What's the buzz? Tell me what's a-happening

To avoid writing my business plan, I've signed up to Twitter. It's certainly an effective distraction. Is it Superman who hears all the voices in the world clamouring for his attention? Or, perhaps a more Ju-like analogy is from the safe haven of 1970s musical theatre - that temple scene in "Jesus Christ Superstar" where the heaving, rotting masses crawl over Lord J until he breaks off from his multi-register falsetto to shout ungrammatically: "There's too many of you...Don't push me. There's too little of me...Don't crowd me." Not that I'm comparing myself to Lord J (my initials are almost the same but I could never get the beard right), but Twitter makes you feel as if the whole world is having a party on your computer screen.

It's my fault, I suppose - in a frenzy of enthusiasm at the novelty of it all, I seem to be following 45 different people (are they "people" on Twitter? Accounts? Voices? Twits?), only a few of whom I'd actually heard of before this morning. And 3 people were following me before I'd even (brace yourself for the jargon) tweeted. They're obviously fans of Bayberry Moonrise [insert winking emoticon in the spirit of social networking memes].

Look what it's gone and made me done! I've used the words "Tweeted", "emoticon" and "memes" in the space of two lines. I am being sucked in! I'm simultaeously checking my Facebook updates and my LinkedIn connections. And my new WordFire Communications email account. And Gmail for personal messages. And Hotmail for diverting e-newsletters. Oh yeah, and writing this blog post

And yet... and yet... it's fascinating. And liberating. And really rather wonderful. There are millions of people all over the world with something to say and a platform to say it. I read an article recently by a curmudgeonly editor (in SfEP Editing Matters, where else?) who scorned the use of social media and its tedious, self-obsessed fixation on our own tedious, self-obsessed lives. But the reality is that other people are interested in our tedious, self-obsessed lives, especially if those lives are a little like our own - or not like our own at all. I think it's a glorious thing that we can learn from each other, learn with each other, build relationships, do business, laugh and share and affirm our humanity as social beings.

Already I have found a blog, via Twitter, which was of such immediate appeal that I've added it to my blog roll. Norfolk Kitchen has lovely photos and tells of "foraging, growing and cooking fresh, local, seasonal food" fairly near to where I live. It's the sort of lifestyle many people aspire to but few have the courage to get out there and actually do it.

Mr B and I are sitting side by side on the sofa with our his 'n' hers matching laptops. It is nearly half past ten in the evening of Mr B's birthday. Here's a novel idea - let's power down and do what they used to do in the olden days: have a chat.

After a long and difficult labour, I am pleased to announce the birth of...

WORDFIRE COMMUNICATIONS

Thanks to everyone for their encouragement.

I'm just having a little lie down with some gas and air before the hard work begins.

The road to Jutopia

When I was pregnant, I bought a book called "101,000 Great Baby Names" and methodically noted all the names I was willing to inflict on my child. I ended up with a list of about 20. Let's not get distracted by what that says about me. One day, Mr Bryn said, "What about Monkeyrina?", which happened to be one of my choices, and, lo, a name was born. (I won't go into how the child was born. Just think about one of those horror films with a very slow build-up to the spectacular bloodbath at the end.) (And obviously her name isn't actually Monkeyrina, so don't call the authorities just yet).

Naming a company seems to be the opposite process. You think of the perfect name, you check its URL and the Companies House database, and if it doesn't already exist, nab it and start designing your logo, humming smugly to yourself. The catch, of course is the "if it doesn't already exist" part. Think of a name and chances are it's already in the "101,000 Great Company Names" directory, and if it's not, chances are someone claimed that URL five years ago in order to design the worst website in the world and take away your theoretical customers.

If you've been missing me on the blog (hey, thanks, guys!), it's because I've spent a week complaining to anyone who can't run away fast enough that I can't think of a company name. Well, that's not entirely true. I can think of several. It's just that other people thought of them first.

What would you name a small business specialising in writing, editing and communications consultancy? One that is marketing itself towards ethereal publishers as well as straight-talking local companies. And bearing in mind SEO keywords. Word Up? Done. Word Nerd? Done. My Word? Done (fortunately). More than Words? Done. Word Perfect? Done. Words Words Words? Done done done. How about something more memorable, perhaps a metaphor for clarifying the message? Glimmer? Done. Sparkle? Done. Oomph? Done. Something more energising - Zest, Refresh, Revitalise? No? Then how about something off the wall - Pink Faced Monkey? Not done, but racial undertones. Jutopia? Ah, now we're talking. "In Jutopia, communications are always clear. In Jutopia, customers always get the message. In Jutopia..." "Isn't Jewtopia Israel?" said my brother. Back to those racial undertones.

So what am I left with? The prosaic: Bayberry Communications. Whimsical but not particularly memorable. The professional: Sandford-Cooke Communications. Probably too posh for small enterprises intimidated by creative agencies. And the quirky: Text Tamer, with that pesky double T that will look wrong in a URL - not ideal for an editor.

If I don't get the name right, I could end up with something entirely inappropriate. My company could grow up to be the business equivalent of Daisy Boo, the high court judge, or Ethel Blenkinsop, the Hollywood actress.

You may be asking yourself why I'm worrying about the company name when I should be worrying about writing the business plan. And you'd be right - of course it's a delaying tactic to avoid having to calculate my 5 year projected forecasts. But it's also a pretty important thing - without a name, I can't register the business, which means I can't (legally) be paid. I can't build my website or set up an email address from which to contact potential customers.

What to do?

Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we edit

A cafe in town has been refurbished. Its vulgar lighting, hard chairs and clinical green decor have been transformed into a softly lit maroon-and-buttermilk oasis dotted with curvaceous sofas. It looks like my sort of place. But what is this? A sign etched across the window reads:

Salads and sandwiches made fresh

What a revolutionary idea! Bring your droopy lettuce and mouldering sarnies and they too will be refurbished - look, good as new!

Oh, do you think they just mean "Freshly made salads and sandwiches"? How disappointing.

Will the error directly affect their income? Will potential customers think, "I don't drink coffee in cafes with ungrammatical signage"? Unlikely. But, actually, ambiguous advertising can provoke detrimental responses. If they can't clearly describe what they do, can they really do it? If their attention to detail is lacking, what else have they forgotten? Well, who am I to criticise? It is easily done - dashing off a blog late at night, my own attention to detail isn't what it could be (as you rightly point out, Andrew, and I do appreciate it!) and I'm an editor. Cafes should get on with what they're good at, whether it's making fresh food or making food fresh, but all businesses need to be aware of the impact on their reputation - and possible impact on their profits - if they get it wrong.

So today's inspiration? That there is a place in the world for us poor underrated editors. To check your work before making it public [Julia gives her post a second read-through]. Oh, and to invent a food freshener, if that cafe hasn't done so already.

A place in the world

Scene 3: Redundant Manager finishes her work and parental duties for the evening and sits down to read her emails. She has a message from a librarian friend responding to the Seth Grobin link she sent him earlier. She also has messages about her reading group and the deputy chair of the community committee she's involved with, about an event she's helping with next weekend. She's a little surprised that the mayor hasn't sent her regular email about local initiatives. She has a text from a guy she knows from the gym who might have some work for her. She considers a colleague's suggestion for her company name, at once so obvious and so effective. Then she goes to the pub for a gossip with her friend, and asks after the barman's kids. She goes home and does the washing up with her husband.

Redundant Manager realises that she might be redundant as a manager but not as a person.

The Art of the Blog, Part 1

Seth Godin is stalking me. Or maybe I'm stalking him. Actually, I think a good proportion of those in creative and techy industries are stalking him. In my case, several factors combined to bring him to my attention.

First, Amanda [Julia waves] sent me links to his pithy blog. Then Mike [Julia waves again] recommended his work. And, having his name in my subconscious, I came across him online and, well, there's inspiration for the cynical right there.

The main reason I remembered his name was due to its similarity to reedy-voiced tousle-haired tenor, Josh Groban, most famous for the scarf-waving anthem "You Raise Me Up", which is also inspirational, but not for the cynical, at least not for those who are irritated by its shameless similarity to "Danny Boy" and those with a low tolerance for songs with a single verse and 327 repetitions of the chorus. ("Get me the screwdriver, Mavis, the CD is stuck again.") And, while I'm on the subject, how can you raise me up to more than I can be? I'd like to see you try. You can raise me up to more than I should, in a fair and just world, be, or to more than I would be if I wasn't so short, but more than I can be? Never.

Anyway, to Seth. He is effortlessly wise, and extraordinarily prolific. Not only has he written more accessible, quirkily named books about marketing, culture and personal development than should by rights be physically possible, but he also manages to produce a perfectly honed diamond every day in his blog. His concise, perfectly targeted, posts are everything a blog should be (at least, a marketing blog. Bex's Reasons To Be Cheefuller is everything a personal blog should be). Perhaps what he says isn't new - what is? - but the way he says it, with the authority of a clear, confident and accessible communicator, is why his name comes up wherever a little inspiration is in order.

Although a rousing rendition of "You Raise Me Up" will do the trick under certain circumstances too.

Taking on a silent role

Work is strange when your role is redundant and you're biding your time. It’s a little like being in a play.

Scene 1: a group of managers is meeting to discuss strategy. Enter Redundant Manager One. This is a silent role. The discussion continues.

In some ways, it’s liberating. Management information? Delete! Business plans? Delete! Any email headed “Implementation plan”? Transfer to the junk folder. Remove my name from all circulation lists because soon I won’t be here.

But when won’t I be here? That uncertainty is not liberating at all. There are procedures and negotiations and consultations. There are handovers and meetings and occasional communications. There is gossip and sadness and hollow emptiness. Everyone likes to feel useful, to have a place in the world, to make a contribution, and to suddenly have no contribution to make – or at least to have a contribution that is not required or appreciated – well, it’s a little demoralising.

But we’re here for inspiration, are we not? We must rouse ourselves and swim down the river before we are dragged beneath its choppy waters and make our mascara run and our artfully blowdried hair go flat.

And so, into our institutionalised corporate lives comes some exciting news – one corner of the canteen is becoming a Costa coffee bar and the site shop will close for a few days and reopen as a Londis. (What else can be privatised? Desks, sponsored by Ikea. Loos, sponsored by DynoRod.) This really does count as exciting on a campus where Explorer 6 is cutting edge technology. A sign on the shop door explains that stock will be temporarily relocated and ends:

“We sincerely apologise for any inconvenience this may have caused”

And here, from this awkwardly phrased statement, came my inspiration for the day. Attempts to sound official rarely communicate any more clearly than if the writer had just expressed it as they would say it. Do we need all these words? (Don't answer that, reader.) If I had the job of writing the sign, how would I have expressed it? My critic’s mind clicked into position and off it went:

• "We sincerely and unreservedly extend our apologies for any inconvenience that our actions might cause, directly or indirectly, to you or your associates at any time, either at the present time or at an as-yet unspecified future point."
• “Sorry about this.”
• "We apologise if you don't like these changes. We're not too keen on them either but sometimes you just have to put up or shut up."

So many apologies, so much to be sorry for. Is it an empty, automatic stock phrase or are companies so afraid of their customers that they have to make excuses for improvements to their service?

• "Why should we apologise for bringing you filtered coffee and a proper newsagent?" 

But, on the other hand, acknowledging potential difficulties is strong reputation management. But some methods are better than others. There's really only one solution:

• "We're sorry if you find these changes inconvenient, but we're confident that our great new facilities will make up for it."

Which takes me back to the start. 

Scene 2: Redundant Manager One is in a meeting with Big Boss.

Big Boss: We're sorry if you find these changes inconvenient, but we're confident that our great new structure will more than make up for it.

Redundant Manager One remains silent. She has a lot to say.

Editing: a quiet revolution

I told my brother about this blog today. He responded:
I debated about which of my email favourite folders to keep the link in and decided against 'Rovers', 'Roleplaying', 'Buying', 'Jobs' or 'Other' and in the end felt that it could only really fit into 'Art'.
Which I'll take as an endorsement. Of course, if he became a follower (hint, dear reader) then he wouldn't need to bookmark it at all. Blogging As Art will be the subject of a future post (I bet you'll be lying awake waiting for that one) but today my thoughts run less to writing and more to editing.

If there's one editorial error that makes me suck in my breath through gritted teeth (and, let's face it, there isn't one; there are thousands), it's this:-

Aha, you were waiting for some text then, weren't you? But it really was this:-

Or, more frequently, this :-

It's the dog's bollocks. Which these days means something positive but (apparently) typesetters coined the phrase to describe such a wanton misuse of punctuation. I have no idea if this story is true but, oh, I do hope so - what a fine description it is. Although the family-friendly description, half a smiley, is almost as evocative.

People seem to be afraid of the poor wide-eyed colon, teaming it up with hyphens or (equally horrifyingly) replacing it with the lewd winking semi-colon, as if to draw attention to its ugliness, its innate wrongness.

Am I a petty pedant? Of course. Does it really matter? Of course. Am I shouting into a void? Of course. My organisation has decided that publishing services are dispensible in a forward-thinking, streamlined (cash-strapped) non-departmental public body. After all, anyone can proofread. All you need is a dictionary and Track Changes enabled in Word. Who cares whether you use a semi-colon to introduce a bullet list? It's just punctuation, right? Surely forward-thinking, streamlined (cash-strapped) NDPBs have better things to do than ensure their communications are clear, consistent, forward-thinking and, er, streamlined... right?

It's always seemed to me that a sign of good editing is its invisibility. 99% of errors may have been picked up, and nobody notices, but that tiny overlooked typo is the one that makes the reader question the authority of the text. Perhaps it's due to the proliferation of blogs like this one - even I don't proofread my own copy very thoroughly, and have to edit my posts later for those embarrassing misspellings (mispellings? mis-spellings?) that I've left behind. But, to an extent, that's fine - this is an informal medium and some level of flexibility is acceptable. But in a health and safety manual, that additional zero might cause a death. In an exam paper, that ambiguous question might rob a student of their profession. That grammatical error in a direct mail leaflet might stop a potential customer from parting with their cash. The editor smooths the way for the reader, quietly removes the thorns that might prick them. It's silent work, and us editors are self-effacing types on the whole, and that's our downfall. Without us, perhaps the text works. But does it live? Does it dream? Does it fly?


Editing. It's the dog's bollocks.

A little too taxing for me

What a revelation! HMRC giveth - it does not take away! For the first three quarters of today's training course (cunningly entitled "Newly Self Employed - The Basics" - no reference to tax, you notice), I was amazed that I'd not been aware of this secret. Specifically: if you're self-employed, you can claim 45 pence a mile for business-related driving. It's just the same as claiming mileage as an employee, said the trainer; simply note the purpose of the journey and you'll get reimbursed. At least, that's what my eager brain thought he said. How could I combine editorial services with long distance driving? Surely there was potential for a very lucrative income stream. Best add it to my business plan.

Then I listened a bit harder to the trainer telling us how to deduct taxable expenses from profits. Oh. It is at least to the sole trader's advantage but only terms of reducing the tax bill. HMRC doesn't giveth after all.

And so you will conclude, as I did, that I was right to suspect last week that I need all the help I can get on matters of finance. The course was actually fairly useful, if only to highlight how to get things right. Other, non-tax related, points of information were:

• Public sector cuts have not only reduced the number of courses available but also stopped the serving of coffee and tea altogether. Such rationing does not seem to extend to Business Link, which offered rather tasty traybakes at the racecourse last week.
• Two of the delegates (a couple) run a mobile petting zoo, providing rabbits to after school clubs and lizards to wedding receptions. They said they're training a barn owl to fly down church aisles with the rings. I suppose that's a more reliable courier than some of the best men I've heard of.
• HMRC Norwich is cleverly disguised as a Premier Inn and can only be accessed via a secret door. There must be a metaphor about tax returns in there somewhere.

You are on your own. Just do it. Better

If someone lends you a book, they're also lending you a little piece of themselves. Not just because there might be a hair or a fingernail trapped between the pages but because they're bridging a gap for you: they're saying, "Here, I have something that I think you need". I'm touched as much by the act of lending as by the item itself, the fact that the lender has rummaged through boxes and bookshelves with me in mind.

So Suzanne at work lent me a little manual with a big title. I've reproduced the cover here (Ju's Reviews-style), partly because I haven't put enough pictures in this blog, and partly because it sums up the book - audacious, clever, subversive. The self-consciously retro style continues throughout, so that I was surprised to find the book was first published in 2003 rather than the 1973 that the typeface and page layout suggests.

But that's just it - that and the outrageous subtitle, "The world's best-selling book" combine to summarise its contents - how to get ahead in advertising (yourself). Be different ("It's wrong to be right"), be generous ("Do not covet your own ideas"), be creative ("If you get stuck, draw with a different pen"), be brave ("Getting fired can be a positive career move" - that's good to hear). Yes, it is a book of platitudes but they are presented with such an arrogant self-confidence that becomes the epitomy of inspiration for the cynical - use that cynicism to make a difference by being different. That's my sort of advice... now, how can I put it into practice?