Movement junkies

I’m a card-carrying member of the RSSC (Radio Station Switching Club). It’s a disease. Like finger tourettes. Or something.

It’s car-specific. I’m either driving or riding in the passenger seat and I Constantly, Continually and Compulsively switch from radio station to radio station. These being the 3C’s of the RSSC.

If I happen upon a song I like, I stick with it for a little bit. But after about 30 seconds, I get that feeling again and I have to swing through the other stations–even if just lightening-quick, before I land back where I was.

Sometimes, to my detriment, I leave a perfectly good song to swing through many, many perfectly bad songs. And by the time I get back to the perfectly good song, it’s over and I’ve missed it. But, at least I tried. At least I made sure there was nothing better. See how this works?

The feeling can only be described as the Darwinian itch to, wait for it, see if there’s something else out there that would behoove me more.

Wait.

Did I say that it was car-specific? Of course it isn’t. Nor does it have anything to do with music.

I’m a movement junkie.

I sat on a bus to NYC a month or so ago next to a lovely lady who unabashedly watched me work for awhile. She stared, goggle-eyed. And then, finally, remarked on my multi-tasking abilities, and my speed.

“I have to go this fast,” I told her. “Otherwise, I’ll fall asleep. Or run off to the circus.”

So…it’s a good thing for a freelancer juggling a zillion writing and web projects along with the chaos of social media. But, there’s another place where it gets a little sticky.

By definition, being a movement junkie means that you have a hard time sitting still, just being…with what is. Metaphysically, emotionally, cognitively. I’m practically the anti-Buddha.

• Head hurts? Drop something on your foot!
• Feeling empty? Call an old boyfriend and open up a can of worms, crap, whoopass.
• Tired? Make a list of all the things you have to do.
• Totally content and at peace? No problem, we’ll find something that itches or needs to be dealt with.

Wherever you might be, whatever you might be feeling? No worries. The movement junkie will find a way to something else.

Some people might see this as a negative. There’s agitation, there’s dissatisfaction, there’s an endless search. Some days, even I see it as a negative. I just want to be. For once, I don’t want to feel compelled to do.

Truth be told, it’s a very uncomfortable feeling to not be able to just sit and observe your state without doing everything you can to scramble out of it—primarily because it feels so damn uncomfortable to just sit in the feeling in the first place. Which is, duh, why we do everything we can to hop out. Immediately, if not sooner.

It doesn’t matter if the hopping out lands you somewhere worse. Victory is yours because you aren’t where you were. Again, see how this works?

But. (and that’s a big, bold but) There’s also, artistry, determination, energy, thrill. Change, growth, development, adventure, newness, opportunity. Granted, some of those words are rather vanilla and certainly overplayed. Yet, they’re what live in this compulsion. They’re what push the movement junkie on.

They’re what we find, quite frequently, when we jump to a different station.

I’m not sorry. Are you?

Call me a linguistics geek, but I prefer to ‘apologize’. And there is a difference.

Sure. You did something less than nice. Or maybe you just bumped into someone by accident. Maybe you made an error.

But, are you really sorry? I do realize there are two separate definitions for this word, but I can’t say the word without thinking of definition #2, which reads:

in a poor or pitiful state or condition

I can regrettably make mistakes, but I’m neither poor nor pitiful.

Which is why I simply apologize.

*********************

Recently, Naomi Dunford wrote a post about an interaction with a client gone awfully wrong. It’s an intense post on several levels, and in it she says,

“We sometimes have this belief that we have to tolerate anything a client puts out. No. You don’t. Be understanding if you want to be understanding and forgive if you want to forgive. But don’t squash down that part of yourself that says, “HELL NO I’m not going to get treated like that” because you’re afraid of losing clients.”

There was talk about the mislaid belief that if you’re being paid by the person, you have to take it. Um…they’re not paying you to feel bad. They’re paying you to do a job. See the difference? I don’t know about you, but there is no ‘pile on the abuse’ clause in my contracts.

Is this also about semantics? I wonder. Ish.

Like I said, apologize, but don’t be sorry. Don’t grovel. Find a solution, make it better and move forward. You do not suck, you made a mistake (unless you really suck, but hopefully you don’t and I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt).

Isn’t this the same conversation we have about getting paid what you’re worth? Isn’t this the same conversation we have when we feel blocked?

You’re the only one who can name your value and then stand behind it—and deserve it. You’re the only one that can get it done. Two things that are terribly hard to do when you’re feeling sorry.

And now I’m kicking your virtual ass out of this virtual plane. But I highly recommend you use a real parachute.

Image credit: jcarwash31

Reason #4510 to hire a copywriter: Sushi Tacos

Seriously. I’m not kidding.

The first time I saw them on the menu, I thought, ewww, no. I thought, I can’t do that, there’s something wrong there.

But the second time? Oh, the second time. That’s the time I just let myself live.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I could live on sushi. The only problem with Japanese food, as far as I can tell, is that they don’t use butter. But to be honest, I’m not really above shmearing some on my next salmon avocado roll.

This past weekend, when I was in New York City, I ate sushi (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 – give me a sec, counting on my fingers) six, yes, six times. And, one of those times, I fell in love with a little something called a Sushi Taco at Nobu.

How ‘bout I break it down for you:

• Homemade taco shell, thick (like 5 or 6 wimpy Tostito’s thick), just enough oil to leave a fine sheen on your finger tips, perfect crunch, divine salt crystals scattered about, about 4 inches in diameter (if flattened)
• Filled with little pieces of either salmon (raw), tuna (raw), lobster, crab or seviche…tossed in some kind of asiany-cilantroy-stunning marinade that made you want to sing
• Covered in salsa verde that was purely savory, not tongue burning whatsoever

There was not one thing about this sushi taco that was wrong. I didn’t even miss the guacamole, and that’s saying a lot because I have a pretty intense relationship with the avocado. The melding of the flavors, the textures, the size, the beauty – all right, right, right.

But it should’ve been all wrong. When you think sushi, you think rice, not corn, and certainly not tortilla. When you think taco, you think melted cheese and chili powder saturated beef, not raw fish. (Yes, I know there are fish tacos wondering around in this world, but those are just tacos in fish’s clothing, tacos with fish cooked with mexican spices – like a beef substitute).

But this, this…this masterpiece was still inherently Japanese. It still tasted, looked and felt like Nobu.

They took their basic signature product (sushi) and added a spin (taco/mexican) that pushed the envelope, the reputation, the flavor, the brand to a new place.

That’s what you want your copywriter, marketer, blogger to do for you. Use the tools, use your stuff, but add that something that will take it to a whole new dimension. In a way that only you can do it.

I ate 4 of those dimensions…and I want many, many more.

Yes, I know, I know – I should have taken a picture of the tacos, but A) I’m a horrible photographer and the camera on my new Blackberry curve SUCKS, and B) those tacos were made for eating and eating alone – I was consumed by the edible experience and could not pause to document it. So…Image credit: NicoleLee

Shut your nose.

When I was pregnant, I had a serious problem with smell. This wasn’t completely out of the ordinary – other women get like this too, but it usually goes away after the first trimester.

Mine didn’t. For the 35 weeks that I carried that little sucker, I could not stand to smell anything. Perfume, my basement, my dogs, rain, grocery stores (really anything besides guacamole), one sniff and I tossed my cookies – so to speak. It was when I was pregnant that I unearthed the real reason that most kitchens are designed with the fridge within spitting distance of the sink.

My personal fix for this issue was to keep my nose closed, completely shut down. And this was when I came to discover that I have my very own super power.

Apparently, most people can only close their nose by holding it shut with their fingers (or a clothespin – but that really hurts). But I can do it without my hands. I can’t even explain it – the how or the muscles involved. I can just do it. It’s like I have a nose switch or something. I’m doing it right now. And you can’t even tell. I still look like I do when my nose is open. If any of you are thinking this is no big deal (which is what I originally thought), then you are special too – but, at this point, I’ve so many people tell me this is extraordinary that I’ve come to accept that it is true.

I should probably have t-shirts made. With a big nose on the front. The back will say, ‘I can shut it.’

As a writer, it made me think about what else needs to be shut at regular and excruciatingly important moments and how, all the while, we need to still look the same, equanimous even, to the outside world. Let’s see:

• Our mouths when a client wants us to ‘add flowery language’
• Our doors when people that wish us harm come knocking
• Our computers/smartphones when we need to be human and interact with others
• Our insecurity when we’re pitching a proposal or naming our fee
• Our egos when we’re writing for someone else
• Our doubts when we’re writing for ourselves

And some things must remain open with poise as well:

• Our minds
• Our hope
• Our relationships with those that mentor, adore and support us (and us them)
• Our desire to learn, stretch, expand and grow
• Our capacity to write about different things
• Our ability to write in someone else’s voice
• Our tolerance and acceptance of different perspectives
• Our stream, our flow of words, thoughts and ideas
• Our belief in ourselves

Image credit: mag3737

The build-up is scarier than the fall.

It’s true that I spent the first 17 years of my life in a protected, little suburb in St. Louis, and that I was relatively shielded from urban life, or drama that extended beyond boyfriends, new cars and English papers. But, it’s also true that there were some special things about my ‘hood, things that I wouldn’t have found beyond the granite gates that fenced us in.

One of those things was the community pool – accessible to all (though not free). And we’re not talking about a little dinky pool. It was, and still is, an Olympic-sized pool with an Olympic-sized diving tank complete with regulation diving boards and platforms. Yes, platforms – because you do not want to stand on 18 inches of skinny diving board when you’re above a pool of water that looks to be about the size of your bathtub because you are so far away from it. I’m just sayin’.

Let’s put this into perspective:

• The low diving board is 1 meter high.
• The high diving board is 3 meters high.
• The first platform is 5 meters high.
• The second platform is 7.5 meters high.
• The third, and highest, platform is 10 meters high. (which is really very, very high)

I spent my summers (before and after camp) at this pool. And, as afraid of heights as I’ve always been, I did jump off those platforms. Once.

I wanted to. I needed to. I knew it was something I had to do because when I thought about not jumping, it didn’t feel right in my body. I knew that I was being manhandled by my fear in the not jumping – and that just wasn’t who I was, (isn’t who I am). But the fear was strong. I remember the stories that flared up in my brain. If I climb up that ladder and jump, my terror told me, then:

• I won’t have the option of turning around and climbing back down.
• I’ll be trapped.
• I’ll have no control.
• I’ll freeze.
• I’ll panic.
• I’ll be all alone.
• No one will help me.
• I’ll look like a fool.
• I’ll cry.
• I’ll slip.
• I’ll fall.
• I’ll die.

These thoughts were mean. I tortured myself with them, they tortured me by refusing to be quiet.

And then, I’m guessing with the cajoling of friends or because I was only 10 years old or because I tapped into the part of me that refuses to fail or because of all of the above, I climbed up (and up and up and up) the ladder and I jumped off.

I didn’t love the jump, and I didn’t ever do it again – but, I did it once, and I survived. And it was no where near as bad as my imaginings. None of them came true. Well, almost none of them. I was, in fact, alone…but that turned out to be okay. Like I was supposed to be alone when I jumped from this great height when, after all, the build-up of fear had also been created and endured a la solo.

And in that moment, I started to learn that the build-up is so much scarier than the actual jump.

It’s a lesson that’s hard to remember when you’re in the before/build-up phase. But when it can be recalled, it’s wonderfully comforting. Like gaping at 100 flights of stairs…and then looking over and seeing a sign for an elevator.

I wish I could send an ‘elevator’ of help to Haiti. I know times are hard for people all over the world right now, but if you have anything to spare, please text “haiti” to 90999 and make a donation to the Red Cross’s relief efforts. You can also make a donation via their website. May the pain and suffering of these people somehow be eased by the care and support of people everywhere…

Three other charities that are working to help Haiti:

Doctors Without Borders
Oxfam America
Yéle Haiti

Creating proposals that get you the job and are just generally awesome.

So, yesterday we were talking about the niche. But niche or not, when you want to get clients, you have to show them what’s on offer and make your case. Enter, the proposal. Imagine a sturdy, stunning document that you have at the ready to not only dazzle people with – but to show them that you mean business and that you’re professional.

Here are my elements for a successful, sensational, first-class proposal:

• Context. Set the stage, give stats, set up the problem(s) that you are going to solve. What’s the state of the union in the world of underwater basket weaving? Give your view.
• Why. Why does the problem need to be solved? Why is your solution the right one? Why is the reader missing out if they don’t solve it?
• Offerings. What are YOU going to do, how are YOU going to solve this problem for them. Tell them exactly and clearly what you will do for them.
• Prices. Get to the good stuff or get off the stage. You can tell me all about the world’s best toaster, but if it costs $1000, I’m outta here – so simply tell me the price so I can decide if I’m in or if I’m going to just eat cold bread.
• Who are you? Give the background about yourself and/or your company, show that you’ve got the goods. And don’t write your life story – only include information that is pertinent to this proposal. They only care that you’re good, have credentials and aren’t crazy. They don’t care that you once won a pie eating contest (unless you’re pitching Hostess).
• Who do other people think you are? This is the place for testimonials and/or stats and results from your previous work to date. Humans are pack animals, so if we see that other people think you’re stupendifying, we’ll assume that it’s true.
• Case study. Walk the reader through a real life example of what it’s like to work with you. Let them live life with you for a few bullet points.
• Portfolio. Show us what you’ve accomplished and show it proudly. Links, screen shots, you name it.
• Length. We all struggle with the Goldilocks syndrome here – looking to get it just right. Here’s the thing: it needs to be full and complete, you’ve got some ground to cover. So can you do that in a way that doesn’t look like you’re writing the great American novel? Big fonts, headlines, sub-headlines, pictures, different layouts and bullet points all help here. Make it easy for the potential client to get in, get the info they need and get out. Don’t make them feel like they have to read every word – because they won’t and they’ll be annoyed by the assumption that they should.
• Proofread. I couldn’t not say this. I know you will – for typos and content clarity. Tricks: 1) read it out loud as our minds like to make misspelled words look right, and 2) give it to a different and fresher pair of eyes to read through as well.
• Make it purty. If you’re still using a PC, you’re kind of screwed here. I kid, I kid. But seriously, creating a presentation in Keynote (via Apple’s iWork program) is the equivalent of giving a 3 year old one of those painting books where you rub a wet paint brush over the paper and the Mona Lisa appears. In other words, a good design/presentation program even makes someone artistically challenged, like me, look brilliant. Find a computer program that formats and designs beautifully, OR hire a designer to do this part for you. It’s worth it. (and I know a few, so just ask me). And, if you aren’t a writer, hire a writer to write the proposal for you (I know a few of those as well). Because remember: people really do judge you by your looks. It’s a shallow, shallow world out there.

…but hopefully that means someone will pluck your proposal out of the ankle deep waters.

Have some additional proposal tips, favorite design platforms? Please, by all means, add them in the comments below…

Image credit: Derek Purdy

Worried you aren’t a good writer? The answer lies without.

To be clear, this might be the most shallow post I’ve ever written.

Recently, I was asked to look through some writing samples that had been submitted by a wide range of people hoping to get a gig. I was both appalled and thrilled as I sifted through them.

Appalled. Honestly, I can’t believe that there are people out there who are this bad at writing and still dare to call themselves writers. Seriously. If this is your idea of a good sentence, “Dogs and cats is friendly animals that kids like especially.” Then you have a serious problem. Also, this format: *intro with a thesis sentence that outlines 3 major points and conclusion that restates the same thesis sentence and the same 3 major points* hasn’t been cool since junior high.

Thrilled. Yes, I’m going to say it. This made me feel good about myself. I can write! I thought. I really do add value! I really am worth what I charge! And, yes, I used another person’s utter failure to lift my spirits.

So, when you go to elance and see that Edwin55 charges $5 per article and promises to get it done super fast or when a client returns a first draft with comments triple the word count of the article you wrote or the phone just doesn’t ring and the email doesn’t squawk at you or someone laughs at your proposal – you just call me. I’ll send you some crap that will boost your ego and make you feel so damn good about yourself and your writing ability that you’ll be back to thinking you’re golden in a heartbeat…or at least after a little gloating.

Image Credit: Marcaprice

Practice business the Twilight Way.

Trust me when I say that this post is not for teenagers or tweens, it’s for everyone. And, it’s actually about writing, freelancing and my other usual topics. I promise. It really does have a point.

Until this weekend, I’d avoided all the Twilight hype. Robert Pattinson didn’t do anything for me and I don’t really like vampires and scary things – so I just maintained a polite distance. But, let’s be serious, it’s a little hard to escape it when you live online (and have a teeny tiny addiction to celebrity gossip. As I’ve said before, I don’t drink, smoke, drug or eat white sugar – give me just this one thing!)

My in-laws and my millions of nieces were here this weekend. (There are 13 of them). And, I just so happened to walk by one of their makeshift beds on Saturday morning and there was Twilight, just sitting there. I thought, I’ll just read the first couple of pages, see what this is all about.

Swear to god, it was like falling down the proverbial rabbit hole. I couldn’t stop reading. I had no sense of anything going on around me. I just read. My sister-in-law was sitting next to me studying (grad school) and then suddenly she was getting in the shower, and I asked her when she got up  and why she was all sweaty; she said, “About two hours ago – I went for a run and down to the pond.” I had no idea, but she totally got it because she read all four books in one weekend, in Florida, with her boyfriend, who she wouldn’t talk to because he wasn’t Edward or in the book (the vampire, the god of Twilight, for those of you who are still abstaining). Apparently that story is not a rare one.

Long story short. I read the first book of 500+ pages in about 7 hours. Woke up the next morning, went to buy the second book and read that one in about the same amount of time. Down the the rabbit hole, like I said. I have a company to run, clients to write for and a family to love…so I’ll wait to get the 3rd and 4th book until next weekend. As I read voraciously, I was asked by a bewildered adult if it was like Harry Potter. “No,” I replied. “It’s like 90210 with vampires.”

So, why, oh, why did this happen to me? I’m a smart, mature, 36 year old woman! The writing is good, but it’s not the best thing I’ve ever set my eyes on. It’s meant for adolescents, after all and that’s obvious. So, WHY?

When I made mention of my guilty pleasure on Twitter, many (and by many, I mean a lot) of women and a few men readily joined in my excitement. And, then, someone simply tweeted, ‘You are not alone’ with a link to a blog post by Erin Gates called, Pop Culture Digression: The Twilight Phenomenon Explained that just laid it out, all crystal clear like. (And her blog normally has nothing to do with this foolishness either, which I loved, of course because it made me feel like less of a loser.) Erin wrote this:

“Edward causes such a stir because his character is the perfect man. He’s handsome, wealthy, romantic and devoted. The mysterious, brooding bad boy who writes lullabies on the piano for his girlfriend but also rips out the throats of bad guys in defense of her honor. He says things like “You’re my own personal brand of heroin” and “I don’t think I have the strength to stay away from you any longer” (cue knee buckling). He is the perfectly impossible combination of poet, athlete, intellectual and bad ass- the human(ish) equivalent of a unicorn…Every woman wants to feel coveted, craved, defended and protected and well, that’s just what we get from reading about this fictitious character who was crafted to feed that desire (because let’s face it, we don’t always get that from our real life men.)

But, the thing is that this isn’t just about women being unsatisfied by their men, or every woman wanting to be ‘coveted, craved, defended and protected’ – this is about every person wanting to be ‘coveted, craved, defended and protected’. Whether you’re in a romantic, familial, educational, professional, client/freelancer, parent/child relationship – it doesn’t matter. We all want to be those things. And, if you read the books or have a heartbeat (um, or not, in Edward’s vampire-case) you’ll realize that the one ‘giving it out’ also gets quite a lot from the deal.

I’m ghostwriting a book for a client right now – and it’s about using client relations as a main factor to building a successful career (in a very different kind of industry from mine) – his main point is that if you make your clients feel outstanding, if you build the relationship genuinely – it will feel good to both sides, and most importantly, it will stick.

Everyone wants to be loved. The client and the writer. The boyfriend and the girlfriend. The guy at the desk at your printer and you as you drop off your order. It’s completely basic, elemental. We are addicted to the books because we get to live that kind of love vicariously.

Erin Gates also wrote this: (after she compared Twilight for the 18+ female crowd to Internet porn for the entire male crowd)

“It’s an escapist fantasy that allows you forget all the bull going on in your life and just enjoy the pleasure of a hot, undead teenager who would kill people for you and then buy you a brand new Audi for your birthday.”

We want the love, but we also just want to feel like everything’s okay and hopeful and safe for awhile. We want our attention taken to a good place.

I’m not suggesting that you tell your client, or the kid at the drive thru window for that matter, that “You’re my own personal brand of heroin” – you can’t be Edward and Bella in real life. Seriously, don’t. You’ll get arrested.

But I am suggesting that you experiment by taking it down several notches. What if you treat your clients like they’re truly special, with total respect, letting them understand that their business is safe with you, that you always have their best interests at heart. What if you really hold their attention with the work that you do and the person that you are.

Would they become addicted to your work and to working with you? Would it bring them so much joy and good feeling that they would be clients for life?

I don’t think that acting this way could create Twilight hysteria around you and your business, but who am I to say? But, even if it doesn’t take you that far, I can’t imagine how it won’t lift you a bit higher on the food chain.

Image credit: Angie22Arts

Is It Worth It?

Warning: This post is a little bit gross, but that’s just life in the big city.

Did you see Slumdog Millionaire? I saw about 1/2 of it – until I couldn’t take the violence and left. But I did see the part where little Jamal jumps into the crapper to meet his hero. That’s serious dedication. And, it brings up the age old dilemma that I like to call:

Is it worth it?

I live in a house with composting toilets (called a Clivus). They are no where near as disgusting as Jamal’s facilities – in fact, they’re incredibly clean, and I now abhor using water toilets. But, at the end of the day, when you look down the hole, it ain’t pretty.

Last week, I was washing out one of the bowl inserts that we have for our kids’ potties – I dumped the ‘stuff’ into the Clivus, washed the bowl out in the sink and went to toss it back on the potty seat. Unfortunately, my mind was busy writing blog posts or something, and without thinking, I tossed the little white plastic bowl down the Clivus.

Yes, it was one of those slow-motion moments…where my ‘Noooooooo’ came out sounding like a Borg or some such thing.

And, I had to decide. Is it worth it? Am I going in to get it? Or am I willing to let it go?

Of course the scenario made me think of my work.

How often does this question come up in business?

• When you see a freelance job posted…
• When someone blogs or tweets about an issue that enrages you…
• When a client doesn’t understand the brilliance of what you’ve written…
• When you lose a whole day because your internet goes down…

Each of these scenarios offers choices – do you you go after the job or not? speak up or not? defend yourself or not? freak out or find another way to get the work done?

How do you determine whether or not it’s worth it?

For me, the determination usually comes from trying out each option and seeing how I really feel. I trust my gut. Sometimes, I need to step away from the situation or check in with a trusted colleague. And then sometimes…sometimes…the answer is so crystal clear that it needs no thought whatsoever. For instance, there is no way I’m going to get that little white plastic bowl.

Your turn…

Image courtesy of Corey Ann

Blitz or Burn: Branding, Selling and Being Human

I’m about to launch a new blog venture with my virtual office mate (because we decided that’s the best way to describe us – though he’s much older than me, so sometimes I call him Grandpa just to piss him off), Ron Miller. It’s a blog with social media tips and how-to’s for the beginner and it’ll be launched in concert with our co-written ebook about finding your voice in a crowded online world. Very excited – but more details on that in the next week or so.

As things are getting set up, I decided it was time to walk away from Feedburner – my current feed client, the one that I use for the Writing Roads blog (where you are at this moment – in case you got lost).

Feedburner sends email alerts out up to 24 hours late. And it seems to have no earthly idea what my actual subscriber rates are. I’m so over it. I know that two folks that I really like (and who have been awfully successful), Guy Kawasaki and David Meerman Scott, use Feedblitz.

I have to say that I don’t love the way Feedblitz looks – in fact, I find the email alert layout to be a little, um, how do you say, ‘kinda boring’ as opposed to the polished look of Feedburner. Though they do list recent posts – the brand and look of the blog itself is lost. Check them out for yourself.

Feedblitz:

Feedburner:

So, I’m going back and forth…and then I turned to Twitter. And what happened was a perfect display of how you can manage, market and communicate your brand effectively with Twitter. (and I made my decision)

I simply asked the question – Feedburner or Feedblitz? I got a number of replies, including one from a man named @phollows (Phil Hollows). We started a conversation where he asked me why I continued to use Feedburner (um, I don’t have any spare time to make the switch.) And then, when I said that the new blog presented the perfect opportunity for me to try Feedblitz, he said,

“@writingroads That’s cool; start w/us on a new project and compare what we do vs burner side by side. I couldn’t ask for more :-)”

Come again? ‘We, Us, I’  At which point I went to his Twitter page to discover that Phil is the owner of Feedblitz. Nice.

Here’s what he did right:

• He’s monitoring his brand.
  
• He showed up to talk to a potential customer.
• He answered some questions (like, is Feedblitz going anywhere anytime soon – and the answer is ‘no’).
• He acted like a person, not a company.
• His Twitter handle is his name, not his company’s.
• He remained approachable and helpful.

For the record, I’ve heard nothing from Feedburner (hey, did I mention it’s owned by Google?)

If only there weren’t fees associated with Feedblitz. But, hey, to their credit, Feedburner, which is free, has done one thing well – they’ve proved the old adage: you pay for what you get.