Write what you know. And what I know right now is pain. The oh, ouch, owee-kazowee hurty-feeling of rollerblading gone bad. I was a victim of the whee-factor, skating way too fast. That’s when gravity stopped being my friend. And when skin encounters asphalt, you can quote me on this, asphalt always wins.

Then I started thinking (guess the fall shook loose some extra neurons) that rollerblading is a lot like building a business. I know it’s an illusive analogy, but just like the Federation folks on Star Trek, I’m on a mission to seek out and discover strange new connections between unlikely events. So before the giddy relief of surviving small time trauma fades, here are my injury induced insights on the ups and downs of business and rollerblading.

Risk is a sure thing. “D’oh!” That’s why you wear protective gear, unless like me you have sweaty knees and elbows and eschew the pads. Of course that’s where I got the boo-boos. (Note to safety engineers: I do wear a helmet and wrist guards. And yes, I’m smart enough to know when I’ve been stupid.)

Being in business is risky too. But some degree of risk is far less dangerous than complete risk avoidance. Decisions have to be made based on the information you have; not deferred until you have ALL of the information. In my observation, indecision and 11^th-hour enactment syndrome are far more costly than a thoughtful acknowledgement that risk is present but that the opportunity is worth it.

Mid-course correction. Henry Pollack, Professor Emeritus in the Department of Geological Sciences at the University of Michigan, served up mid-course correction when I interviewed him for our podcast.  (Sorry, the interview is still in post-production.)  Mid-course correction is such a solid and scientific way of saying if something doesn’t work out change things up. Of course change can give rise to uncomfortable feelings too. But which would you rather be, stuck in something that’s not working or simply make an adjustment and carry on?

To mash-up and misquote Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, “Nothing last forever, neither good times nor bad.” In other words, now is not forever. If something in life or business isn’t working out it doesn’t have to keep on keeping on. I mean, eventually my rollerblading boo-boos will scab over and heal. I just have to deal with it for now. And you can deal with the risk of poor results by making a mid-correction correction. It’s the smart thing to do and it makes you sound smart too.

Dynamic balance, obviously I didn’t have it. But life, business and certainly rollerblading all demand it. It’s all those tiny little adjustments,; flexed knees, head over body and the absence of chasm-like cracks in the pavement that keep you on your feet. Dynamic balance in wingtips and pumps requires a nimble accommodation of a changing environment too: requests and questions, diplomacy and candor, clear-heading thinking and crazy ideas.

Here’s the deal.  Failing is painful. So is falling down. But as long as we’re able, we get up, we get smarter and we grab hold of the chance to continue with both hands.  It also helps to have at least one foot on the ground.

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.