In 2008, I started a Marketing company, Eluminare, that initially focused on internet marketing and lead generation. The success of the company has exceeded my expectations and those of my clients. It has grown from Internet marketing into virtualized marketing executive consultancy, and most recently it has focused on “growth” consulting with clients. Now, only two years later, it is my great pleasure to announce the merger of Eluminare with Bluegill Creative.

So, what’s a Bluegill you may ask? On their website you’ll see:

…Bluegill is an integrated marketing communications group serving clients in a variety of fields including healthcare, business to business, finance, real estate, and non-profit. We represent clients throughout the country with local, regional and national marketing, advertising, and branding initiatives. A small fish that thinks big.

I, however, like to think of them as a great group of friends.

This merger was not conducted in a stuffy conference room with mind numbing lawyers. Instead, the relationship between our two companies has grown over shared projects, and over beers and brainstorming. The right people have written the success stories independently, and now together the right people are going to take Bluegill to new heights.

Together, Bluegill will expand its already vibrant digital portfolio to include  internet marketing, search engine optimization, pay per click advertising, social media marketing, analytics and reporting, mobile marketing, and custom application architecture. In addition, Eluminare’s lead generation techniques will add new assets in the areas of inbound and outbound telephone center setup, customer relationship management (”CRM”) software setup and administration.

Social media strategy and social media policy creation have become important consulting areas for Eluminare. This experience and legal expertise will prove valuable to many of Bluegill’s current customers.

Bluegill’s rich branding experience and expert design skills in both print and interactive, will richly enhance Eluminare’s current client base.

This marriage of the our two companies provides the perfect consultancy for businesses looking to expand their current market share by refining core values and purpose development and applying creative roadmap creation.

I look forward to the future, and I invite you to join me. Stay up to date by joining the Facebook group or following @bluegillcreativ.

Wish me luck!

Something happens to me when the 5 day forecast suggests the possibility of snow, a little boy springs up with excitement and a little hope. As the promise of the white draws closer, the childlike anticipation manifests into something that is seldom experienced as an adult–snow day.

Image used under creative commons license by skycaptaintwo

Of course, I live in the south, so the soft white snow doesn’t stick around long enough to turn into the road-muck, black of northern towns. The winter storm rolls through and softens the sharp angular edges of our world into soft, white contours. Virgin white that makes even the brightest white creation of man lack luster in comparison. Then, in a few days, the memory of the snow is dotted with only a few melting snowmen. Painless.

As the day draws closer, the “believers” gush with a little childlike hope of the 3, no 6, no 12 inches of the winter white. Safely tucked in their nostalgic gaze is fireplaces, families, snowballs,  snowmen, and of course play. Sometime between our twelfth birthday and midlife, we forget what it is like to play. School becomes increasingly important, grades, college admissions, jobs, wives, kids, houses, and play that once consumed our days, thoughts, and emotions is relegated to a basement of our responsible life. But the weatherman’s forecast rattles that basement door and awakes the freedom that we had as a child and have long lost the memory. The freedom that can audaciously sled down the giant hill because falling means that old man winter can gently catch you in his soft arms that blankets the harsh, dull earth. The freedom that has no agenda or appointment because time is frozen solid and you can run for 30 minutes or 3 hours making real the line, “since we have no place to go, let it snow.”

I was thinking about Pat Head Summit, the ladies basketball coach for University of Tennessee, this afternoon and how her goal of the team is perfect execution of the plays. And you’re welcome for stating the obvious, but this really sank in today in a very different way than ever before. I view coaches as motivators, recruiters, promoters, but I have never really thought of them as visionaries of perfect execution. In this sense, the coach may think “if only…player A runs down the left side of the court and player B dribbles to the defender and player C follows behind player D, etc. then we will score..”

However, often in business we toil away with so many of the tactics that the “if only” strategy is seldom considered. Especially in small business/entrepreneurial situations, we spend all of our energy acting and very little thinking, which reminds me of an anecdotal story that I was recently told:

An astronaut was asked if you only had 10 seconds of oxygen, what would he do do? After thinking for a few moments, the astronaut responded, “I would think for 8 seconds and act for 2.”

So, whether you are the coach of a team, a small business owner, or an employee seeking to make your mark, I ask you to pause and think about your “if only” statement. What series of events if perfectly executed would bring you great success?

Last night my “original family unit” had dinner together in preparation for my dad, the Lewster’s, surgery. It just so happened that no spouses or children came, so we had a nice time, reminiscent of similar dinners from my childhood–big jokes despite the circumstances, thin edge of sarcasm, and my dad striking up conversations with random people.

At one point in the evening, as my sister was furiously framing the perfect photograph, he began chatting with a couple at the table immediately next to us. The youngish fella at the table was handsome, well-built, and sporting a stylish blonde doo. My dad’s uncanny ability to extract much information out of a short conversation revealed that this guy had played football at one time for the Tennessee Vols.

A while later, my dad returned to their table to satisfy his itching curiosity of whether this table neighbor played professional football for the Tennessee Titans. In a self deprecating shrug, the guy more or less said “no” with a face that said a thousand words, “too old, too slow, not strong enough, and more of like.” Like spinach to Popeye, Lewster found his strength, “have you tried out? You should try out, you would be great…you only live once.” He knew nothing of his abilities; he had not seen any footage, but in a very genuine way, he encouraged this stranger like a friend, like a son. This is the dad that raised me.

He was the East Tennessee boy who wooed all of the girls in school; played all of the sports; he was the superstar. He went on to college and ascended the ranks of the football team to become the captain. A tall feat for a 5′10″ left guard. In the army, he ascended the ranks his platoon to become the Superior Cadet as he travelled the world. In the FBI, he always sought to serve with his highest and best. Everything that he pursued he has always given his all. He brings his game.

By contrast, my brother and I didn’t play many sports, weren’t football players, didn’t go into the armed services, didn’t follow behind in the footsteps of the FBI, yet the Lewster was always proud and encouraged us (even in the impossible). He always subrogated his desires to our ambitions only gently redirecting where appropriate.

He is a farmer of hope. In fallow ground he plants the seeds of possibility–even in places where others assume drought. When I was about seven years old, the Lewster led a SWAT team to arrest a most wanted criminal. After the blue lights stopped and the guns were holstered, he spent significant time digging into the fugitive’s life and mining for hope over interrogating him.

All too often we look for hope to magically appear. We misplace goals for hope, like tactics for strategy. Hope is the fundamental belief that circumstances, no matter how dire, can change. It is the ability to look at some dirt and a little spec and see the significant harvest. Hope is not fleeting; it is a root that grows through one’s life, which built on strong foundation can weather a storm.

As I chose the picture for this post, I really searched for something that represented the living roots that both my mom and dad bring to our family. This picture, taken recently, has all the wonderful blooms of the family.

It is unlikely that the fella at the restaurant called up his agent and scheduled a tryout for the Titans, but who knows the boost that he may have received from the fun Lewster encounter. The power of hope cultivated with the encouragement that someone believes in your abilities, can help you move mountains. My dad’s encouragement is magnetic. It is something that I aspire to emulate. It has led me in some of my darkest moments and most difficult decisions.

Do you ever read something that seems to haunt you?

I woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweats thinking about this one. I read a Seth Godin post over the weekend, and, as usual, his words struck a chord. This time, however, I could not just post a tweet and go on about my business. I was struck by this one line:

Employees and freelancers that produce more than they cost are worth hiring.

Too often, it seems, that we can hide behind rationalizations for what we do. We paint these pictures with huge self-congratulation, but at the end of the day, are we producing more than we are charging?

In case you missed it, Hallerin Hilton Hill had me on the show to talk about Twitter. The experience was a lot of fun, but I think he may have exaggerated the magnitude of my abilities–just a little.

Hallerin even endorsed @jfloyd for the East Tennessee’s Best Tweeter award.

For your convenience, you can vote for East Tennessee’s Best Tweeter here.

For the past four weeks I have spent Weekends working long hours in the yard. After, as the wife says, neglecting the yard for several years, I am interested and excited in transforming dirt into something beautiful. While laboring away under the hot sun with the assistance of a few fine friends (kids aged 7 and 2), I have reflected on the fun torture that was working with my dad in the yard when I was young.

In particular, I remember one event where my dad had created a raised bed in front of their house. My job was to create a “custom” edging around the mulch bed out of small timbers that he had cut. My job included:

1. Digging a small ditch around the bed.
2. Soaking the logs in a preservative.
3. “Planting” the logs in the ditch.
4. Use Bailing wire to tie the logs together.

For this bed that was about 150 square feet I had probably 150 logs to place, but it felt like 1500 trees that I had to debark and chop. I had a process. I understood the objective. I improved the process with scientific efficiency. Yet, I had no “vision” for the end result. I saw one log after another with no concept for the completed project; I invested my sweat to adhere to my paternal directive–and not for the vision of the beautiful work product.

All to often we issue commands to fulfill our own vision without taking the time to “plant” vision in the actors. In turn, they work hard to toil away and placing logs instead of creating beauty. When everyone shares in the vision, they make it beautiful in their own way, and they own their part of the success. Otherwise, it is just quid pro quo–in my story it was “build the edging” for “not getting an ass whoopin’.”

Why do we tip 15% and not 10%? 20% instead of 15%? Sure, it is some sort of ransom “to insure prompt service,” but really we tip based upon our expectations. If we expect lousy service and they exceed the expectations, we generously tip. If we expect Class A service but are delivered a Waffle House experience, we stroke some appalling number on the credit card slip as to make sure they “get the message.”

At lunch yesterday, the poor waiters were terribly short-staffed. Two tuckered table jockeys were tirelessly running full pace to underwhelm the needs of 12 tables.  As we opened the door to the restaurant, subtle hints of the abysmal service foreshadowed the experience: 5 minutes to be greeted, grunting faces of the patrons, kids hanging from the rafters. But a nice enough wink and nod from the sushi chef led me to believe that we would be taken care of. “Silly man that is hoodwinked by the sushi chef is doomed to a dinner of defeat,” my fortune should have read.

You know the drill. We sat down. Ten minutes pass before our waiter makes it to our table to take drink, dinner, and hell dessert orders, but this waiter wasn’t out back puffing on a stogey or flirting with the hostess–he was genuinely working as hard as physically possible, furiously juggling tables like a carney who just through a flaming chainsaw into the mix. There is no question that he was working hard, but he simply didn’t have time to get drinks on our table or tend to our basic needs.

My wife commented, “we’re not tipping this guy,” and I thought, we are not getting our basic needs met we probably shouldn’t tip this guy–very much at least. I did feel sorry for him, but I was also walking to the bar with crying children hanging from my leg just trying to get a soda and a milk. So, I postulated, “he could have fixed this…with little more than 5 seconds effort.” Had the overworked young man greeted us when we came in and said, “guys, welcome, we have an extremely packed house, and we are two staff short, I would love for you to stay but I want you to know that I am going to do my best to keep up.” Done. My expectations are set: (1) if I stay here, the service is going to suck, but I trust that this guy is going to do his best to take care of me, or (2) I am not in the mood to deal with this today, but I will be back because he took the time to address me. Instead the winking, nodding sushi chef dis-served us and the restaurant. He set the expectation that we will take care of you despite the chaos you see unfolding.

Often we think we want more business, even when we can’t handle it; we communicate our best wishes instead of our realities to our customers; and therefore we set unrealistic expectations in our customer’s minds. Communicate realistic expectations and work like hell to outperform, or you’ll end up working like hell communicate why you didn’t.

Adam has some great business advice–Lambert, not Smith, that is.

When given the choice, do you look for the “long shot” or the “sure bet?”

This guy’s voice gets on my nerves, and I am generally not a fan. However, he consistently picks the sure bet. Within every genre, he has selected the song that turns the judges into bobble heads. Sure, he has a good voice, but out of the 50,000 contestants these finalists all have good voices.  Plus, they practice 8 hours a day, but before spending any time practicing, Adam spends time thinking and asking, “what’s the sure bet?” He doesn’t pick songs that are out of his range. He doesn’t pick songs because his mom sang them to him when he was a kid. He strategically picks songs that consistently wow the judges–and obviously the audience.

In business, there are as many reasons to pursue various opportunities as there are opportunities. You can “pull off” a thousand opportunities and possibly hit a home run, but sure bets guarantee consistent hits. For some reason, we are inclined to pull for the long shot. The payoffs on the long shot can potentially pay 40:1, but the sure bet will statistically make you rich–the long shot can make you hopeless.

Once you pick the sure bet, you still, like Adam, have to work hard to get big results, but you’d be doing that anyway.

Occasionally, I have the good fortune of finding tools that truly simplify my life. I waste away the other twenty-some-odd hours of the day playing with the non-productive tools. It is a sick cycle, but there is a balance in there somewhere.

When writing a blog post and taking a few screen captures the captures, file save, upload process can be cumbersome and time consuming. Enter Jing, which is available for Windows or Mac.

1. Enter a keyboard shortcut to start the screen clipping service. For the mac, I am using Command+Shift+1. The crosshairs appear, and you can select portions of the screen, whole windows, or the whole desktop – basic screen capture stuff.

2. After selecting the image, you can add some basic markup (lines or text) to the image through the tools panel.

3. This is where the magic happens. After naming the file, you can upload to Flickr, or to your FTP location for insertion into your post. HOLY COW–You have just saved so much time!

Yes there may be other screen capture to FTP programs out there, like GrabUp, but Jing also includes the ability to create screencasts and post to YouTube, Screencast.com or import into Camtasia for editing.

You can download a free version of the software here (mac or PC). Or you can “go pro” for $14.95/year, which enables more options for image and video formats.