Once upon a time, a long time ago, I had a job interview. It was a technical writing gig. I can’t recall the name of the company.

My throat tightened the minute I saw the sea of cubicles. I got downright jumpy when I met with the interviewers. There were two of them and me, in a small room. I suspected they were recent university graduates, and it quickly became clear they were both big fans of pre-programmed conversations.

They asked a few perfunctory questions, then started on the hypothetical quiz section. How did I feel about office politics? Could I give examples? How did I feel about the situation I encountered?

It was like I’d been sucked into The Matrix. I found myself fighting a nearly irresistible urge to bolt for the door.

“I’m not comfortable gossiping about a past job to get a new one. If I were the type, I’d give you my unvarnished opinion of the self-important jerk who took credit for someone else’s work, and exactly how that poisons a workplace. And if you’re asking me that question, I have to wonder what kind of culture you have here.”

But I didn’t say that out loud.

I gave them a sanitized version of the story, reluctantly jumping through their hoops, the desire for a cleansing hot shower growing stronger with every word.

Then things got interesting
When they finally got to the big question—why I wanted to work for the company—I did the unthinkable. I deliberately blew the interview.

“I don’t want a career. I want to do work I’m passionate about.”

I can’t remember if they asked me about writing.

I do recall two very clear realizations: first, I could never work in Cube Land again. Second, and this was striking: way too many job interviews are stellar examples of how to not get your message out.

Put the textbook down, and back away quickly
Far too often, marketing, like a bad job interview, becomes a meaningless ritual. You go through what you think are the correct motions. You sanitize your words to mimic corporate-speak, because corporations are successful, so you figure that’s the way it should be done. Formal. By the book. Non-threatening.

You tell people what you think they want to hear. You don’t dare talk about what you can’t—or won’t—deliver, because you might not get the business.

You water down who you are and what you really want to do.

You settle, too fast and too easily.

And you end up miserable.

A big opportunity and a big decision
A couple of years later, I had another interview. This one was for a vice president’s position at a small company that did cool creative work. I must have made a good impression, because shortly after the meeting they called and asked if I could come in for a few days, to see if it was a good fit before everything was finalized.

I thought hard, but not long. I didn’t want to admit it and lose out on the opportunity, but I knew even before the offer was made I’d rather be in the shop making stuff than in the office talking about it.

I turned it down.

The salary and the title were very tempting. But I knew I couldn’t give them what they wanted, or what they deserved. They couldn’t give me what I wanted, either.

I remained self-employed, for a lot less money.

On rare occasions, I still wonder if I was out of my mind.

This much I’m sure of: the source of those choices wasn’t madness. What I said was the simple truth, and both times the words just fell out of my mouth. I don’t have to fake excitement when I talk about making things, or telling stories, or pushing past stale, stiff, inflicted limitations to do your best work. Because those things matter.

Where good marketing comes from
When you talk about the work you’re truly passionate about, you don’t have to force your words or ideas. That’s the place the best marketing comes from, because it’s the place the best stories are made. It’s good because you mean it. It’s good because it’s true.

The people who love what you create hear that message, loud and clear. They’re listening for it.

When do you do your best blurting? Have you ever had a great opportunity turn out to be a big disappointment? How do you feel about turning down work when you know it’s not right for you?

Related posts:

1. Email marketing gone wrong, and why size matters
2. Lessons learned in art school
3. Two important lessons learned in a car showroom

Editor’s note: I hadn’t intended to do a two-art post on the Myth of Everybody, but casting your customer net too wide is a common problem and worth discussing.

Once upon a time there was a restaurant that offered a huge menu consisting of three types of ethnic food. The menu was so big you could tie a string to it and fly it in a stiff breeze.

The food was, in my humble opinion, a celebration of staggering culinary mediocrity. It was entirely without character—everything tasted like it either came out of a can or was from the “just add water” supply store.

That may sound harsh, but I take my food very seriously.

You run into trouble when you try to sell to everybody. You are forced to dumb down what you have to offer, even if your fascinating combination of goodies gives you lots to talk about.

Ironically, having lots to talk about doesn’t necessarily make for a compelling story.

Let’s try talking about less. If you run a restaurant that makes astonishing soup, you have a compelling story. You can tell your customers you use the finest seasonings, the freshest ingredients (it’s even better if you have a rooftop garden), and make seasonal recipes. Throw in some historical soup trivia, and don’t forget to mention you serve mighty fine soup.

People who love soup will become die hard fans and bring their friends to your restaurant. People who don’t like soup won’t be interested, which is fine, because you can’t please everybody. And you shouldn’t try. (Obviously you sell more than soup, but play along, I’m trying to make a point here.)

Businesses that sell a variety of things, like gift shops, seem to cater to everybody. But they don’t. Some carry fine craft and art, some stock their shelves with imported factory made goods. Not everyone cares that their mother’s birthday gift is handmade, and not everyone can, or wants to, spend the money on an original oil painting. On the other hand, there are lots of people who don’t want a souvenir of their trip to Banff National Park to be made in China.

Trying to sell to everybody is a Catch-22. You can’t focus your message and your audience can’t quite get what you’re about. Sometimes they just don’t believe you (you’re a lawyer and you offer all those services? Thanks, but I think I’ll find someone who’s really good at what I need). Try to please everybody and you’ll feel like you’re chasing ghosts. You won’t have the time or energy to give your real audience your best.

Narrowing your focus is scary at first, but doing what you do very well and delighting the people who love it is exactly what you were aiming for in the first place.

Related posts:

1. A cautionary tale about online selling
2. How to turn a free meal into an extraordinary brand
3. Acting, vacuum cleaners and a good story