Now that the holiday dust has settled…
Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?

Did you really want to make New Year’s resolutions?

I’m guessing you didn’t.

I’m guessing what you really want is for a bunch of things to happen for your business this year.

Say, for example, you want to finish your taxes done before the deadline, so you’re not in a panic.

Or you want to get more organized.

Or you have this vague notion about getting your marketing butt in gear. You know you need to do something, but you’re not sure where to begin.

Forget the resolutions.

Resolutions sound noble and courageous, but resolve is pointless if you don’t take action.

As in, right now.

Do one simple thing
Is the copyright notice on your website up to date?

Not yet?

Change it. Today.

That’s all you have to do.

Do one (more) simple thing
Since you’re there anyway, take a good look at your website—the virtual face of your creative business, the first thing anyone sees when they look you up online.

Is there an image that needs to be updated?

Just one.

Pick it.

Fix it.

One thing leads to another
Constraints can spark an extraordinary amount of action.

“But I can only change one image? There are three on that single page that need to go! This looks terrible! How did I let things go for so long?”

It doesn’t matter if you’ve let things slide, because that one simple thing just jumpstarted your marketing batteries.

All that matters is you’re ready to act. No lists needed, no lofty New Year’s resolutions to make, break, or feel badly about.

What’s your one thing?

What’s the one thing you can do right now to promote your creative business? To increase sales?

Name it, even if it scares you, because you’re not going to tackle a huge, complicated project all at once. You’re going to do one thing at a time.

What one thing can you do to promote your business this year?

What’s the one simple thing that will get you started?

Maybe it’s a phone call. Or an email.

Or maybe it’s as simple as changing the date on your copyright notice.

One thing.

Choose it.

Do it.

About the author: Stacey Cornelius is a writer and professional butt-kicker. She helps empower artists, designers, writers and craftspeople to do their best work and show it to the world. Sign up for her free, jargon-busting foundation marketing email class right here. For high speed inspiration, follow her on Twitter.

Image by Becky Wetherington

A day in a creative life
She stares at the half-finished piece on the table in front of her. The twisted bulb, too close to her head, hums and crackles, bathing her tiny studio in a flood of alien light.

The knot between her shoulder blades is hot. She imagines herself bursting into flames, nothing left for the coroner to find but a small, unrecognizable pile of ash.

And that bloody damned thing would still be sitting there, a final, glaring testament to an utterly failed artistic career.

She winces as she straightens up on her stool, rubbing her neck. A headache lurks at the base of her skull.

And right on cue, there’s that hollow, spinning place in the pit of her stomach, the familiar, growing panic she feels every time she tries to do something ambitious.

She wants to run, change her name, go to dental school and pretend she never aspired to anything other than the endless joy of being utterly average.

Beats the hell out of being second rate.

She paces the length of her small table, eyeing the piece with disgust.

No one will ever want this. Why can’t I get this right? Why can’t I get anything right?

She tries not to think about what she’s really thinking.

Oh, well, mediocre and meta all at once. Aren’t we clever?

About what she really wants.

Why can’t I be as good as—

She stops, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

I don’t want to do this again.

I don’t want to ever do this again.

She could quit. Just chuck it all.

No relief there. Not really. She’s done it before. That kind of comfort is false.

Wherever you go, there you are.

She stands over her work.

It’s better, isn’t it? From when I started. Isn’t it?

The answer comes creeping quietly, from somewhere still and deep, slowing her churning stomach as it rises.

Yes.

She frowns. She’s done any number of off-the-self-help-shelf pep talks, and none worked. Could it be as simple as just deciding to stop beating herself up?

The drama queen has abdicated. Huzzah, the peasants are revolting.

She snorts.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is how this moment feels, right here, right now. The panic has faded.

It’s better.

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

Where you are is the perfect place to start
There are a myriad of things that can stop you in your tracks. Comparing yourself to someone you see as wildly successful, telling yourself you can’t “do marketing,” that you aren’t smart enough to master the simplest technology.

You can tell yourself other things. Better things.

Truer things.

Things that don’t make you feel ill.

Business skills are learned, not bestowed
Most of this business we call creativity is about learning, whether it’s artistic technique, a new medium, or marketing.

We all start somewhere, learn in different ways and in our own time.

There’s no shame in that.

“I want this to be better” isn’t a reason to stop. It’s a reason to push forward.

That desire won’t derail you, it’s the baggage you bring along for the ride.

Ditch the baggage. Do your work.

About the author: Stacey Cornelius is a writer and artist who believes successful creative ventures run far deeper than snazzy sales pitches. She helps empower artists, designers, writers and craftspeople to do their best work and show it to the world. Sign up for her free, jargon-busting foundation marketing email class right here. For high-speed inspiration, follow Stacey on Twitter.

Once upon a time, the world had two channels
We had a black and white television when I was a kid. There were two channels.

Then it was a colour TV. There were still two channels.

Now we have a flat screen TV. We use it to watch movies. There’s no cable, no satellite, and no channels, because things have changed.

Things have changed.

Innovation at the speed of light
Somewhere in there, the Internet happened. The world got bigger and smaller at the same time.

For better or worse, technology and economy are connected across the globe. Now there are countless channels—art, music, information, opinions—all at the twitch of a finger on a mouse or touch screen.

Wars still rage, atrocities are committed, cynicism is still the drink of choice for many.

But many of the old systems are teetering.

Things have changed.

Ordinary people have found their voices. They use technology to connect and inspire. They fill squares and occupy streets. They shout and sing and drum and dance and create.

People call them crazy.

The power of ideas
People call a lot of things crazy.

Usually those things are the most imaginative and the most creative, unabashedly daring and sometimes, crazy things created by crazy people change the world.

Once upon a time, the idea of talking to someone across the ocean was unthinkable, sheer madness. Now that idea is ubiquitous. Now we call it radio.

Now our ability to communicate and share ideas is nearly limitless.

The power of creativity
Sometimes those crazy ideas are smaller. Sometimes they happen off the media radar, in some tiny corner of the world, maybe in a corner of your studio.

Your version of crazy might only scare your mother. Or your significant other. Or your teacher (who maybe isn’t as a great a teacher as she could be).

It doesn’t matter.

“Crazy” is a gift. Live it like you mean it.

The question that should not be inevitable
I was in the middle of a Christmas retail show. A sales rep who was selling subscriptions for a local publication struck up a conversation during a lull in customer traffic.

“Do you have a job, too?” she asked, inclining her head toward my booth.

I gave her a look. “This is my job.”

“Oh, good for you!” she said, as if I just announced I’d learned how to tie my shoes.

Frustrating as it was, the question wasn’t really the problem. I’d heard it many times before.

The problem was her reaction to my answer. It was annoying, over the top, and out of date.

The nature of work has changed
The latest recession has caused a significant rise in self-employment, as people who can’t find jobs create their own.

People who need extra income or want a backup plan have started businesses or picked up freelance work.

Some earn income from more than one venture.

Those people aren’t just creatives. Some are licensed professionals who will never be asked if they also have a job.

Knowing that doesn’t make it easier if you’re stuck in a gig you hate, and desperately want more time to make your art.

It doesn’t help if the people around you don’t take your creative practice seriously, or believe it’s either full-time income or bigtime failure.

You can’t let those people influence you. Because they’re dead wrong.

Misconceptions and the creative profession
There’s a misconception that artists don’t have “real” jobs, that it’s all fun, games and free money from taxpayers.

There’s a mistaken belief among many that the arts aren’t important; that they’re a drain on the public purse and don’t play an important role in society or the economy.

Consider this: the Conference Board of Canada estimated that the culture sector generated $84.6 billion in 2007, or 7.4 per cent of our GDP in 2007.

Canada has a population of 34 million.

1.1 million work in the culture sector.

Those numbers are nothing to sneeze at, and they’re not an exception. Full-time, part-time, or just starting out, the combined energy and talent of creative professionals around the world is an economic powerhouse.

Define your own profession
The most basic definition of a successful business is making more money than you spend. You know—that little thing called profit.

It’s not about settling for a few bucks here and there. There are enough hacks pretending to be artists so they can fake some tax deductions.

It’s not about selling your work for wholesale prices or your services for minimum wage. That qualifies as income, but it’s not smart business.

It’s about the commitment you made, the choice to build a practice, to answer that call, and to put yourself out there, in spite of tough odds and ridiculous attitudes.

The time you spend honing your craft, the work you put in learning the business side of things, the tools and technology that enable you to do your own marketing, are comparable to the time and effort required to start any kind of business.

The struggle to earn those first dollars is just as frustrating and frightening.

That was true 20 years ago. But 20 years ago, even with a recession in the US and Canada that was followed by a jobless recovery, the workplace was different. Online businesses and social media didn’t exist.

Maybe the playing field is finally beginning to level. Maybe we’re finally able to redefine what work is in a lasting way.

Maybe we can finally retire that question about why you need to get a “real job.” Because making it on your own—even if you’re not doing it full-time—is as real as it gets.

There’s a lot of noise out there
Do you ever think your medium is too crowded? Too much noise, too many underpriced amateurs, too much mass-produced crap and an epidemic of cheap template thinking (not to mention cheap templates)?

If those things fill your field of vision, you’re looking on the wrong side of the fence.

Yes, there are plenty of people who want the cheapest “art” or lowest-priced design services. When you’re feeling discouraged, it seems like they’re the only people out there.

They’re not.

You’re not alone
There are plenty of other people who are as tired of the noise as you are. People who have been burned by discounts and won’t waste their money again. People who want to surround themselves with quality.

There are people who don’t need (or want) huge amounts of stuff in their lives, and would rather do without than settle for something cheap.

These are the people who are largely immune to pushy marketing, who aren’t swayed by manipulative sales pitches or seduced by headlines (no matter how hard you work at writing them).

These are the people who want form and content. They look beyond headlines. They refuse to settle.

These are the people who want to buy your work.

This is why presentation matters. It sends a signal to your best customers. It says, “Hey, I’m here!”

When your people finally find you, they breathe a sigh of relief. You show them they’re not alone.

Turn away from the herd. Look to your best customers instead.

That’s what great marketing is all about.

Happy Friday.

The important things in life have nothing to do with money
As I was driving home from the vet’s office, I looked at him and thought, I don’t want to write this after he’s gone. For one thing, when that day comes, I’ll require heavy medication, intensive therapy, or both. I won’t be in any condition to write.

But the better reason is I hope both my dogs outlive me so I can avoid all that.

That guy up there, with the muddy nose? That’s Charlie. He’s 12—at least, we think he’s 12. He spent three months in a shelter before we came along. He was rescued from a ditch as a puppy and mistakenly listed as a chow/retriever mix. Chows have a bad reputation, so there he sat. He’s actually a border collie/lab mix. Best dog ever.

But I didn’t always think so.

The idea of something is rarely the same as the reality
We did our research before adopting. We knew how much time we had to devote to walking and exercise, and what kind of temperament we wanted. We thought about contacting a breeder, but were put off by the cost. We decided to adopt a shelter dog instead. We both lived with dogs when we were growing up, so we felt confident we knew what we were doing.

We were dead wrong.

He shrieked for 15 solid minutes after we went to bed, every single night. I was out of my mind with the stress. I started researching separation anxiety, and decided we were in over our heads. We decided we had to rehome him.

Then I found a trainer who also did assessments for the local SPCA. I contacted him, and he suggested we take Charlie for a weekend stay. His first words put terror into our hearts: “Border collie.”

That meant far more exercise than we’d anticipated, and a lot more dog. Then he had some good advice.

“Go home and get some sleep.”

At the end of the weekend we were greeted by a very tired, happy dog, and reassurances that he’d get over his nighttime stress. “He’s pushy, but adaptable. He’s a great dog,” the trainer said, looking at us both very carefully.

A calling requires serious commitment
So we took him home. The shrieking did subside over the next couple of weeks. And we started walking, at night, in the middle of February. We researched border collies. What we learned made us both wonder how anyone who knew even a little about the breed could have mistaken him for anything else.

We were committed.

Clicker classes came next, with the same trainer. We got a certificate, mostly for showing up, because Mr. Stubbornness was not inclined to do recalls when he was busy investigating something. So much for off-leash walks.

Doing what you love can require a staggering amount of work
The next challenge was his chronically flaky skin. We visited several vets who were more or less baffled. I found a canine nutritionist, and we worked on a diet that would help, discovering a number of food sensitivities along the way. I emailed daily reports: what went into the dog, and what came out. That went on for weeks.

His skin is still flaky, but he’s happy and healthy. There’s a joyful song and dance routine before every meal.

I’m too afraid to calculate the total weight of pork and sweet potatoes we cooked over the past 10 years.

A conscious investment in time, money and energy pays off
People are shocked when we tell them how old Charlie is. His vet is thrilled with him, and so glad we focused on what’s best for him as an individual (and if you ever wondered where I came up with my favourite saying, “There’s no such thing as everybody,” it’s a result of my work with his nutritionist).

During his last checkup the vet discovered reduced mobility in his right shoulder, so we did some rehab. A little massage, laser and EMT, along with heat, stretches and ice at home, and after four sessions, he’s right as rain.

The tech sighed with mock drama at the end of yesterday’s visit. “I’m not needed anymore.” Then, “I know you’ll do his home care, so if you see any changes, just bring him in.”

Two years ago we adopted a second dog, another rescue. This time we knew what we were doing. The woman from Animal Control told me about the recommendation she got from our vet, which went something like, “Any dog would be lucky to go to their home.”

Learning can change your life
When the new dog started showing signs of food allergies, we knew what to do and who to ask for help. She’s asleep on the spare bed as I type this, with one of the four rescued cats we adopted in July. Charlie is on his bed behind me, snoring happily.

Did we know what we were in for when we adopted three kittens and one feral adult cat in one fell swoop? Mostly. But we also knew we were up to the challenge, no matter what.

The dogs and cats get along famously. Their house monkeys? We’re overrun. But in a good way.

We make food for all of them. The dogs walk about 45 kilometres a week. The vacuum cleaner should have an odometer of its own.

We don’t travel.

Don’t even ask me what we’ll do if we ever decide to sell our house.

Do what you love—whether it’s easy or not
People often have this idea that creativity is easy, that artists, designers and writers don’t have to work hard. The art just flows.

You know it and I know it—they have no idea what it’s really like.

Sure, sometimes things do just flow, and all you can do is get out of the way, but when you turn your passion into a profession—if that calling just won’t let go, you’re in for some serious work. Sometimes it’s tedious, and sometimes you’d like to just quit and scoop blueberries for a living. Or get a Joe job.

But you won’t, any more than I’d give up the menagerie that’s taken over my life. In spite of all the work, the worry, the lost sleep and occasional heartbreak, it’s worth it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

What about you? Are there any lessons you’ve learned from the critters—or wise-beyond-words kids—in your life?

The perception of “cheap”
I posted the above tweet on March 1st. I followed it up with, “There’s a reason I don’t buy “bargain” art or craft. Cheap = poor quality. Pricing is part of your marketing and part of your brand.”

A thoughtful question followed: at what point does my perception of handmade being cheap change?

The simple answer is this: handmade does not equal cheap. Not by itself. At least, not in my world.

I have a degree in craft. Textiles, to be precise. I have a great appreciation for fine craft as both a designer and maker as well as a buyer, and not just in craft, but also in visual art, music and design.

The perception of value is created by both parties.

The key elements of making and marketing
The critical step is alignment: design, execution, presentation, price, and customer. All of these things combine to create a complete picture. It shapes the perception of value of your work. It becomes your brand, whether you like it or not.

A $100 price point is undermined by a $10 presentation.

A $10 dollar customer doesn’t understand—or care about—top quality work.

Top quality customers expect to pay full price. The best customers want to pay you.

Panic is not a viable business strategy
When you underprice your work, you leave money on the table, catering to a so-so audience instead of turning your energy and attention to your best customers.

Panic pricing sends a message about your medium. It affects you as well your colleagues. Not much of a creative legacy, and not a great way to strengthen your creative community.

If you need a certain price point, that bread & butter sure seller, plan for it. Instead of underpricing, make work that aligns with that price point, and with the audience prepared to pay it.

What “cheap” really is
“Cheap” is a trap. It distorts your thinking and poisons your creativity. It hamstrings your marketing and stunts your professional growth.

“Cheap” creates false expectations. Try breaking out of that mold when you have a customer base that expects the moon for a buck and a quarter.

The worst thing about cheap? Low prices for quality work is a lie. One you tell yourself as well as your customers.

Image by gnuckx

You have an idea. A message you want to send to the world.

You think about what you want to say: the concept, the emotion, the impact on your audience.

You make a plan.

You select your tools, begin work.

Momentum soars, peaks, fades, then grows again.

There are setbacks.

You curse your lofty goals, wonder what the neighbours think.

The idea is good.

It won’t let go.

You hold your ground, plant your feet, dig in.

You learn things.

Things you were a little afraid of before.

You pick up your most trusted tools.

You experiment with the new ones.

You work.

The idea takes on a life of its own, doesn’t look like the idea you began with.

You let it have its way with you.

Which is the way it should be.

You finish.

Is it perfect?

No.

But it’s done.

And true.

This is art.

This is craft.

This is design.

This is music.

This is writing.

This is creativity.

For those who are willing to see the possibilities, this process also defines marketing: a smart, honest, carefully crafted mixed media message.

The first piece I wrote—the first article published here at the Studio Source—was about how cool marketing can be. I believed it before I began this venture, and 100 articles later, I still believe it. How about you—are you in?

Image by anyjazz65

It’s a familiar refrain—New Year’s resolutions often fail within the first week or two. Every year the experts talk about how to make resolutions, and every year there are numerous theories about why they either succeed or fail.

How about this for a theory: it’s hard to keep a New Year’s resolution when there’s a big pile of Shoulds cluttering up your consciousness. Those nagging little thoughts are big distractions and if left untended, become disappointments and a false sense of failure. When that happens, it’s hard to concentrate on your bigger, more important goals.

It’s time to dump that pile.

Change the parameters of Should—and take care of your real business
The word “should” is often a throwaway. We say things like, “We should get together soon,” or, “I should let you get back to work,” without thinking much about it.

Then there are the other kinds of Should. The kind that lurk at the back of your mind, sitting in the corner like forgotten leftovers in the fridge, and just like that month-old lima bean casserole, your Shoulds have to be taken care of before they start to stink up the place.

Here are the three kinds of Should, identified and thoroughly examined in the Studio Source laboratory, and what to do about them.

#1 The Need-to-Investigate Should (that otherwise undermines your confidence)
“Everybody says Facebook is great for getting the word out and I should get an account…”

Before you take the plunge on any kind of marketing venture, do your homework. Are people like you using Facebook? Are your customers? How much time do you need to invest, and how much time do you have? Are you likely to keep your pages up to date?

It’s hard to make a good decision without information. You can’t do it with confidence. Once you get your facts straight, you can decide if you want to give something a try, rather than going in blind and uneasy.

#2 The Ditch It Should (that was never yours to begin with)
There are well-meaning people who love to give advice, whether it’s relevant or not. They’ll say something like, “You should start a blog!” even though you hate writing. Or maybe your uninformed advisor will tell you to have a big sale, even though it would seriously damage your reputation.

You’ll recognize these Shoulds—they turn into that insistent, nattering voice in your head, while your gut tells you to run, far and fast.

Don’t let self-doubt jump on top of a Should. Neither of those things can serve you well. Ditch the lot.

#3 The Do It Should (the one you never ignore)
These are the messages that wave flags, turn into wayfinding signs, and could be the ones you’re least likely to pay attention to, because they scare you a little. Or a lot.

Make that follow-up phone call.

Update your website.

Raise your prices.

These are the messages that can’t be left untended. These are the nagging thoughts that could propel your business forward. The Need-to-Investigate Shoulds might lead you here. “It’s time,” they whisper.

“Oh, maybe someday I’ll…” doesn’t cut it.

These are imperatives.

Don’t let “Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda” become your resolution lament.

Do it. Ditch your Shoulds and take care of your business.

It’s time.

Have your say: do you have a list of resolutions? Have some already gone by the wayside? Would you rather work on your pile of Shoulds instead?

When you’re about to take a reluctant summer sabbatical, you want to step out on a high note. You want to leave wise words for anyone who happens by while you’re away, something a little more pithy than “Back soon, thanks for dropping by.”

This will be my last post until September. It’s a few days late (and for those of you who were wondering, yes, there are still issues with the feed).

As I sat working on a number of uninspiring first drafts, this little gem drifted by on my Twitter stream, from @Marelisa:

“It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.”
—Eleanor Roosevelt

And within minutes, from @escapeintolife:

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land, there is no other life but this.”
— Henry David Thoreau

Puts a few things into perspective, doesn’t it.

If only it were as easy as tacking a couple of inspirational quotes on your bulletin board.

Let me share a little secret: sometimes I want to grab very talented people by their lapels, look deep into their eyes, show them all my teeth and say, “Will you just stop underselling yourself already? This is your freaking profession!”

But it’s not as easy as that, either. Plus scaring people isn’t great for business.

It’s not just how—it’s why
If you’ve followed The Studio Source for any length of time, you will have noticed a recurring theme. There are fewer step-by-step how-to marketing articles in favour of fixing faulty thinking, or shifting to your desired customer’s buying space. And for good reason.

You have to wrap your head around the emotional stuff—your own self-doubt as well as what is most appealing to your best customer.

We’re odd, neurotic creatures. All of us. Society’s attitude towards “artists” isn’t necessarily encouraging, either. Being an artist is a wonderful, sexy idea—until you claim it as your profession. Then the barbarian hordes either smile indulgently, as if you’re trying to learn to tie your own shoes, or treat you like some kind of money-sucking blight on the cultural landscape. To add insult to injury, after curling their collective lip at you, they happily trot off to HomeSense to buy some discounted factory-made piece of crap to stick on their walls or decorate their shelves.

Not that I have an opinion or anything.

It’s hard to move forward with that ugly movie playing in your head. Even the most inspiring how-tos turn thin and pale if you can only see the woman who thinks art is something she buys at the mall, or the guy who believes owning the latest version of PaintShop Photo Pro makes him a designer.

You really get into trouble when you lose sight of why you do what you do. Why you chose your profession, your self-created job, why you decided to build a real, sustainable business.

Commit
You hear the message to follow your passion, but that message is often a half-truth. It’s only partly true because passion is part of the picture. Choosing a profession means you get the whole pie, not just the juicy stuff in the middle. The idea of passion, like the idea of being an artist, isn’t enough. Too many of us, thoroughly trained to recite snappy slogans like mantras, confuse passion with pleasure. Because we don’t want to face the dirty secret about following your passion.

Passion—real, grown-up passion—is not always fun. Sometimes it’s damned hard. It can keep you up at night. Sometimes it can break your heart.

But it’s not supposed to be frolicking-in-the-meadow fun. That’s not what passion is about.

Passion is about sticking with it. It’s about doing everything necessary to make that last assault on the summit, push past mile 25, and kick over every obstacle you come to, even if your knees are bleeding and you’re scared to death.

Passion isn’t freedom from fear. Passion is bigger than fear.

Doing what you love doesn’t have to be about money
If you want to follow the pleasure path, enjoy your avocation. Pick it up whenever the mood strikes, dabble, shrug off the little setbacks, and don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s not necessary.

If you don’t want to turn your lifetime obsession into a job, with all the requirements of any viable business, don’t do it. Don’t even consider it.

I’m an avid gardener. No, that’s not true. I’m a rabid gardener. People have suggested I become a professional landscaper or start a greenhouse. It’ll never happen. I won’t turn something I do for myself into an obligation.

It’s not just pleasure. It’s hard work. But I get twitchy if I can’t do it.

And I don’t need to turn it into money. I have other ways to earn a living.

Respect your profession
I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve reminded friends and colleagues they’re running a business. That other professionals don’t fret about pricing, or treat themselves and their work with disrespect. You can’t turn your work into a skeleton that won’t stay in the closet and expect to be successful. Or stay sane, for that matter.

Yes, I get it. The marketplace is big, bad and ugly. People make stupid comments, balk at prices, yadda yadda.

Those people aren’t your customers. Their passion lives in another place. Walmart, maybe. Or reality TV.

Forget them.

Find the people who get what you do. The people who want good stuff, not cheap stuff. Their passion lives where you do.

Have your say
Are you guilty of underpricing? Are you secretly (or not so secretly) nervous about your work? What would turn that around? What made you choose your profession?