No Boundaries

When I first started blogging about four years ago, my ex scolded me for being "too public."  I had shared several personal things that I felt compelled to write, among them, depression (a familiar topic in this space), the suicide of a close family friend and my rape.  I'm not ashamed of any of those things and would gladly talk to stranger and friend alike about them, mostly because I don't think we talk about the difficult things enough.  And your response to yesterday's post is proof of that.  Many of you shared your same struggles publicly, others shared them privately, but the fact of the matter is that far too many of us suffer in silence.  We put on masks.  We show only our happy faces.  We strive for perfection.  We don't give ourselves room and time to breathe and feel and just BE.  Our true selves--stripped and bare and vulnerable.

After my ex asked me to remove that first blog (which I now know was just his way of controlling and isolating me, but that's another post), I started blogging under pseudonyms.  And even when I added my name to this blog, I was uncertain.  Not from a personal perspective, but from a professional one.  I'm strong-willed and opinionated.  I write about a lot of personal things.  Would that make potential or existing clients uncomfortable?  Less willing to hire me?

I was reluctant to even link to this blog to my professional website because I didn't think it was, well, "professional."  And I had all of these preconceived notions about what a "professional" blog should be. Neat and pretty and upbeat, stocked with great photos and full of great tips about business and entrepreneurship and PR and social media.  Not some free Blogger template filled with my late night angst and deepest fears.

And then I connected with inspiring, honest and REAL people like Allison Nazarian and Elizabeth Potts Weinstein, people that run successful businesses without losing their identities.  Who write about anything and everything because that's who they are.  The person and brand are one and the same.

And I threw out all of those ideas of what a blog "should" be.  This is my name and my blog, and I can write whatever I want to.  Because I AM the brand.  There is no distinction between Laura Scholz, the person, and Laura Scholz, the writer/speaker/business owner.  It's all part of the same whole, the same essence, the same being.  I am who I am.  No apologies.  And no boundaries.

Thanks to you all for teaching me that very important lesson.

Happy Anniversary to Me!

Today marks the three year anniversary of my business. Its inception wasn't the result of a genius business plan, or months of preparation or some late-night creative inspiration. No, quite simply, three years ago today, I lost my job. A job I loved. A job that came with a near six figure salary, a corner office overlooking Peachtree Street and a boss I adored. And it all vanished.

After the obligatory crying, panicking and desperate calls to friends, I sat down at my computer in the corner of my spare bedroom and composed an email to everyone I knew, telling them I was immediately available for freelance writing and public relations work. And Scholz Communications was born.

It's not been an easy path or a direct one, but every twist and turn has led me here, and for that I am grateful.  And I'm most especially grateful for all of you--my family and friends and colleagues and clients--who have continued to believe in me and counsel me through the constant fear  and change and self-doubt.

So thank you, one and all.

Stop Counting and Start Connecting

1,000.  10,000.  100,000.  1,000,000.

Whatever your magic number is, admit it--you're counting.  We're all playing the numbers game.

When we're not compulsively checking our website hits or our blog comments, we're accumulating Twitter followers, Facebook fans and blog subscribers like notches on our social media bedposts.  Me?  Guilty as charged.

But what if we turned all of that focus outward? 

Started counting how many people we've reached out to, how many blogs we've commented on, how many people we've connected to one another, how many good things we've said about others and their work?

Would the numbers even matter?

I am NOT a Publicist

I am NOT a publicist.

There, I said it aloud (yes, I know I'm writing, but I actually did say it aloud).

Yes, I'm well aware of the name of my blog.  Yes, I'm aware that people know me as "the PR girl."  But I'm also well aware of how confining this label has become, from both a personal and professional perspective.

The definition of a "publicist?" One who publicizes.

The definition of "publicize?" Give publicity to; bring to public notice; advertise.

My work is so much bigger than that.  It's connecting, communicating, collaborating, educating, influencing, strategizing, advocating, branding, engaging, leveraging, building, teaching, sharing, evaluating, creating.

That's why you won't see the word "public relations" anywhere on the new web site I'm launching in a few weeks.  That's why I will no longer describe myself as a "public relations" professional.  And why the work I have been and will be taking on in the future will be bigger than simply "publicity." 

Who cares if someone "knows" about your product or service if they're not engaged?  If they're not ambassadors?  If you can't create and communicate and share in new platforms?  If you're not building something lasting of substance and value and community? 

Call me an educator, a communicator, a connector, a creator.  But please don't call me a publicist.

Growing Pains: When the Brand Becomes Bigger than You

It's been less than two weeks since the great Facebook purge of 2010, and I'm still getting at least five random friend requests a day. 

I see you're a fan of x (company #2); me, too! Let's connect.

Um, no thank you.  If you're a fan, just become a fan, especially if we have no natural point of intersection or previous connection.

I've previously talked about this issue in terms of privacy (I'm under no illusion that I have any on the internet) or boundaries (being selective about whom you connect with).  But it's really an issue of branding.

When you're building a business--especially as a solopreneur--social media platforms naturally become a hodgepodge of personal and professional.  Even if you have a website, a LinkedIn account or a stand-alone professional blog, it's pretty much impossible--and probably not desirable--to remove all traces of your professional self from social networking sites.  After all your network--even if its just friends and family--can be a powerful tool for generating leads and promoting your business.

That's why I've adopted a hybrid approach to branding.  You'll see it in this blog, on my Facebook page, on my Twitter account, and in the way I interact and connect with people.  Personality sells.  And I can't separate Laura the person from Laura the entrepreneur.  The two are too intertwined. 

And while I believe wholeheartedly in this approach, I'm having growing pains.  The more visible I become and the more people I connect with, the more I WANT some separation between my personal and professional lives; the more murky the lines between friendship and business become; the more wary I become of endorsing people or places or products, lest they mistakenly become associated with my professional brand.

In other words, my brand, like my business, has some growing up to do.  I'm no longer managing one business, but two.  I have a (very small) staff.  I'm expanding my professional offerings and venturing into the big scary world of speaking engagements and writing opportunities.  All of which I want and welcome.  

But the brand has become bigger than me--an extension of me, yes; but only me--no.  And my online presence has to reflect that.  So, it may mean turning down a few Facebook friend requests I would've accepted a year ago and directing those people to my fan page.  It may mean a little less Twitter chatter about wine and more about my latest exciting project.  And more conversations here about the intersection of entrepreneurship, personality and brand.

Bring on adolescence.