weekly and monthly columns to get around to. Books to pretend I actually read.

And, I feel relaxed. Probably for the first time since I stayed home with Sierra during my paternity leave. Relaxed, and thrilled about it.

With this relaxation, with the utter lack of responsibility and no need for critical thinking, I made some incredible realizations. Realizations that might seem banal, too simple to be revelations. But revelations all the same.

I realized that Washington D.C. isn’t a tourist paradise, but a legitimate amazing feat of urban design, mass transit and epic history. I realized that even the most hardened cynic can feel patriotic around the Lincoln Memorial. And I realized that after three years I still haven’t come to full terms with my grandfather’s death, a veteran of both the Vietnam and Korean wars, two wars memorialized in D.C. and located in close proximity for the maximum in emotional drainage.

I realized that history is unchanging, and that no matter how many layers of paint or remodeling jobs you do the ghosts of history still stand, watching you, Civil War caps tipped to the right, bayonets sagging under the weight of their ammunition, thousands of lives wasted for a quarrel, their remains creating the landscape that we trod upon.

I realized that 350+ pictures is probably enough.

I realized that a beer at noon tastes better than any consumed at night, that seafood pasta at home can reach restaurant like excellence and that the only thing you should do while on vacation is eat and drink and eat some more.

I realized that a week can easily be wasted just watching your daughter grow up.

Most of all, I realized that time off is necessary. That it’s healthy. That the problems of travel and close quarters and weather and delays and rising tension and lost productivity mean nothing when matched to the sheer expanse of soothing catharsis that comes from a few hours away from the grid. Or a few days. Or a week. Plus.

That’s all in the past, though. I’m back, and I’m glad.

Tags: Blogging, Grandpa Boyer, Meta, On..., Outdoors, Travel, Vilhauer, Writing |

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Much More Sure

August 20, 2008


“I hate cameras. They’re just so much more sure than I am about everything.” -John Steinbeck.

It’s been quiet around these parts for the past week or so. And with good reason. I’ve been hard at work, giving my newest hobby an outlet, creating a special place for all of this photography I’ve been spitting out.

Instead of ruin the quietude of Black Marks on Wood Pulp with image after image of Sierra or some random line of chairs, I’ve gone ahead and done the next best thing - I’ve branched off of Black Marks on Wood Pulp, into another blogging foray.

That blog is Much More Sure, taken from the brilliant quote by John Steinbeck - a quote that sums up everything I feel about photography; its stark realities, its unflinching eye, its clear look at the world and, how ultimately, we’re all bound by its power. A power that, no matter what, shows nothing but truth. (Barring a Photoshop skill or two, that is.)

Much More Sure. The new domain will be www.MuchMoreSure.com, but for now you can access it at photo.blackmarks.net.

Visit. Subscribe. Enjoy.

Tags: Baby Pictures, Blogging, Meta, Much More Sure, Photography |

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Falling off the hobby horse

August 14, 2008


Every few months, a bubble occurs at work. It tends to show up after a few days of downtime, when scratching together a few hours of billable time seems impossible. It comes on suddenly, with a flurry of meetings. My desk begins to pile up. My life turns up another gear. Everything is due tomorrow, and the end is nowhere in sight. It bleeds into my free time; free time that may already be stretched by prior engagements and home projects and an ever-growing pile of mind-numbing DVRed programs.

That’s the nature of the business. I grumble. But I also bask in the glow of vocation, knowing that someone depends on me for his or her words, plans and ideas. That I get paid to do something I enjoy, something I should stay quiet about lest they realize what they’re paying me to do.

But man, it sure wreaks havoc on my hobbies.

As words flow toward one end, the means to keep up with the hobby side of writing dries up; the paths diverted. What was once fun becomes work. A source of pride becomes an millstone, hanging from my neck. Taunting me with its demise.

Because with the important things claiming their share of my life’s time, my hobbies fall back a bit. I am afforded no more time to write on my own. And newer, shinier hobbies show up, too. I sometimes think my computer keyboard is jealous of our new camera. Of each new book. Of the Olympics and, in the past, the NBA Finals.

And from there, things deteriorate. Out of practice, or with my ideas used up elsewhere, it feels like something is stuck, like writer’s block has set in, or that my thoughts have been stuck in my head too long, are no longer timely or spontaneous or fresh. This leads to abandonment, of ditching a great outlet because of the convincing nature of busyness.

In this way, work can get in the way of our hobbies. And sometimes, that’s bound to happen. But without that outlet, what do we have?

So I think a little harder. I glance at the screen a few times, scanning the page for something I’ve forgotten. Then I start typing. For me. For my sanity.

And to remember that our hobbies are crucial. Make time for them. Take a few minutes and do something you truly enjoy, for yourself, for those you care about, anything that gives you the feeling of artistic merit or release, even if that release comes from creating a small city out of model trains or playing an artful game of Madden 2005 or writing or designing your own site or crocheting rabbit-shaped stuffed animals or decorating the house. Even at work. During break. That taking 15 minutes out of your work day to do something fun is more productive than stewing over your work.

Remember that, above all else, hobbies are for us to unwind. That they’ll always be there when you come back. That they don’t understand the meaning of time. Most importantly, remember that our hobbies may not give us the support we need to live comfortably, but they certainly make life a lot more enjoyable.

Tags: Blogging, Books, Career, Friends, Meta, Photography, Television, Vilhauer, Writing |

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