Now I have the income from the second book due in, and money from the articles and speeches. But I still haven't got a client. I would love to work one-on-one with a major CEO on communications, ideas, legacy. Today I'm back on track to pick up the mission I set for myself back in November: to find a corporate client. Davos in mind, I will start at the top. With the people I admire most, who nevertheless are working at one level below their genius because they're not as invested in ideas as they are in action. I make a chart with six names on it and plot out my "six degrees of separation" from them, like a family tree.
FEBRUARY 24
Names and numbers
A magazine editor called and asked me, "Were you sleeping?" "Sleeping? At 10 in the morning?" I said. Do I sound relaxed? Or do I sound asleep? I'm getting nervous.
FEBRUARY 26
Truth or dare
Crisis: another Doubleday author doubts my commitment to him. He sent a scathing E-mail saying he thinks I'm wasting his time. It's true. I can feel myself bent on a course in which, since I can't say no to my authors, I'll force them to say it. This is destructive behavior. I'll destroy a good relationship with him, and for what? Because I feel Doubleday owes me. I built it a great business. But this is stupid. It's playing footsie with the past. I need to devote my energy and creativity to the present and future. I've got to come clean with myself and admit to this author, and to Doubleday, that I've got to make a complete break.
FEBRUARY 27
My image, on a piece of paper, brightly
Wonderful meeting with Alan, the designer who is to do my letterhead. Alan has showed me his portfolio, which is terrific. I noticed one small image--of an open hand, raised like a pledge ("I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth"), and in the palm of that hand was a little white shirt.
It spoke to me: it was dead serious (the pledge) and sweetly funny (the little shirt). My cardinal rule of creativity is that you set off sparks when you combine opposites. A soloist has to set off sparks. She has to promise a serious effort in a playful package: why else would anyone choose a soloist over a big consulting firm? I could imagine my logo as that open hand with some ordinary commodity in the center. Maybe a coin, a fountain, or an exclamation point--something to convey excitement and bold communication. That open hand signified two things I want potential clients to respect me for: giving them the truth and pledging to lead them down new roads of instinct and ideas.
We talked briefly about paper and color. I want paper that has a texture, so that when someone touches my card, it will touch him or her back. When you're selling you, it's vital to have something that is you to give others. I want my card to help build a relationship. That's why it has to "touch back."
And I already know the colors: black type on blue-white paper. Cool. Steel. The image and paper will be "warm," so for balance the color must be cool.
Wow! This will set me back: $6,000 to $8,000. When Doubleday was footing the bill, such expenses were like war headlines from other countries: real and not real at the same time. Now I see that every merchant is always trying to sell me on more than I need. I have to be careful.
My major expenses have all been technology related so far. In the past six months I've bought a fax machine, an extra phone line, a laser printer, a two-line cordless phone, a StarTAC, a PalmPilot, and a little Toshiba Libretto computer for carrying around with me everywhere. All told: $3,000. On top of the $5,000 for the top-of-the-line ThinkPad and modem software I bought early last year. But when it comes to buying stationery, I fret. No matter. I give Alan the go-ahead.
MARCH 8
Full-hog solo
Came to a brutal decision today: the way to go solo is to go totally solo, ply my own course. My friend and adviser Tracy Goss once said that if I did go the distance, I could be awesome. What kept me from doing it, she said, was that I'd scare myself. Who isn't that true of? Now it's a matter of going all the way.
MARCH 25
The good-bye girl
When the door buzzer rang at 4 p.m., I had a premonition that it would be a courier with a letter from Steve, the boss at Doubleday, and it would be a termination letter. I was right.
I gave Doubleday 10 years of brilliant books and profits, and here was my thanks. A Dear John letter, not even a phone call. That's a stupid reaction. I should just get over this idea that I'm due anyone's gratitude.
Here's what I most regret: that I wasn't the one to initiate the good-bye. How much stronger and more capable would I be feeling if I had acted, instead of now simply reacting?
MARCH 26
The cord is cut. I'm floating in space, not sure whether this feeling is pleasure or pain. How will this really feel when the shock wears off? That, not what the financial consequences will be, is the first thing that comes to mind.
When my accountant asks me to estimate my earnings for next year, he says, "Let's take 1997's earnings as a guide." I think, "No! What if 1998 is the year I have to sell my body parts? What if 1997 was just a cute joke?" But I say, "Sure, go ahead; up the estimates." I have no excuses now.
Harriet Rubin is a soloist living in New York City. She is the author of the best-seller The Princessa: Machiavelli for Women.
