The $100 Startup: Reinvent the Way You Make a Living, Do What You Love, and Create a New Future (21 page)

After the launch, you may be tempted to take a break, and you probably should do something to celebrate or rest. But make it a short break, because what happens next is important. During the launch process, a lot of people were paying attention to you. You’ve captured additional attention and trust in the form of new customers. Other prospects who considered the offer didn’t find it compelling
at this time, but perhaps you can serve them with something else later.

Always return to the all-important value question: How can you help people more? After their big launch, Adam and Karol went back to their own businesses and active lives. Adam used part of his proceeds to buy an RV and tour the country with his family, and Karol began an unconventional pilgrimage to visit every roller coaster in America.

At the same time, they kept thinking ahead, planning another big project that would result in more sales, more customers, and more impact.

O
ne hundred and twenty miles from Boston in rural New Hampshire, hundreds of artists and art lovers gather twice a year for a communal experience. Before coming to the area, many of them connect online, arranging car-share services and planning meetups. After settling into lakeside cottages, they learn from professionals and spend time with one another, old friends and new friends alike.

It all started five years ago when Elizabeth MacCrellish was feeling isolated from other artists and wanted to create more of a sense of community in her rural area. “I invited my friends to join me for a weekend gathering centered on the arts,” she explained. She planned for a few dozen people, but 135 showed up—mostly from the West Coast, far from the small New England group she had expected.

Thus was born Squam Art Workshops, named after a lake in central New Hampshire. After that initial gathering, Elizabeth repeated the experience, first on an annual basis and then twice a year. The audience is one-third professional artists and two-thirds “regular people” with day jobs who enjoy arts and crafts as a hobby. Hundreds of people now come to each sold-out gathering.

As the workshops grew, Elizabeth pulled back to regroup. She did no traditional advertising of any kind, but more people kept signing up, strictly through word of mouth. In the third year of Squam, Elizabeth added an extra session in a new location … and ended up regretting it. She was tired and decided to spend the next year “dialing back and taking stock.” (She was initially reluctant about speaking to me for this book, but warmed up after I promised to write about the importance of community and relationships in her work.)

To register for Squam, attendees have to mail in their payment and information. This old-school system is one way that Elizabeth maintains a close connection with her tribe. She also carefully assigns people to specific cottages to ensure that newcomers are welcomed and plays Whack-A-Mole in delicately preventing cliques from forming. Invitations to take the Squam show on the road have arrived from the United Kingdom, Australia, and a dozen cities in North America; she always declines.

“I’m not a businessperson,” she says. “I just do what feels right, and it keeps getting more interesting.” Elizabeth isn’t against capitalism, but she wants to be sure that the growth of her business happens in a way that is comfortable for her. Midway through one of our phone calls, she likened her business model to the Amish, talking about a time when she visited a New England farmer’s market. Self-reliance is a core value in most Amish communities, and nearly everyone participates in commerce one way or another. But there is very little actual salesmanship; the molasses cookies and apple strudel sell themselves. Even for high-ticket items, prices are nonnegotiable—take it or leave it.

Elizabeth began the workshops as a personal project that grew into a sustainable business. “I never set out to build something more
than a structured encounter with friends,” she says. Five years later, managing Squam—and making sure it grows in the right way—is Elizabeth’s full-time work. After the initial success, at least eight different workshops offering similar retreats sprang up elsewhere, many of which were founded by previous attendees who sought to replicate the event in their own way. It didn’t matter, though—the original Squam was the experience you just had to have for yourself.

This chapter is all about
hustling
, or how to get the word out about a project. What does hustling mean? There are a few ways to look at it, but I like the approach in this poster by Joey Roth:

The distinction between the three icons represents the difference (and the likely success or lack of success) of a person or business hoping to promote something for sale. A
charlatan
is all talk, with nothing to
back up their claims. A
martyr
is all action with plenty of good work to talk about, but remains unable or unwilling to do the talking. A
hustler
represents the ideal combination: work and talk fused together.