Authentic success.

Today's blog by Rich Sloan, founder of StartupNation, emphasizes the growing importance of authenticity in the marketplace. "People are tired of being “marketed to.”" Sloan states. "Instead, they want to connect with real people and real companies that care about the world and care about people."

He goes on to list several companies who've devoted segments of their marketing, IT or customer relations workforce to having online discussions with customers. That's all they do. They respond to Tweets, Facebook messages, blog posts and more, helping any customer with any concern they have.

This is the face of marketing in the years to come. In a world where Tivo lets you skip television commercials and iPods and Pandora let you listen to virtually ad-free music, organizations are now faced with the inevitable — have conversations with customers. The sinking effectiveness of traditional advertising has forced ... a conversation (of all things).

Like a teenager at a sock hop, organizations are nervously approaching their customers. They're weathering the potential rejection. They're accepting the complaints. They're accepting that their product or service may have flaws. But they want to talk. They have to.

Thanks to Sloan for pointing out the trend and hats off to companies like Dell, who has stopped ignoring or placating complainers and started building products around customer feedback. Finally, we might start getting products and services we want instead of what's being sold to us.

Read Rich Sloan's full post "Authenticity: A Key Trend In Marketing".

Email drift.

You've heard of mission drift, right? It's where organizations get distracted by other opportunities that aren't part of their original mission. Usually it results in reorganization of some sort.

Today, I got email drift — and I'm afraid it's one of the hazards of storing messages within your email software (like Outlook).

I wanted to reference a previous client document. Remembering it was saved in my "clients" folder, I opened my mail software with the intention of digging into the archive. But that didn't happen.

Instead, I noticed the eight new messages that came in and started replying to each one. Several minutes later, I finish replying, closed the email software and asked myself, "So what was I just doing?"

How many times has "email drift" stolen minutes (maybe more) from our day? The cure is relatively simple: Develop a system of storing attachments and messages on your hard drive. Most software will let you drag and drop messages (sometimes with the attachments) to a folder you can dig up later.

Why is it better? Because storing messages in your email software makes as much sense as storing important letters in your mailbox. It's just messy. Plus, you'll feel compelled to go through the new mail each time you're looking for the notes you've saved.

Stop sticking your head in my office.

When working with clients to develop marketing materials and communication strategies, I often say, "Send me whatever you think will help." Meaning, email the materials that will assist my understanding of your situation.

Usually this opens a floodgate of emails with random attachments. Which is fine ... because I asked for it.

Since I'm expecting the extra messages, I create an email folder to hold these reference materials. As soon as their message hits my inbox, I move it to the reference folder to be read when I can digest and organize the materials.

But what about those other streams of consciousness? You know the ones. Those random thoughts you get from colleagues. THAT person is sitting in the airport/bus/traffic/Starbucks, eyes wandering/sneering/glancing back and forth, and the thought of your joint project sneaks into their little brain. Quickly, as if they found a gold nugget amidst the old gum beneath their seat, they send you an email/text/voice mail with their "brilliant" random thought.

What's wrong with this picture? Plenty.

First, you didn't ask for it. When you say, "Please send me any materials/random thoughts/bizarre attachments you may have" you expect to receive them. Otherwise, they're turning your email inbox into a place to dump the chatter in their heads. And based on what the chatter in my head sounds like, I am not inclined to listen to anyone else's.

Second, you are not a remote whiteboard attendant. Random thoughts are only worth something when they're not random anymore. It's the responsibility of all good communicators (and anyone who calls themselves a professional) to speak clearly ... that's code for NOT RANDOMLY. Just because it's email doesn't make sending random thoughts okay, as if you were to collect them and place them neatly into the org chart for the next meeting.

Third (and most important), if people act like this in the office, they get yelled at. Well, maybe not yelled at, but somehow they get the message. You know the guy who, after the meeting, keeps sticking his head in your office every 30 minutes to tell you some great idea he just thought of. It's okay at first, but after the third or fourth time (maybe less) you politely tap/nudge/elbow the guy and say, "Why don't you write these down and save them for the next meeting?"

People who send you random thoughts by email are "virtually annoying" in exactly this way. They're sticking their head in your virtual office every time they have some brainstorm idea, ignoring the fact that there's no brainstorm meeting going on. The really dangerous ones will hold you responsible for their random stream of consciousness to your inbox. (You're picturing that person now.)

You know the scenario: You're in the meeting (prepared). Someone asks for a worksheet/document/collection of thoughts. THAT person should have the answer. THAT person stares blankly at the table, sees their phone (a look of surprise overcomes them) they turn to you and say, "Did you bring it?" Then the whole room looks at you expectingly, as if you were supposed to sort through the 50 messages you received at random times and have it all organized there for them on a silver platter with a side of mint sauce.

The really dangerous people make you responsible for their random thoughts. Watch out.

It sucks, but by never communicating that you do not accept random thoughts, they're making you responsible for them ... in the worst possible way. If you wait until the meeting, any defense you say will just make you look unprepared. You've got to take care of this before the meeting. Nip it in the virtual bud.

How? The answer always starts the same. Change ourselves. That simply means applying the above three principals to our own communication toolbox.

So, if you've got a lot of attachments and random articles you'd like to share with a colleague, ask them if it's okay (you can even tell them how handy it is to make a folder for things like this). Second, do your best to collect those thoughts before sending them. It may mean creating your own folder/mind-map/napkin sketch, but they'll appreciate the fact that you organized your thoughts in some way before sharing. And lastly, don't bug them too often.

Phase two: Have the same conversation you would have if they were sticking their head in your office. When you reach your threshold of random messages, email them, "Hey, you've got some great/interesting/strange ideas here. Would you mind collecting them for the next few hours/days/weeks/eternities and organizing them in some way before our next meeting? I'll do the same and we can take the best of what we come up with to present to the group."

You'll need to amend the language for each situation, of course. The point is, you don't have to reject their idea. You simply have to not accept the randomness. The situations will change, but the disconnect is the same — someone who sends you random messages without your permission is, at best, annoying (and at worst, dangerous).

Disclaimer: I do not recommend the previous technique for mothers, mother-in-laws or other relatives with any familial authority. You'll need a more specialized consultant for that!

There's more than just the devil in the details.

Ever notice some people make everything look easy?

In recent weeks I've had the privilege of having lunch or coffee with CEO's from around the area. Some own dot-coms. Some have more traditional businesses. All are successful and all have one thing in common—they make it look easy.

Once you sit with them for an hour or so, another common thread emerges ... they focus on the simple things.

It's the mark of a professional to accomplish complex, extraordinary tasks in a peaceful, artful way. But these pros don't often talk about the complex. Their focus is on the simple. They'll explain their business as a collection of simple tasks and, one at a time, they work through and perfect each of them (sometimes this takes years).

What stands out to me is that how these CEO's see their business not as one complexity, but as a group of simple parts. It's difficult to perfect complexity. But complex systems, broken down to their simpler parts, perfected on the simple level, then reassembled is a method we can all adopt.

Get ready. It requires patience.

It also requires a new perspective, one where we ask ourselves: What about this is simple? Then, how can I refine that simple piece?

This reminds me of so many organizations. Take Red Envelope, for example. This online company offers items similar to your neighborhood gift boutique. So what makes it special?

A red box with a white ribbon.

The gift-wrapping communicates care, patience, love and a dozen other emotions. And it all started when someone chose to take a simple task like gift-wrapping and elevate it, perfect it.

Were they the first to take this approach? Nope. Ask most women what color a Tiffany & Co. box looks like and they'll know the answer. Lee Michael's jewelry does the same.

It's by focusing on the subtle, that the gross is improved. Indeed, this is how every human system since the dawn of our civilization has improved. I'll argue that it won't change.

We achieve complex success through mastery of the simple. I focus on communication, but it's true for any task. Sure, the devil is in the details ... but so is our only opportunity to grow.

Can we teach integrity? (Watch "The REAL Story.")

Making excellent grades will open doors for anyone. But have you ever wondered why all 4.0 students aren't millionaires? Why do some failing students succeed wildly once they leave school? Recent studies say it's emotional intelligence (EQ), not IQ, that helps us make use of opportunities. The grades will open the door, but it's your integrity that walks you through.

Use yourself as an example. If you consider yourself even somewhat successful, it's likely that someone came along and taught you how to handle your emotions. They told you how do deal with your anger so it doesn't consume you and make you lose your job. They showed you how to deal with conflict without ruining a relationship. They taught you how to deal with your fear, how to avoid drama, how to define your core values, and how to live with integrity.

Wouldn't it be great if we could teach that in our schools?

Meet Kathy Roy. Kathy developed a course for high school juniors called REAL (Reality Education About Life). Students learn about integrity. They develop tenets of personal character. In the end, they write their purpose in life—how they define success as a person. The year-long program is nothing short of life changing for young adults on the cusp of independence.

It's been said that we can't legislate integrity. Perhaps, with programs like REAL, we'll teach it instead.

Thanks to Kathy Roy and your students at Acadiana High for letting us express your story through film. You are truly making the world a better place.

Your social media castle.

You've just launched your organization's Twitter account. What do you do next? Tell people about the next big offering? See how much traffic you can drive to your site with witty one liners and a link? Bombard followers with tweets? Make them inquisitive with half-sentences that require them to follow your disguised tiny-url link?

I know traditional marketers who want you to do that ... and, to some degree, it can be effective (But at what cost ... will you get kicked out of the barbecue?). I would argue that these tactics comprise a short-game approach, therefore the benefits are short-lived. 

The long-game approach: Castle.

If you've ever played chess, you've heard the term "castle". Without getting too detailed, castling—the act of moving the king and the rook simultaneously—effectively protects your king from attack. It's a swap, of sorts, between two chess pieces to create a fortified position.

For social media, castling comes from giving. Your client just received an award—tweet that. Your employees completed a volunteer project—tell the world. Someone offered to help you—praise them. Praising yourself might build a marketing plan, but praise of others builds castles.

Example: You're a nonprofit. You just found out that a bank offered to sell tickets to your next event. The classic marketing angle would dictate that you tweet, "Tickets now on sale at ..." or "Get your tickets now at ..." But why sell yourself? The bank has already offered to do it for you. Take your tweets a step further with praise for their volunteerism, "___ is grateful to (bank) for saving the (your mission). Thanks for selling tickets at each location!" Thanking them gets the message across and so much more.

Example: You're with a real estate firm and you've reached the closing on a newly built property. You could tweet the grand opening. You could tweet the economic impact. You could tweet that this makes you number one in sales for the region. But really, is that the best you can do? 

What if you praised the contractor for completing the project so quickly? What if you praised the bank, title company, appraiser or any of the other players for doing a great job? That's something everyone likes to read and that's how to start building your castle. You've still announced the closing, but you've done it in a way that thanks others for their work and professionalism.

Next, take the philosophy to Facebook by posting a photo of everyone standing in front of the property. Then write a glowing caption—not of the property, but describing everyone's hard work. Last, tag each person in the photo. They'll be updated that they were tagged in a photo and so will their friends, family and clients. Now you've used social media to help someone. Now you're building castles.

Then, what do you think will happen?

Call it karma. Call it the law of human reciprocity. Call it whatever you like, but now there's a reason for others to start praising you. So when you do a great job, win an award, mark an anniversary, etc., guess who tweets and re-tweets your success? The people you praised.

Let's suppose you get some negative press (it happens), guess who defends you in the blogosphere, tweetland and Facebook? The people you praised.

That's a social media castle ... and it can only be built by giving.

The Backyard Barbecue Rule.

As I prepare for a presentation to a mixed group of social media veterans and newbies, I'm pulling up an adage I've used for a while. I'm almost always asked about social media etiquette—what's appropriate to say, what's not.

"It's a digital backyard barbecue," I tell them. "The tone is casual. The style is anything but uptight. The grammar is imperfect, and that's okay. The people there want to talk about things that are interesting and fun. And, perhaps most importantly, anything you won't say at your neighbor's barbecue, don't say it in social media." 

For example, don't talk about work all the time. Who wants to hear that at a barbecue?

Don't sell things. Would you walk over to the neighbor's house, meet their friends and start handing out business cards and asking for appointments? You could. But don't expect to invited back. When you do the equivalent on Twitter, prepare to be "un-followed".

So how can we use social media for business? The backyard barbecue rule.

Can you talk about your next corporate event? Yes. And do it in a way that's accepted at the barbecue. If someone asks what you've been working on, tell them about the event and share any genuine enthusiasm ... emphasis on the genuine part. Sharing that same genuine enthusiasm in Twitter or Facebook is completely accepted, just like it's accepted at the barbecue.

Being genuine is the key, because—like most party-goers—your "friends" and "followers" will spot a fake. At that point, it's unlikely that anyone will object to you directly ... you just won't be invited to the next barbecue.

How do you define interruption?

Chances are, if you're an accountant, you define "interruption" in an unproductive way. That's because you were hired for a skill set that requires concentration and processing. Your productivity is disproportionate to the amount of time you're interrupted.

If you're on the sales team, the perspective changes. "Interruption"—by cell phone, email, text message, or Twitter—is defined as potential opportunity. You might even share horror stories about the client who was ready to buy but went to your competitor because you weren't available. Welcoming interruptions is vital to your bottom line.

It's one thing to understand that we all define interruptions differently. But how do we communicate that effectively? One of the greatest opportunities to do this is with your outgoing messages.

Suppose your voicemail message say something like, "Hey, this is Jackie's voice mail. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

• If someone in sales leaves a message, "as soon as you can" could mean in five minutes.
• If someone in accounting is calling, "as soon as you can" could mean at the end of the day.

Each person who calls you has a different expectation of when you'll call them back. But what if you told them how you defined interruptions? In other words, what if you gave them some insight into your daily tasks and related your expectations for returning messages?

Here's a template: 

• Hey, this is John and you've probably reached my voicemail because I'm [writing reports/collecting depositions/interviewing clients/on the phone with a customer/etc.] 
• I usually check my messages [each afternoon/twice a day around noon and four p.m./as soon as I get out of my meetings/right away]. 
• If you'd like to leave a message, include your contact information and a time when it's convenient for me to reach you.  (Remember: The only way to get respect for your time is to give respect for someone else's. Here, you're giving them a chance to explain how they work.)
• Otherwise, I usually return messages [once a week/within one business day/this afternoon/within the hour/as soon as I check them].
  
• If you're request is detailed, feel free to email me at [your email address]. Thanks.

Now you've laid out the expectations based on what you were hired to do (and your definition of interruption). When someone asks you why, explain that everyone has a different concept of interruptions. Receptionists are hired precisely to answer ringing phones all day—interruptions are part of their core purpose and, therefore, welcome. Maintenance managers were hired to repair and maintain the building—interruptions might be for emergencies only, so anything less than an emergency needs to be put in the morning report, etc. It's a good conversation starter and can help to eliminate the tension over unexplained expectations.

Want to take it a step further? Put a similar script beneath your email signature.

Text Message Hell—Forget the voices in my head, they're coming from my phone!

I once worked with a person who asked me questions all day long. At first it was fun. But it didn't take long to learn that answering questions was a serious detriment to productivity. The work I was doing—writing letters, filling in reports, etc.—didn't require day-long concentration, but it did require consistent, brief stretches of uninterrupted time if I were to meet deadlines.

I asked my friend his opinion on the best way to handle this situation. His advice was to tell them, "I have enjoyed helping you and I'll always help when I can. Maybe you can help me. Would you mind keeping a list with your questions on a notepad? When the notepad gets full or at the end of the day—whichever comes first—stop in my office and we'll go through them. I've got quite a workload and this will help me both meet my deadlines and still help you, which is something I like doing."

I remembered this conversation after my most recent trip to text message hell, a nonstop back-and-forth chatter of unending questions. I don't mind a question or two, but at some point, we should just call this what it is—a meeting. The moment I would start working, I'd receive another question. In 30 minutes I could have completed my project, but the interruptions stretched that to an hour.

Obviously this was a moment when she had free time but I didn't. Recalling the story, I sent a text message asking her to collect her thoughts on the issue then call me. She did and we handled all of her questions in five minutes.

Texting has great advantages, but it's one of the most interruptive tools we can use. There have been times–when I've received a landslide of text messages simultaneously, for example—that I've been tempted to turn it off. But that won't change anything because the problem isn't the text messaging ... it's the way we use it.

Interruptions can happen in an office, by email, by phone and more. The channel isn't the issue. Managing interruptions is the skill we're looking for. Fortunately, the golden rule applies:

• Give what you hope to receive.

Before sending a text, I ask, "Does this person need to know this information right now?" If not, I'll send an email. This virtually eliminates the overwhelming majority of incoming text messages. It also allows me to only send a text when necessary—thereby making those texts more effective.

When I receive a text message, I ask myself, "Does this person need to know this information right now?" If not, I might say, "Great question, would you bring it up in the meeting?" or "Can we talk about this when I see you tonight?" or "Good question, would you jot down your thoughts and call me tomorrow morning?" 

Is it perfect? No. Some people just like interrupting. (Avoid those people or tell them to buzz off.) But I've found that the overwhelming majority of people appreciate consideration and are happy to respond in kind. 

Whether you're interrupted by text or in person, the skill of managing interruption is the same—through considering other people's time we gain consideration for our own.

Communication from the grave.

Thanks to the more than 300 people who bought tickets and copies of "Little Houses" at our local premiere last Friday. 

Though a single purpose for constructing the grave houses has never been found, they still communicate an extraordinary amount of information. After-party attendees were quick to tell me stories of why they heard the houses were built. The theories are fascinating. One truth surfaces—now almost 100 years old, the last three Cajun grave houses continue to communicate an intriguing message.

I had hoped to learn for certain why the custom of Cajun grave house building was adopted and later abandoned. But the mystery has become the prize. It underscores that what we say in life is important. And even after death, we may continue to speak.

View the trailer for the film above. For more information on "Little Houses—A short film about death.", visit thelittlehouses.com. DVDs will soon be available online along with a list of future showings.

Funding festival.

Lafayette, Louisiana's an interesting place, especially in spring. The weather's great and Festival International—the largest free French-language music and art festival in the region (perhaps the world?)—fills over five stages for four days of music and entertainment from around the globe.

And it's free.

Well, sort of. Festival International volunteers sell artfully decorated metal pins at booths that read, "Keep Festival Free". Proceeds from pin sales fund the festival, of course, and buyers proudly don their support for festival on their sleeve, collar, hats, etc.

Who ever said you couldn't turn ticket sales into a marketing engine?

For more information on Festival International, visit festivalinternational.org

Your attitude is showing.

This sign sits in front of a low-slung office building with moderate traffic and less-than-moderate parking issues. Because of its color, drivers could notice this sign more easily than the sign advertising the office complex, which is modern and blends with the decor.

I'm sure the message is effective. It looked like there were plenty of spaces available for the privileged parkers.

But is effective the determinate criteria for communication? And who is the sign effectively keeping out here? My guess, everyone. Potential lessees, potential clients ... maybe more.

When you consider a sign that simply reads "Private Parking" might accomplish the same outcome, one thing becomes readily apparent. This sign tells us something about the person who erected it.

Brevity.

If it can be made shorter, make it so.

Give us a name.

"Do you like it?" I asked. "Mmm, it just isn't right," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "I don't know really, it just isn't right." And she walked away.

From product reviews to channel surfing, human decisions are a mix of emotion with justified logic and a splash of influence, give or take. The resulting decision process often leaves us knowing what we want to do (intuitively) with only vague verbal justification. 

Our mission as communicators is to get specific, if possible. That's why names can be helpful. Asking our clients, colleagues and friends to name what they don't like (or like) about what we're doing enables us to work with their feedback, not just listen to it. Otherwise, we're left with vague, practically unusable responses — our client feels heard, but we can't do anything about it.

Sharp communicators name pieces of the process, product or service when asking for feedback. "Did you like the presentation?" or better, "Was the presentation artful?" will gain more useful information on a restaurant review, for example, than "Please rate your experience." Positive responses to the more specific question could justify a campaign highlighting the artistic qualities of each dish. Negative responses might validate assigning a chef to train on plating techniques. Whether the responses are negative or positive, it's all good because it's usable.

By helping us name an aspect of our experience, you get the feedback that affects change.

Obviously suspect.

I'm up early this morning. Though I'm sleepless, I feel compelled to make coffee. As I pour my first cup, I read the back of the artificial sweetener packet — GLUTEN FREE.

Seriously?

Somehow, someone thought this was a feature. For me, it's a bug. (The moment I read this I heard my sister's voice cracking a joke in my head, "Yeah, but is it poison free?")

In an apparent effort to make me feel better about the product, the labelers made me suspect of the ingredients (blogs are full of artificial sweetener criticism). I suspect this was inadvertent. But how many times are we over-promoting obvious attributes?

You've seen this before. It's a sign at a CPA's office that reads, "Honest Accountant".  It's the label on a giant box of candy that reads, "A Fat Free Food!" It's the furniture store commercial that says, "The more you spend, the more you save!"

Sure, it may be true. But to state the obvious might suggest otherwise.

The Chocolate Covered Cherry Effect

At age seven, I loved chocolate covered cherries. My parents, ever the attentive and caring providers, made sure I had opportunities to enjoy my favorite chocolate treat every Christmas. To this day, I still get chocolate covered cherries for Christmas.

So what's the problem? I stopped liking chocolate covered cherries at age 12.

The Chocolate Covered Cherry Effect can happen with our audiences, friends, family and clients. We found what they like. We give them what they like, when they like it. But somewhere along the way, they don't like it anymore ... but we never notice.

The effect underscores the critical need for generational approaches to messaging, with "doors" for each of us to define our generation. We need to allow our audience to tell us which generation they fit into.

A colleague is age 50, but are they an early adopter with an iPhone? Are we still sending them faxes? There's a chance they might be grumbling, wishing we'd just email their information. The candy (your message, product, service) we once provided was great, they just like different candy now.

Giving respect for growth can be as simple as asking or as complex as polling, but it's worth it. Otherwise, we're just sending chocolate.