In Search of the Small-Business Bible

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I try to be as reassuring as I can on the phone. I know this whole process is hard on Jennifer; she's a person who, left to her own devices, likes to have things pretty well planned and under control. (She's the kind of person who always seems to be making less money than I am yet somehow saving more. The kind whose long hair somehow always seems impeccably brushed. Don't ask me how; it's a mystery to me.)

Jennifer has had this lifelong dream -- ever since she was a little kid with a garden plot -- of spending her life working the soil, growing food. Not a very practical dream for a suburban child, so for years she just tried to ignore it. She went to a high-powered college and tried normal jobs, then traveling, and then normal jobs again -- but she never really felt satisfied. Now these last few years have found her happier than ever before -- "This work really gives me joy," she says -- but the price has been her much-loved plans and security. Her farm apprenticeships have been seasonal, meaning she's had to get other jobs in the winter to support herself. She keeps moving from place to place, from summer job to winter job, packing her small car with possessions, on to the next farm. Having enough money for health insurance -- without dipping into the savings she's jealously guarding for her future business -- is a constant struggle. Most of the time she has faith that things will work out, that a way will open. But sometimes her voice does quaver -- as it does tonight.

Meanwhile, I have started to sort books -- big time. I can read no more than 12 completely -- there's just not more time -- but I have to read enough of the 40 to pick the best. With the assistance of my trusty colleague Robina, who takes up reading start-up books on her daily train commute, I get to work, posthaste. First I discuss with Jennifer some of her key questions: Should she take on a partner? What is the best way to distribute her products? How should she research potential markets effectively? Then I add a few subjects -- such as an explanation of financial statements and cash flow -- that I think every book about start-ups should address. That way Robina and I can sample all the books in a fair way, giving them grades on each topic, which I can later compare.

Now the fun begins. Each day I grow more ruthless with my 40, easily separating the haves from the have-nots, the savvy from the inane. Books end up in piles on the floor, graded in my mind: A, B, C, D, F -- top-notch, solid, OK, bad, awful. There are few Fs -- most of the Fs never made it out of the stores -- and an awful lot of Bs. I can tell I've got a winner every time I find myself plastering the pages with Post-it notes to keep track of unusually good advice.

By the time Christmas draws near, I begin reading in earnest, breaking ground on the dozen or so books I think are best -- and which I need to finish by 1994. I also talk to Jennifer one last time: both to formulate questions we can use to explore alternative sources of start-up information (see "On-Line Resources for Start-ups," page 6) and to have, for once, a formal interview. She jokes that the interview will last only 10 minutes; after all, I already know her whole story.

The funny thing is, I don't. I should but I don't. Sure, I've heard her story, piece by piece -- from the time she found out you could learn about organic farming by becoming an apprentice, to her early days in the fields, to her first winter spent winging it with temporary jobs. But I never heard it as a story rich with accumulated meaning. I knew just the fragments, not how they fit together.

I didn't know how she felt the first time she started visiting organic farms, or that moment when she realized that her long-maligned dream was achievable -- by people like her. I didn't realize the extent of her learning, either: how she gradually compared different types of farm operations to develop a model for her own, for example. Like all good stories, Jennifer's is full of surprises. Who would have thought that a woman who as a child dreaded Girl Scout-cookie season would discover she truly enjoyed selling -- as long as the product was organic vegetables? I end the three-hour interview with that sheepish feeling you sometimes get when something familiar captures your eye from a whole new angle, full of unexpected beauty.

Back to the -- sigh -- books. although I'm beginning to feel that my own life story contains far too many chapters about business plans, this last phase of reading does have its satisfactions. At this stage I encounter few disappointments and lots of good ideas. (See "The 25 Best Business Ideas from More Small-Business Books Than You'll Ever Want to Read," page 4.) I discover there is a common thread among many of the best start-up books: they are often written by people who have both small-business experience and some broader kind of knowledge, which has given them a bigger perspective. The accounts of authors who don't have experience in running a business seldom ring quite true; those authors never, you sense, know how to separate good from bad. Meanwhile, books written by entrepreneurs frequently lack perspective. These authors are apt to make the mistake of assuming that their states' policies are typical or that, fundamentally, all companies are like theirs.

The authors of the best three books (see "And the Winners Are...," page 7) are hybrids. They have experienced the phenomenon they write about -- whether it's founding a growth company or starting a one-person business -- and then either repeated the process many times or observed many others doing it. The result is an unbeatable combination of authenticity and broad vision.

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