I don't believe in making things unnecessarily complex and if something in marketing can't be explained simply, I start to wonder if it's a con. Any good provider should be able to explain plainly how they can be of service. In my experience, those who try to intimidate with vague, jargon-laden language aren't worth considering.

One thing I've noticed, is that people tend to dislike working with jerks. Sure, we're sometimes forced to do so due to a simple lack of options, but I think that's quickly becoming a thing of the past. It seems to me that we increasingly have more choices regarding who we spend our money with. As this happens, I think most will choose to work with nice people when they can.

Buying a lawnmower doesn't result in a cut-lawn; it's only the means by which you could cut it. Similarly, a website is a fine way to convey a proposition to interested parties and remove any doubt about your operation. But before that can happen, prospects need to find your website. This requires you to get out and spread the word.

When I see companies trying to do something exciting and different every time they approach their marketing, I worry that they're missing the point. Customers really want to know what you are, and that you'll always deliver on the same promise: "The cafe with the amazing peach pie!" or "The oil-change shop where you never have to wait." or "The technology company whose stuff always works."

When you change your direction, you lose momentum and have to rebuild it all over again. This is costly, and it can become a pattern. Those who hit "reset" every time the path gets rough find it awfully tempting to repeat this action indefinitely.

Crafting an identity is an investment that saves resources in the long-term. Not having a suitable identity is akin to wearing sweatpants and hoping that your date will look past them and see the "real you."

Your company probably has more in common with its competitors than it doesn't. So you have to move past talking about having "great quality, service, and price" and find something that's actually notable. This may require you to openly admit what you don't do, aren't good at, or perhaps what you are obsessive about.

I'd get very frustrated by this, but he continued to remind me that just saying some "was" didn't make it so. Bob's contention was that the most powerful art didn't need an artist's statement to accompany it, as it would make you feel a certain way, free of any verbal crutches.

I'm imagining your colleagues aren't stupid. But when the world changes, the rules change. And if you insist on playing today's games by yesterday's rules, you're stuck. Stuck with a stupid strategy. Because the world changed.

If the only side effect of the criticism is that you will feel bad about the criticism, then you have to compare that bad feeling with the benefits you'll get from actually doing something worth doing. Being remarkable is exciting, fun, profitable, and great for your career. Feeling bad wears off.

If a critic tells you, "I don't like it" or "This is disappointing," he's done no good at all. In fact, quite the opposite is true. He's used his power to injure without giving you any information to help you do better next time. Worse, he hasn't given those listening any data with which to make a thoughtful decision on their own. Not only that, but by refusing to reveal the basis for his criticism, he's being a coward, because there's no way to challenge his opinion.

I think these people are becoming even better at following, but are never learning to lead. They're following instructions, following directions, following the pack, and honing their skill--but hiding. Hiding from the fear of leading.

And when intimidated by an audience, as many professors and experts clearly are, superiority seems to be the best defense. The problem is that no one likes feeling like an idiot. There are 10 million bad, obscure ways to say something for every clear, direct one. If you chose one of the 10 million, no matter how proud it makes you feel to be obscure, you are inviting your audience to start daydreaming.

Often there's value in something that's been said before being said again in a different way, or by someone new who can get away with saying truths insiders can't. Hearing a message from an outsider ofter carries more weight than a team of expert insiders.

Despite how easy this is to do, most people, even those who say public speaking is important and want to get better at it, aren't willing to do it. It's just too scary for them. To which I say, you are a hypocrite. If you're too scared to watch yourself speak, how can you expect your audience to watch you?

They've heard enough polite compliments to safely ignore any painful truths that slip though. They may even jab back, decreasing the odds that people will offer any future critiques. Considering how much we like to talk, we suck at both being honest with others and at listening openly and nondefensively when others are honest with us.

The big lesson from being on television is simple: we are always performing. Any time you open your mouth and expect someone to listen, you are behaving differently than you would if you were alone. Admitting this doesn't make you phony--it makes you honest.

Even for many smart people working on a presentation, they're so seduced by style that they lose the substance. They worry about slide templates, images, movies, fonts, clothes, hair, and the rest, forgetting to do the harder and more important work of thinking deeply about what points they want to make. It is possible to become an eloquent speaker, who makes beautiful slides and has a great vocabulary and perfect diction, without having much to say.

In the act of protecting myself from what I thought would be hostile, critical, skeptical audience, I set about on the one course most likely to create the thing I was trying to avoid. I'm sure this happens often: being paranoid has strikingly good odds of creating what we're afraid of, perpetuating the paranoia. If I hadn't later seen that video of my performance, I wouldn't have the life I have now. I would always have thought I was responding to the crowd, not that it was responding to me.

In fact, there is a greater likelihood of being judged by people you know because they care about what you have to say. They have reasons to argue and disagree since what you do will affect them in ways a public speaker never can. An audience of strangers cares little and, at worst, will daydream or fall asleep, rendering them incapable of noticing any mistakes you make. While it's true that many fears are irrational and can't be dispelled by mere logic, if you can talk comfortably with people you know, then you possess the skills needed to speak to groups of people you don't know.