Be authentic.  Be yourself.  Tell a story.  But don’t take too long.  It’s complicated enough being a person offline.  How in the world are we supposed to create an engaging, distraction-free version of ourselves across social networks?

The answer is just a super-hero away.  Batman, Spiderman and the JLA (Justice League of America) have solved the get-to-the-point problem.  It’s called a comic book (or graphic novel for folks who call movies films.)  This genre knows how to pare down the descriptions, pump-up the action and pull the reader right into a page where every panel advances the story.

If you need to put some personality into your social profile, pitch a new idea, or just have some fun, start by thinking inside the box one panel at a time.  To get you going, here’s my story (one of ‘em, anyway) with a few tips for creating your very own six-panel adventure.

I do words. She does pictures. That’s the deal. Now my friend and work partner has gone rogue and started writing her own material. Here’s the part that makes me bitter. She thought she was writing a funny little story to introduce a golf tournament. But what she did (and I’m not telling her) was create a back-story, a loopy convergence of fact and fiction that enriches the context of the event and actually entices more people to participate.

Personable not Personal

We constantly create short hand narratives of the events in our lives. From personal profile pages on Facebook to corporate web sites, we’re sharing lots of information. But what’s often absent is a context, a sense of the person without it getting all too personal. A story is a great way to bridge the gap between the unfettered ickyness of too much info and the projection of a personable presence. The irony of the online networks that bind us together is that the realtime unfolding of our lives is less compelling than the constructed experiences we share. A story is profoundly human precisely because the doings and dilemmas of the individual have universal appeal. It is interesting that we (people, organizations, businesses) become more authentic versions of ourselves, not because of the facts we share, but because of the stories we tell.

Susan’s Secrets to a Better Back-Story

Okay. Keep this quiet because Susan doesn’t even know she knows this. But you can use her model to craft a better back-story for anything you care about.

1. Keep it short. Ask Mark Twain how hard this is. Ernest Hemingway seemed to have the knack, but getting to simple did take its toll. 250 little (or even big) words.

1. Keep it true. That means true to you and your experience. Authentic works. Sure you can change things up as long as you remain true to the spirit of events. Check out Two Fisted Science by Jim Ottaviani for an entertaining and illuminating treatment of a real event. Or, just add a big old disclaimer saying that ‘the facts have been changed to make me more interesting’.

1. Mix in some mythic. Make your back-story engaging with a mash-up of the mundane and the mythic. Origin, quest, transformation and redemption. It worked for the Bible and Danielle Steele too.

And now, the best back-story ever in recent history.

Tater, the crappy Bassett statue

The Princess and the Pup, or How the TATER CUP was Born.

By Susan Bachman

Once upon a time, there was a tiny kitty named Sarah. The Princess loved her because she was soft and fuzzy, and well, all kitteny.

Excitedly, the Princess ran to show the mean Ogre the soft and fuzzy kitty.

“Grrrr” said the Ogre “We don’t need no stinkin’ kitty.”

The kind Knight said “I don’t like the name Sarah, and perhaps neither does the Ogre.”

So the Princess named the kitty Tater.

“Can we keep Tater, mean Ogre, I mean darling Husband?”

Flash forward to almost present times…

The Princess wandered about, searching for a Tater to call her own.

The King, taking pity on the Princess said “Here you can have this crappy Bassett statue and call it Tater.”

And Tater, the crappy Bassett statue was born.

The Princess took it home. But something was amiss. Tater wasn’t soft. Tater wasn’t fuzzy. And Tater definitely wasn’t kitteny.

One evening, the Princess and the Ogre were sitting on the balcony of their castle and wondering what they should do with Tater.

“Grrrr” said the Ogre, “We don’t need no crappy Bassett Statue.”

“I KNOW,” screeched the Princess, “we must have a joust, a tournament. We shall tie iron to sticks and hit rocks about. We will invite only the fiercest competitors, and the tournament will be long and arduous, and last many months.”

“And at the end, only one team shall stand victorious. And they shall be the winners of the illustrious TATER CUP – and be presented with Tater, the crappy Bassett statue!”

The End.

Bra shopping in the big city! The left image is actually dress made of pink crayons. Cool, huh?

Our April trip to the Nashville PRSA Awards show was, what, all work and no play? I don’t think so. Inspiration comes in surprising places.  We were intrigued by the lobby art at our decidedly quirky hotel and that got us thinking (yeah, we do that sometimes) about the power of everyday stuff when it’s used in unexpected ways.

Who else is thinking “70’s porno flick”?  Why yes, that is red faux pony skin that adorned the walls of our hotel’s elevator.  Getting up to our floor was a memorable experience.  We weren’t quite sure if it was smarmy (okay, it was really smarmy) but it was completely true to itself.  Honest smarmy, you know?

And crayons.  Every kid has crayons.  But hardly anybody makes a pink crayon dress.  It stands out and sticks in your mind precisely because it is unexpected.  Kind of like the punch line to a joke. Your mind is going along a certain path and then, bam, you end up someplace you didn’t plan to be.

Madonna has already done underwear as outer wear but it’s not everyday you see a bra as a light fixture.  Illuminating - in every way.

Our trip to the big city reminded us that the potential for creativity is all around us.  It’s in the stuff of every day.  Maybe faux red pony fur is just what you need to stand out.  We’re sticking with crayons because underwear belongs in a drawer when it’s not on the job.

“I’m an anarchist and an introvert.” 

This is not what you’d expect from a successful businessperson.  But that’s exactly how Ari Weinzweig, partner and co-founder of Zingerman’s Delicatessan described himself during our podcast.  Except for the introvert part, I can relate to the underlying sense of not having any business being in business.  But Ari and co-founder Paul Saginaw have created a successful community of food-related businesses (ZCoB) that completely upend the idea of business as usual.

There are plenty of reasons why Inc. Magazine named Zingerman’s the coolest small company in America.  After all, Ari and Paul succeeded in building an empire without giving up what made it great in the first place. 

Like all of our podcasts, my conversation with Ari and Paul, focused on the practical ways that they put creative thinking to work.  While there is much to consider in their uncommon sense, here’s my take on the top three reasons why no business being in business is good business for them.

Pragmatic Visionaries:  They started small but their vision was always big.  Driven by their taste buds to bring the perfect corned beef sandwich to America’s mid-section (geographically speaking) they were practical about building a viable business that was also a vehicle for something more.  Like an elasticized waistband (which you need when eating at Zingerman’s because it’s SO good), the deli expanded outward; becoming a bake house, a creamery, an online store, a management training consultancy and more.  The bottom line was an indicator not an end.  They were practical and yet never lost touch with a greater sense of purpose.

Inclusive and Connected:  Long before the clamor for transparency and authenticity in all things, Ari and Paul were living it.  From the get-go they were as committed to their employees and the community as they were to their customers.  Wonder how do they do it?

They share financial goals and performance with employees.  In fact, they have training sessions so that everyone from cooks to counter staff and coffee house baristas, can read a balance sheet and grasp what’s going on.

They train their people.  With a variety of three and five-step guidelines, Zingers (my word for Zingrman’s staff) live the goal of great customer experience.  It’s a very smart use of structure as the source of freedom.  Zing leaders allow people to excel as their authentic selves within the Zingerman’s culture.

They provide a living wage.  Ari and Paul may have started the deli because of a passion for corned beef.  But from the beginning their vision included paying people a wage that would support a life, an education, a mortgage, and an opportunity to advance.  Their philosophy in action has strengthened and enriched the Ann Arbor community every bit as much as their many charitable programs.

Zingy!  Really Truly Remarkable:  Zingerman’s is a deli plus a community of other food-related businesses.  But they’re also in the business of retail theatre.  (This applies to the online store too).  The customer experience is a heady mix of yeasty, cheesy, meaty aromas with a congenial crush of people noshing, shopping, learning about hand-crafted, insanely delicious food.  Their in-store graphics are great too: a little quirky, slyly funny and with just enough feeling of home made to keep it real.  (The online store extends the brand with the same graphic style adding high quality content that will keep a foodie up long past bedtime).

When your name (Zingerman’s) becomes an adjective (Zingy) that describes the experience you deliver, you’re definitely doing something right.  In fact, you can learn face-to-face from Ari and Paul and their management consultancy team by signing up for a ZingTrain session.  So don’t worry if you feel like you don’t have any business being in business.  You may be destined for something great that simply isn’t business as usual. 

During an interview for our podcast Conversations with Creative Minds, Guy Sanville, actor and artistic director at the Purple Rose Theatre, repeatedly used the I-word. No, he didn’t say idiot, which I mutter frequently in reference to myself. Guy chose the word industrious to describe his work habits and those of people who are successful regardless of their profession.

You just don’t hear the word industrious all that often, unless you’re watching a wildlife show about the nature of beavers. Though there’s nothing bad about it, industrious is not one of the top ten characteristics I’d like someone to use when describing me. Maybe that’s because I associate it with a faint hearted kind of praise, like having a solid attendance record. (Although, Woody Allen did say that 80% of success is just showing up.) Or maybe I simply equate industrious with the machine-like regimen of industry.

And yet, industrious is the word that Guy chose to describe his approach to the craft of acting. Which makes sense because the development of craft, the essential skills and techniques that are fundamental to all endeavors, does take work. A lot of it. But industrious doesn’t happen all willy-nilly. It demands a certain structure, a framework for accomplishment. Creating, whether it’s a character, a play or a new theory of the cosmos is work. But industrious, when applied to work you love, is not at all industrial. It’s rigorous not regimented. It’s structured but never static. It’s practiced repeatedly but is not mind-numbingly repetitious.

Industriousness and creativity are not mutually exclusive. They’re just different sides of the same coin. It’s that dynamic tension thing of apparent opposites coming together to produce work that lives instead of working at making a living.

Industrious people continually refine their craft. They are engaged in such a way that work is something more than working. In our commitment to craft, we catch an occasional glimpse of art; the ephemeral and transcendent feeling of being completely at ease in and one with the universe. It is the pursuit of this that informs and inspires the practice of craft.

As Guy reminded me, acting is about doing. Industrious people get things done without an industrial way of working. Hmm. Industrious is sounding better and better. Maybe I could strike stylish off my preferred characteristics list and replace it with industrious. I’ll always love clothes, but for now I want to get stuff done.

Jan

Guy Sanville on Creating Reality (video)

I just finished reading Jonah Lehrer’s beautifully written book, Proust was a Neuroscientist. Before you wrongly assume that I’m all egg-heady (more pointy-headed, especially on bad hair days) this book articulates in lucid and engaging prose the premise that creative types of the 19th and 20th centuries had an innate understanding of how the brain works long before neuroscience proved their insights.

This made me all skin-tingly and sweaty under the eyes (does anyone else perspire there)? You see, many of the guests that I’m privileged to interview for our podcast reveal insights about the practice and thought process of creating just as eye-opening as those in Jonah Lehrer’s book. Here’s an example.

Guy Sanville, actor and artistic director at the Purple Rose Theatre in Chelsea MI, was a guest on our show. When I asked him to define acting, he described it as being authentic in imaginary circumstances. He also said that the greatest actors are those who know how to pay profound attention to the other person in the scene.

After the rigorous crafting of a character from the inside out, it is the actors ability to pay attention to what’s going on that allows reality to arise from a make believe situation.

Coming back to the book, Proust was a Neuroscientist, the author makes a similar point, saying that the brain’s ability to pay attention is what gives rise to our sense of self. In essence, when we’re not practicing paying attention, there’s no there there. It’s our ability to listen-up, tune-in and take note that makes us real to ourselves. That’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard. As long as we pay attention to one another we can construct reality together. I guess that means you’re a neuroscientist and I am too.

Jan

One of of the best things about interviewing guests on our podcast Conversations with Creative Mind is that my partner Susan Bachman and I come away with fresh insights about the practice and practical application of creativity.

Interviews with Guy Sanville, actor and artistic director at the Purple Rose Theatre (founded by Jeff Daniels) are now available at www.conversationswithcreativeminds.com. Guy has mind-awakening things to say about the craft of acting and the business of constructing an artificial reality that seems, well, real. But one of his statements has a particular resonance with the way Susan and I approach our work and our lives too.

“We don’t always know what we’re doing, but we have our principles and our passions to guide us.” Guy Sanville

I’m completely on board with the concept of not-knowing. In fact, I probably hang out there more than I should. But Guy isn’t talking about not having a clue. Rather, he’s making the point that by having an intention, an idea of what you want to do, you can begin doing without waiting to know everything. It’s the willingness to not-know everything that opens the door to possibilities and possibility-thinking leads to the consideration of unlikely ideas; ideas that an informed or knowing mind would reject.

Susan and I often debate whether we’re not all that smart or if we’re just smart enough because not-knowing doesn’t stop us from getting started. Somehow, it’s in the act of doing that we discover what needs to be done. I suppose that’s what some people would call thinking outside of the box. Guy affirms that the willingness to leave behind the comfy place of knowing is a pre-requisite for the structured practice of craft.

Here’s our interview takeaway. Use not-knowing as a point of origin rather than a barrier to beginning. If you’re willing to start from stupid, really interesting ideas will emerge. The knowledge that follows will create the structure that’s needed to sustain your creative insights.

Jan

A problem is well, a problem; intractable, thorny, distracting, distressing, difficult and a pain in the neck. But, what if a problem was a puzzle instead? That’s the premise of Dr. Eric Rabkin, a professor in the Department of English at the University of Michigan. On the live version of the Conversations show, Professor Rabkin made the point that the difference between a problem and a puzzle is that a solution is built into a puzzle. You may mull over the New York Times’s crossword puzzle, searching for that nine-letter word meaning ‘record or history of’, but you know there’s a solution even if it’s not immediately available.

When a person encounters a problem, it’s time to change the approach, to deliberately shift one’s perspective, and treat the problem like a puzzle. Based on Dr. Rabkin’s observation and my experience, a shift in perspective, even the slightest little bit of a shift, opens the door to creativity. The act of thinking about a problem as a puzzle establishes the premise of a successful outcome. When approached from a puzzle point of view, a problem is relocated from the narrow, anxious realm of “how in the world can we solve this” to the expansive and possibility-filled world of “in what ways can we consider this situation?”

So, if a puzzle is an opportunity to introduce variety and consider multiple viewpoints, what can a person do to shift from a problematic perspective to a more productive point of view? The answer is so obvious it’s practically incomprehensible – simply shake-up your habits (gently) and deliberately do something differently for just a few moments. For example:

If you wear glasses, take them off for a few minutes (no walking into walls or driving)

If you hold a pen between your thumb and index finger, re-position it to the index and middle fingers and write something, anything for a few minutes

If you usually sit at a desk, try sitting on it; or better yet, lie underneath it (if your floor is cleaner than mine)

Sure, it seems a little goofy at first, but here’s the point. Changing habits of behavior will enhance your ability to shift habits of thinking. When you change the way you think, a problem has the potential to become a puzzle and a puzzle can be solved.

Jan