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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.

Editor’s note: I am in a state of what my friend Thea calls “crankass.” Ants are jumping on my head as I write this. I am only exaggerating a little—we are experiencing a small ant invasion, and my desk sits directly below a beam where the little monsters are jumping off to get access to the rest of the house. Mostly I hear a tiny “thwap” as they hit the desk and try to meander off, but occasionally one will land on me. It’s a little disconcerting.

Everybody is on Facebook. Everybody has a website. Everybody loves chocolate.

None of the above statements is true. And aside from the need for food, water and shelter, there is no “everybody.” In fact, latching onto the Myth of Everybody is a great way to put a bullet in your metaphorical foot.