I'm not looking looking; I'm just window shopping. A little hobby. MergerNetwork is the best sites I've found so far listing small (mostly well under $5 million) publishers, as well as other types of businesses, for sale. Feels a bit like going to Nordstrom's. I don't need any shoes but a girl can't help browsing.
I've spotted three trends. Firstly, seems like every free circulation real estate magazine in the US is for sale right now. Which makes sense. Serious shoppers go to Zillow and/or Realtor.com or stop by a real live realtor's office. And there are precious enough serious shoppers these days as it is.
Secondly, many community papers are for sale. For example, you could buy a newspaper for Armenian-Americans, or one for Arab-Americans, or one for Portuguese-Americans. You could also purchase a town paper plus weekly 'shopper' for small cities in Missouri, New Mexico, Florida.. or pretty much anywhere it seems. (M&A firm WB Grimes has the most extensive listings of these.)
Thirdly, lots of mom-and-pop operations owned by the boomer generation are for sale. I suspect it's a case of critical mass caused by two humps intersecting -- everyone who founded their own company 20 years ago was already thinking about retirement when this recession came along. Now it looks like it will take ages to get better, and when you're on the cusp of leaving anyway, who wants to wait and build a business back up slowly again? Just leave and enjoy life already.
The good news is, most of these properties are selling at 'distressed' prices (as WB Grimes so delicately puts it.) The bad news is, they are not only distressed and going to stay that way for a while, nobody knows what the publishing industry will look like in the future. It's the intersection of the economy and insanely changed business models. Will our audiences even read or does content have to switch to video? Will reporters be tweeting instead of filing? Will advertisers bother with print? Will Google Adsense, Craig's List and various lead generation portals (IT Toolbox, etc) obliterate smaller publisher's ad sales?
I do think now is a great time to buy high-quality, niche content that's evergreen in nature if you can get the full copyright ownership. You may not want to continue publishing in the same channel or style as it's been published in the past. For example, instead of printing 5,000 copies of a book that wind up remaindered in under a year, why not fulfill through print-on-demand, or via chapter-of-the-week emails supported by ads, or posted online as AdSense-supported content? Not to mention audio on TomTom GPS (via a partnership with Audible).
But then I consider the nightmares of digital rights management (copyright infringement) in this new copy-everything-for-free world. Plus, let's not go into how Facebook, et al, are changing the way an entire generation consume and interact with media.
Do I sound tired? Well, sometimes after a long day of shopping your feet do begin to ache.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
My Mother's Advice: Never Buy a Violin for a Dreamer
When you stop working strictly for money, you have the ability to do the thing you always dreamed of. This, as my mother had the wisdom to explain to me years ago, can be a dreadful problem.
As she tells the story, 'My first husband always dreamed he would play the violin someday. When we'd pass a music shop window, he'd stop for a moment. When he had the money, he'd buy it. One day I had the money, but I didn't buy the violin for him, for I knew that would ruin everything. He'd never be able to daydream about being Itzhak Perlman again. It would become a dreary reality of beginner's lessons and practicing. Some dreams should not be made into reality."
I learned this truth firsthand when I bought my first place -- a barely inhabitable fixer upper -- after years of watching This Old House on television. As I signed the final papers, in my mind's eye I could see myself scampering up ladders with power tools in hand, ready to pop up a little molding on a Sunday's afternoon. Ten minutes after I picked up my first hammer, I sank down defeated. Who was I kidding? I'm the unhandiest person on the planet. Sweat equity was my style, but not my ability.
For the next four and a half years I lived in misery, camping out precariously in a permanent construction site. I gave up all my small luxuries, from new clothes to going out, for the money to pay a series of the cheapest workmen possible to handle everything for me, including roof, plumbing, rewiring, heating, plastering, flooring, you name it.
The problem with dreams is, it's not always easy to figure out which to try living and which to avoid at all costs. There's now a company, Vocation Vacations, that's dedicated to helping you figure out which of your dream career ideas can actually stand the light of day. You pick a career -- anything from being an actor to running a winery -- and they get you a two-day apprenticeship with someone who's actually in the field. You get to watch what their daily working like is really like, ask a lot of questions, etc.
It's a cool idea - at a shocking cost. Most two-day mentorships cost $995 (plus travel and hotel if needed.) My step-daughter scoffed when she heard, "Why don't people just do a shadow career day? It's free. You just call a company or a professional and tell them it's a project for school and can you shadow them for a day. Most people will let you do it." I don't think anyone will mistake me for a schoolgirl, but I bet plenty of people would say yes anyway.
It just takes a bit of courage to ask them. Isn't it funny how shy you can feel all of the sudden? Approaching strangers isn't easy. Perhaps, however, it's a great first litmus test for a dream. Anyone can take out a credit card and pay for a pre-arranged service... only the truly dedicated will try to do it on their own for free.
As she tells the story, 'My first husband always dreamed he would play the violin someday. When we'd pass a music shop window, he'd stop for a moment. When he had the money, he'd buy it. One day I had the money, but I didn't buy the violin for him, for I knew that would ruin everything. He'd never be able to daydream about being Itzhak Perlman again. It would become a dreary reality of beginner's lessons and practicing. Some dreams should not be made into reality."
I learned this truth firsthand when I bought my first place -- a barely inhabitable fixer upper -- after years of watching This Old House on television. As I signed the final papers, in my mind's eye I could see myself scampering up ladders with power tools in hand, ready to pop up a little molding on a Sunday's afternoon. Ten minutes after I picked up my first hammer, I sank down defeated. Who was I kidding? I'm the unhandiest person on the planet. Sweat equity was my style, but not my ability.
For the next four and a half years I lived in misery, camping out precariously in a permanent construction site. I gave up all my small luxuries, from new clothes to going out, for the money to pay a series of the cheapest workmen possible to handle everything for me, including roof, plumbing, rewiring, heating, plastering, flooring, you name it.
The problem with dreams is, it's not always easy to figure out which to try living and which to avoid at all costs. There's now a company, Vocation Vacations, that's dedicated to helping you figure out which of your dream career ideas can actually stand the light of day. You pick a career -- anything from being an actor to running a winery -- and they get you a two-day apprenticeship with someone who's actually in the field. You get to watch what their daily working like is really like, ask a lot of questions, etc.
It's a cool idea - at a shocking cost. Most two-day mentorships cost $995 (plus travel and hotel if needed.) My step-daughter scoffed when she heard, "Why don't people just do a shadow career day? It's free. You just call a company or a professional and tell them it's a project for school and can you shadow them for a day. Most people will let you do it." I don't think anyone will mistake me for a schoolgirl, but I bet plenty of people would say yes anyway.
It just takes a bit of courage to ask them. Isn't it funny how shy you can feel all of the sudden? Approaching strangers isn't easy. Perhaps, however, it's a great first litmus test for a dream. Anyone can take out a credit card and pay for a pre-arranged service... only the truly dedicated will try to do it on their own for free.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
The Misery of Being a Newbie Again: From Competence to Incompetence in One Easy Step
Until I retired from my publishing career of 25 years, I hadn't realized how arrogant I had become. It's an unconscious arrogance I used to see in experienced editorial job applicants. They'd spent years becoming the recognized authority in a particular beat - telephony, aviation, biotech, etc. - and now for whatever reason decided it would be a snap to switch subjects and write for my publication.
It never worked. Inevitably Mr or Ms expert would wind up quitting after a few weeks, days, or even hours in one instance. "I didn't expect it would be this hard," they told me again and again until I stopped hiring pros and started looking for reporters with as little experience as possible, but a plethora of native talent, brains and a huge willingness to learn.
Once you've gotten up to expert-level, you quickly forget how hard it is to learn new things. Worse yet, you may forget even though you are an "expert", it's only in one small topic, and there's a big huge world out there about which you know very little indeed. To many it comes as a nasty shock.
Your internal image of yourself takes a beating. One moment you are a competent person. The next, you are the personification of incompetence. You're a bumbling idiot.
As I worked part-time in my last weeks on the job, I ricocheted between extremes. At 2pm on any given weekday, I'd be on the phone in my home office dispensing expertise to thousands of listeners via webinars and teleconferences held to promote MarketingSherpa's newest handbook. Then, after signing off, by 3:15pm I'd be in the backyard being soundly berated by my husband for handing him the wrong nail gun. "You're a worthless carpenter's assistant. Go away! I can work better alone!"
He's not a bad tempered or abusive man. He is a former professional carpenter who never had such a dummy for a helper in his entire career, and who was holding up a 100lb piece of wood with just one hand while waving the other for the nailgun. Which I was supposed to hand him. That was my entire job. Which I failed.
Either I handed him the wrong tool, or forgot to plug the gun into the air compressor, or handed it in the wrong direction so he couldn't grasp the handle, or worse of all, was caught drifting off on a hazy daydream about the clouds, the sun, the flowers in the field...
But my bumbling didn't stop there. I would forget to start cooking in time to have anything ready for dinner when the hungry gangs arrived home from work. Not having noticed how differently the sun casts shadows and light in various times of the year, I planted our new rose bush in an area with the deepest mid-summer shade. Remembering from my college days that house painting goes best with plenty of beer, I dripped ruinously all over the new, exceedingly porous, clay tile floor in the bathroom.
On and on. I could not do anything in the world right, it seemed, except my old job which I was on the fast track to leaving.
Finally I was holding back tears only through gritted teeth and force of character. "I'm awful at everything!" "Don't be stupid," my husband said. "You make the best Tom Yum soup in the world."
This is a very small hook on which to hang an ego. But it would have to do.
It never worked. Inevitably Mr or Ms expert would wind up quitting after a few weeks, days, or even hours in one instance. "I didn't expect it would be this hard," they told me again and again until I stopped hiring pros and started looking for reporters with as little experience as possible, but a plethora of native talent, brains and a huge willingness to learn.
Once you've gotten up to expert-level, you quickly forget how hard it is to learn new things. Worse yet, you may forget even though you are an "expert", it's only in one small topic, and there's a big huge world out there about which you know very little indeed. To many it comes as a nasty shock.
Your internal image of yourself takes a beating. One moment you are a competent person. The next, you are the personification of incompetence. You're a bumbling idiot.
As I worked part-time in my last weeks on the job, I ricocheted between extremes. At 2pm on any given weekday, I'd be on the phone in my home office dispensing expertise to thousands of listeners via webinars and teleconferences held to promote MarketingSherpa's newest handbook. Then, after signing off, by 3:15pm I'd be in the backyard being soundly berated by my husband for handing him the wrong nail gun. "You're a worthless carpenter's assistant. Go away! I can work better alone!"
He's not a bad tempered or abusive man. He is a former professional carpenter who never had such a dummy for a helper in his entire career, and who was holding up a 100lb piece of wood with just one hand while waving the other for the nailgun. Which I was supposed to hand him. That was my entire job. Which I failed.
Either I handed him the wrong tool, or forgot to plug the gun into the air compressor, or handed it in the wrong direction so he couldn't grasp the handle, or worse of all, was caught drifting off on a hazy daydream about the clouds, the sun, the flowers in the field...
But my bumbling didn't stop there. I would forget to start cooking in time to have anything ready for dinner when the hungry gangs arrived home from work. Not having noticed how differently the sun casts shadows and light in various times of the year, I planted our new rose bush in an area with the deepest mid-summer shade. Remembering from my college days that house painting goes best with plenty of beer, I dripped ruinously all over the new, exceedingly porous, clay tile floor in the bathroom.
On and on. I could not do anything in the world right, it seemed, except my old job which I was on the fast track to leaving.
Finally I was holding back tears only through gritted teeth and force of character. "I'm awful at everything!" "Don't be stupid," my husband said. "You make the best Tom Yum soup in the world."
This is a very small hook on which to hang an ego. But it would have to do.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Pete, My 15-Year Office Cat, Undergoing Surgery
Being able to bring my cat Pete to work was one of the best things about owning a business. Actually, Pete loathed commuting so I just moved him into the office at MarketingSherpa to live there permanently. He'd often sit on my lap as I worked, or on the chair facing the desk.I learned to keep a clean "guest" chair in another room that I would bring in when people visited because no one wants to sit on a hair bestrewn cat's chair. I also learned to ask, "Are you allergic to cats?" before asking anyone into my office. Surprisingly frequently, they'd say yes, so I'd wind up doing things like job interviews perched on borrowed desks in other rooms.
As he aged, Pete got a bit more demanding. If he could hear my voice from another office in the building for more than 40 minutes, he start yowling, I guess to tell me it was time to come back. If I persisted, he'd strut out into the hallway looking for me and yowling even more loudly. This cut short a few meetings in the graphic design and Summits departments!
For reasons only known to himself, he despised webinars. I could talk on the phone to an individual all I wanted, but if I was speaking for a webinar, well he'd start yowling and making a fuss for the entire 60 minutes. I was doing as many as 75 Webinars a year, so with help from Ron in customer service, we quickly devised a "Pete Procedure." Ten minutes before the event was due to start, Ron would knock on my door and we'd put Pete into his Sherpa carrier (made by a company unrelated to my Sherpa) for the duration. Then Ron would carry it into customer service.
This worked ok for six months or so, but Pete got louder and louder. He's fully capable of yowling for an extended period. (I timed at once at nine hours when we were on a road trip.) Customers calling our 800-line were asking, 'What's that noise?" Finally Ron said enough is enough, and moved Pete's carrier out to the main stairwell which was far enough away from everyone's offices to not be a bother. The UPS and Fedex guys got used to jogging upstairs past this crazy screaming cat in the stairwell. Just another day at Sherpa.
Thankfully, once the webinar was over, Pete would happily settle back in his chair in my office again and pretend like nothing had happened.
When I sold Sherpa, Pete moved back home. He didn't like the idea of being one of several animals and there were some close shaves with the dog, not to mention cat fights. But he quickly established his supremacy. Pete gets the first crack at the food bowl and is the only animal allowed in the master bedroom. (I didn't set that rule, he did.)
Today's been kind of a tough day for me. Pete's been getting a lot thinner recently, and hs started hissing at his food bowl after he takes a bite. Turns out five of his teeth have deep caveties and his gums are inflamed to boot. The vet says Pete's been extraordinaly brave not to make a fuss about it until now because he must have been in considerable pain for a while. Pete is in surgery today. There's always a risk with such an old cat -- Pete's over 15.
But I have faith he'll pull through. He's got spine.
In an interview I did with the marketer of a site called Guru.com back in early 2001, the guy told me that entrepreneurs often have an unusually close relationship with their pets. In my case anyway, he was completely on target.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
I've Considered Six New Business Ideas Before Breakfast
You know how when you are working way too much, your mind tends to fantasize about what a wonderful life you'll have when you quit? For years, I had inexplicably detailed visions of myself, an Airstream, and a fancy little dog. None of which makes any sense because I (a) don't like driving for hours (b) live to garden and (c) own a hairy black and white mutt.
Doesn't matter. The vision of myself, with little dog trotting neatly at my heel, beside a glittering Airstream perched on the edge of the Grand Canyon, kept me going the dark days in 2001-2002 when it seemed like everyone else's companies were burning around us, and then in the insane boomdays of 2004-2007 when customers were piling in from every direction and we couldn't expand fast enough to deal with demand.
After nine incredibly stressful years, I've been spat out the other side of the storm into this quiet Rhode Island house with a garden and enough savings to take a break for a few years. Which is a huge pleasure.
Yet, as I laze in bed each morning, my mind turns to thoughts of ... business. Buying a small languishing publishing company and turning it around; building a chain of parking garages in Belgrade Serbia; launching a chain of Taco Bells in Croatia; creating a shoe-of-the-day photo ezine for iPhones; planting organic nut farms on two continents; writing a bestseller (of course! ;-)) about how to succeed in business; starting a public investment fund for companies around the globe solving water problems, etc., etc.
Give me a few more mornings and I'll have another half dozen ideas.
This continual creative stream drives my husband, a man of deeply considered thoughts, absolutely batty. He slipped into retirement as easily as a trout slipping into a stream. He's always known precisely what he would do with free time and now he is doing it. Very focused and simple. When another one of these ideas pops out of my mouth, he says, "Ok that sounds good. I'll support whatever you want to do." Which is NOT at all what I want anyone to say! No, sir. You're supposed to say, "That's a fun pipedream, now let's get this compost pile turned."
It's not that I want to start another working project right away. Not at all. For the first time in my adult life I have time to just live. Throwing myself into another company would be throwing everything I already worked for away. Work for the sake of work may be the Great American way, but it should not be my way.
So why then am I continually daydreaming and babbling about new companies? Maybe in order to really enjoy whatever place I'm in, my mind needs fantasies about the exact opposite thing. I'm as likely to become Belgrade's parking queen as I am to drive off in that Airstream. But both visions serve a purpose. I'm going to try to relax and enjoy the ride!
Doesn't matter. The vision of myself, with little dog trotting neatly at my heel, beside a glittering Airstream perched on the edge of the Grand Canyon, kept me going the dark days in 2001-2002 when it seemed like everyone else's companies were burning around us, and then in the insane boomdays of 2004-2007 when customers were piling in from every direction and we couldn't expand fast enough to deal with demand.
After nine incredibly stressful years, I've been spat out the other side of the storm into this quiet Rhode Island house with a garden and enough savings to take a break for a few years. Which is a huge pleasure.
Yet, as I laze in bed each morning, my mind turns to thoughts of ... business. Buying a small languishing publishing company and turning it around; building a chain of parking garages in Belgrade Serbia; launching a chain of Taco Bells in Croatia; creating a shoe-of-the-day photo ezine for iPhones; planting organic nut farms on two continents; writing a bestseller (of course! ;-)) about how to succeed in business; starting a public investment fund for companies around the globe solving water problems, etc., etc.
Give me a few more mornings and I'll have another half dozen ideas.
This continual creative stream drives my husband, a man of deeply considered thoughts, absolutely batty. He slipped into retirement as easily as a trout slipping into a stream. He's always known precisely what he would do with free time and now he is doing it. Very focused and simple. When another one of these ideas pops out of my mouth, he says, "Ok that sounds good. I'll support whatever you want to do." Which is NOT at all what I want anyone to say! No, sir. You're supposed to say, "That's a fun pipedream, now let's get this compost pile turned."
It's not that I want to start another working project right away. Not at all. For the first time in my adult life I have time to just live. Throwing myself into another company would be throwing everything I already worked for away. Work for the sake of work may be the Great American way, but it should not be my way.
So why then am I continually daydreaming and babbling about new companies? Maybe in order to really enjoy whatever place I'm in, my mind needs fantasies about the exact opposite thing. I'm as likely to become Belgrade's parking queen as I am to drive off in that Airstream. But both visions serve a purpose. I'm going to try to relax and enjoy the ride!
Friday, December 5, 2008
Maybe We're Not Meant to 'Have It All' All At Once
As a six foot tall woman, I have a local seamstress who fixes all the clothing I buy so it actually fits properly. Mary's expert, inexpensive, and grandmotherly, not to mention the proud owner of her own fabric shop. In the past four years, she's altered everything from my pjs to my wedding dress.
I dropped in with a pile for her on Thursday. In the middle of the day. (Yeah baby, personal errands on a weekday during daylight. Retirement rocks.) Mary looked up at me, "Are you happy now?" "Yes." "You liked your job before, though, right?" "It was great." "How high did you get before you left?" "President."
She gave me an even look and then said, "You did it right. You spent 20 years on a career and nothing else, and now you're switching to do family and nothing else. That works. My daughter-in-law is trying to do both. You can't do both at the same time. Could you have been president and been good with your family?"
I shook my head no. "I wasn't able to; that's why I quit." Mary nodded decisively, "I agree. You should do one at a time. We have a long enough life for both! This 'having it all' is just nonsense. I had five children and I stayed at home and that was fine; and, look at me now with all this!" Mary motioned to the fabric store and customers around us. "Now I own this business."
As I've found several times in the last couple of weeks, I had been feeling embarrassed by having a older person "wait" on me. You know, they should be resting while I, the younger, ran around. Now I felt much better. Mary was so proud of her business, while actually approving of me for my new lifestyle.
"I guess I'm a housewife now," I said to her. "No!" she tossed her head in scorn. "You're a domestic engineer and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"
I dropped in with a pile for her on Thursday. In the middle of the day. (Yeah baby, personal errands on a weekday during daylight. Retirement rocks.) Mary looked up at me, "Are you happy now?" "Yes." "You liked your job before, though, right?" "It was great." "How high did you get before you left?" "President."
She gave me an even look and then said, "You did it right. You spent 20 years on a career and nothing else, and now you're switching to do family and nothing else. That works. My daughter-in-law is trying to do both. You can't do both at the same time. Could you have been president and been good with your family?"
I shook my head no. "I wasn't able to; that's why I quit." Mary nodded decisively, "I agree. You should do one at a time. We have a long enough life for both! This 'having it all' is just nonsense. I had five children and I stayed at home and that was fine; and, look at me now with all this!" Mary motioned to the fabric store and customers around us. "Now I own this business."
As I've found several times in the last couple of weeks, I had been feeling embarrassed by having a older person "wait" on me. You know, they should be resting while I, the younger, ran around. Now I felt much better. Mary was so proud of her business, while actually approving of me for my new lifestyle.
"I guess I'm a housewife now," I said to her. "No!" she tossed her head in scorn. "You're a domestic engineer and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"
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