In 1988, with a new family (wife Katie plus two daughters, two-year-old Martha and four-month-old Marian) I decided to go into business for myself as a writer. I had writing experience, but no one I knew had ever applied writing to the business I had in mind.
I had decided to be what amounts to a ghostwriter and publisher for privately published memoirs. I would interview you (or your parent or grandparent); edit those interviews into a coherent first-person narrative; then publish a private edition with any features desired (hardcover? dust-jacket? photos?). Press runs would be as long or as short as you wanted: one thousand, one hundred, ten?
Here's the proof that this was a new business model: Six years later, a professional organization was founded for writers doing what I had been doing since 1988, the Association of Personal Historians. You can read about them here. The APH was of no help to me in 1988.
How did I build the business—from a standing start to twelve clients in the first twelve months? There are several answers, but they boil down to (a) persistent networking and (b) finding my sweet spot.
Networking: I talked with community leaders north of Boston, anyone who would listen basically, and asked if they knew anyone who might be interested in such a service. Then I made phone calls. In fact, my first client, whom I will call Mr. Carter, did not result from this north-of-Boston network but from my parents. Mom and Dad had gone on a photographic safari in East Africa and had met there a couple from nearby Hamilton, the Carters. Mom said they sounded "interesting."
I called Mr. Carter, and then and there, on the telephone, I learned the number-one secret to selling a service I had never sold before. When I described to Mr. Carter what I proposed to do for him—write and publish his memoir—he answered, "Oh, I don't know who'd be interested in that." Then I asked the key question: "Do you have any children or grandchildren who might be interested in reading about your life some day?" He paused and then said the magic words, "Well, why don't you come see me and we'll see what we see."
In Mr. Carter's office, I learned two critical factors that eventually led him to hire me. First, his grandfather, for whom he was named, had written and published his memoir seventy years before. He pulled it off the shelf and effectively said, If I could have something like what my grandfather did, I might be interested. Second, Mr. Carter was dying of cancer. (He didn't say as much, he was fighting it, but die he did, two years later.)
Mr. Carter was younger at the time than my typical client (median age 81). But he was dying, so might as well have been 101.
As I said, I won twelve jobs in twelve months with such networking. But why me? Why this?
Finding my sweet spot: It turns out I have a combination of skills that are almost uniquely my own. Why do I know this skill set is pretty hard to duplicate? Because I have tried. I have tried hiring people to do what I do, but I have failed to find them. This is not to say they don't exist, but they can't be found in the Yellow Pages.
What do I do? What's my skill set?
1. I am not afraid to get on the phone and ask people to let me write their memoirs for them. (Takes chutzpah.)
2. I genuinely love listening to older people tell me about their lives, at any length. Listening to older people tell me their life stories is like having my grandparents alive again, and I loved my grandparents.
3. I have learned a secret: The secret is not what questions to ask or how to write up the answers. The secret is listening: turning on the tape recorder, asking one question, and shutting up.
4. I am a good, quick editor. I understand The Elements of Style. Just as important, I understand letting the "author's" personal style come through.
5. As a graduate of the best prep school on the planet (Exeter), as the son of a Yalie, as someone whose parents belonged to socially exclusive country clubs when I was young (I couldn't afford that now), and as a former Episcopalian, I know what I call the "secret handshake." I am comfortable with the upscale clients I tend to attract in greater Boston, and they are comfortable with me. They don't invite me to family Christmas, although I have found my way onto a few Christmas card lists. Be that as it may, many clients recognize me as "one of their own." I don't say this proudly or to be a snob. I say it only in candor.
Next time: The wide range of jobs that have come my way in 21 years.
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