Author: Dan Blank

Today I want to share some tips on how to create a website that feels authentic to who you are as a writer or artist:

Step #1: Understand Your Goals

Earlier this year I was having a conversation with a writer in my Creative Shift Mastermind about options for a website homepage. I explained a key choice:

1. You can have your blog posts as your homepage, a listing of your most recent entries. The value here is that you highlight your blog, and it features your most recent content. This is nice because you engage people immediately with your writing.
2. Or, you can have a landing page, which is a homepage that clearly explains who you are and what you create, and tries to lead the reader to take a specific action.

At the time, my homepage had contained mostly my blog posts. I had it this way for more than a decade.

As this writer and I went back and forth, I ended up convincing myself that I was long overdue to change my homepage to a proper landing page. After all, every single day my goal is to help writers forge meaningful connections with readers. Couldn’t I do that more effectively if my homepage provided resources to do this instead of whatever my most recent blog post was?

Step #2: “Good Enough” is a Fine Way to Start

Within 24 hours of that conversation with the writer in my Mastermind, I switched my homepage to a landing page. It felt scary, like I was trying on not just a new outfit, but a whole new style. I was afraid it didn’t fit right, and didn’t suit my personality.

I started with a “good enough” homepage. I described who I was, and how I helped writers. I referenced some recent blog posts too, since I wasn’t fully ready to hide those. Looking back on it now, it looks really simple:

Then I made it better. I think these are some of the essential elements of a good landing page:

• A clear statement of what you do or how you help.
• Something human — a photo of you, or anything that communicates that you are a real person, not a stock website template.
• It should lead to one clear action or resource for the viewer to follow. This is what a lot of people refer to as a “call to action.” Usually it is to purchase your book or join your email list, but it could be many other things.
• Testimonials or reviews of your work.
• A deeper look at why you do what you do. Don’t just sell something, explain why it matters.

This first version was “good enough,” but it felt a little flat. Like you are staring at a menu board of all of these amazing milkshake flavors, and then you choose “vanilla.” I don’t want my creative work to be vanilla.

Step #3: Create a Radical Fake Homepage

I was chatting with my friend Jennie Nash about this, and we created a prompt to break free of the vanilla website. I told her I would send her a document that was radically honest about who I am and what I do.

I ended up calling this my “Radical Fake Homepage.” I used that as a safe prompt in order to create something that felt authentic and engaging. The idea was to be really honest — to not edit myself at all. “Radical.” But keep it safe by calling it “Fake” — I didn’t feel pressure to actually make this the real homepage.

Once I put it down on paper and shared it with her, a question quickly emerged: “Why isn’t this radical page your real page?”

The radical homepage was just so honest about why I love working with writers.

This was in April. Looking back at my archived notes, it seems I began the first version of the Radical Fake Homepage on April 27th. I then created four iterations of that document, and just three days later, I made this fake homepage my real homepage.

The result: it felt like the homepage truly reflected who I am, what drives me, and how my time is spent helping writers.

Step #4: Constant Experimentation and Improvement

I have since gone in, again and again, and updated the homepage. Sometimes I honed it with little edits. But other times, I completely — and dramatically changed it. I tried out new taglines, new images, new colors, new layouts. This is how the homepage looks right now:

I have also been experimenting with the free resource that you receive when you sign up for my newsletter list. One of them has been a “Creative Clarity Workbook.” Another that I am now preparing to launch is called “5 Ways to Immediately Connect With Readers.” (more on that soon.)

With each new change to the homepage, I feel clearer about the work I do and how I can more effectively communicate with writers.

For your writing and creative work, consider how your homepage can most effectively do this in a way that feels authentic to who you are, and create a meaningful connection with readers.

Below are a few links to previous posts I have written about redesigning my website. The advice in these older posts still holds true:

• How to create an effective website
• Lessons From Redesigning My Website
• How I Redesigned My Website

Thanks!

-Dan

I received this letter in the mail recently:

It was from a writer I have been working with, and it was a letter expressing her gratitude for what we have been creating.

To receive a letter like this is, well, a shock. I mean, how often do you go through your mail to discover a letter you didn’t expect, and open it to find four thick paragraphs that do nothing but say nice things about you?

Nowadays, I think we default too much to a “like” on Facebook, or clicking that little heart on Instagram. We justify that it is an adequate expression of “I see you. I appreciate all that you are, and all that you create.”

But how can a “like” button truly express that?

In the work I do, I help writers create meaningful connections with their readers. For this, I help them connect their book to the world, and craft experiences outside of the book.

The ideal is something similar to the letter I received. Where an author and their writing creates a moment that is so impactful that it adds a richness to the reader’s life.

Maybe it reframes how the reader see the world, or it makes them feel understood for the first time. Perhaps it takes them somewhere they never knew they wanted to go, but once they arrived they felt they never wanted to leave.

That is the power of a book. The power of writing. The power that authors wield in their work. And it is the goal for how writers can connect with their audience outside of their books as well.

People tend to call this “platform” or “social media strategy,” but it’s more than that. It is living the life of a writer. To craft one’s identity as someone who, through their writing, truly connects people to new ideas, new stories, and new ways of looking at other human beings.

I spend my days working with writers in my Creative Shift Mastermind, my private clients, and talking to writers in my podcast or in conversations on the phone. Many describe with complete joy, a moment when their writing truly connected with someone.

Today I want to take inspiration from the letter I received, and challenge you to truly connect with someone in a way that will brighten their day.

The letter I received is from Shannon Connery, PhD. Her backstory is incredible. She spent a decade working with public safety personnel and private organizations in the fields of police psychology, trauma debriefing, and threat assessment. What this means is that after the Columbine High School massacre  and the Aurora movie theater shootings, she helped first responders process and deal with what they were experiencing.

Fred Rogers has this wonderful quote:

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Well, Shannon is someone who helps the helpers.

Earlier this year, she quietly challenged herself to better appreciate those around her. She created what she calls “The Gratitude Project.” For 100 days, she sent long thoughtful letters to anyone in her life that she wanted to express gratitude to.

She sent letters to people she hasn’t spoken to in 30 years. To people she met once, but who left a lasting impact on her. She even sent letters to people who harbored deep animosity to her.

She didn’t tell anyone about this project, well, except for me. For the past few months, I’ve been helping her develop her platform in preparation for writing and publishing her first book.

When I asked Shannon what she learned after sending 100 letters, this is what she said:

• She not only felt happier in general, but a sense of calm was created in her life in the few months that she wrote.
• Her memory improved. She was taken aback by the level of detail of people, places and events that she hadn’t thought about in years.
• She was able to use the gratitude letters to let go of anger. She said that when she was upset or angry, she would write a letter of gratitude to the person she was angry at. The anger actually disappeared in many case, and it others, it was lessened to a degree that made it  much more manageable.

Today, I want to encourage you to embark on your own gratitude project. Not just for the possible outcomes that Shannon shared, but because it is a wonderful way to ensure that your writing has a profound effect on the lives of others.

Even though I knew about Shannon’s Gratitude Project, I didn’t expect to receive a letter. When it arrived, I was taken aback. As I opened it, I noticed it was a long typewritten note. I mean, how often does someone send you a long formal letter?

I had completely forgotten about her Gratitude Project as I read it. She and I had recently developed her writing, launched a newsletter, and launched a podcast. In the note she said:

“The fact that in two weeks, people have asked me to talk more about my work, makes me thrilled. The fact that people have listened to my podcast makes me ecstatic. Please know how grateful I am for your guidance. It has brought me to this place and this feeling.”

There are two ways that you can join Shannon in a Gratitude Project of your own:

1. Go big: spend 100 days writing a letter each day to someone in an expression of gratitude.
2. Or, simply find one meaningful way to express to a single person the gratitude that you feel. Put it in writing. Mailing a letter it is ideal, but email works as well.

Then, if you are up for it, share on social media that you did this, and use the hashtag #GratitudeProject.

One thing that Shannon kept telling me is how much response she has received. Each day, someone reacts to her writing. She has been overwhelmed by the gratitude that has been reflected right back at her.

I mean, isn’t that what we all want? For our words to resonate deeply with another human being?

Maybe your next book is months or years away. But today, you can write a letter, and your words will make someone’s day.

You can hear Shannon talk about The Gratitude Project in this podcast episode, and you can find her in the following places:

• http://shannonconnery.com
• Her podcast
• Her newsletter
• Instagram
• Twitter

Thanks!

-Dan

Today I want to celebrate someone who has been a source of inspiration for me in the past year or so.

She’s a novelist who writes historical fiction, and is currently finishing up a manuscript that she will pitch to agents. She’s actually a client of mine too, I’ve been helping her get creative clarity in her work, develop her platform, and turn her writing hobby into a writing career.

So, this is her, Alison Taylor-Brown:

A year ago she did something astounding. After living in Arkansas pretty much her entire life, she picked up and moved to Italy. But she didn’t do it alone. She brought along her 90 year old mother who is legally blind and has severe hearing loss, as well as her 2 year old dog Prose.

Can you just imagine making such a big transition, and doing so with these two characters? Here they are at the airport:

And in case you are wondering, no, Alison does not speak Italian fluently (although she is learning). So why did she make this transition? For the reasons that any writer would love:

• To conduct primary research on her historical novel.
• To be surrounded by the history she loves.
• To experience and become a part of a different culture.

How did all of this happen? Amidst some big life changes and deep reasons. This is how Alison has characterized the last year of her life:

I really didn’t know if it would be a new life, a great adventure, or a total fiasco. In many ways, I still don’t.

Symbolically, we left Arkansas on September 19, 2018, my grandmother’s birthday. On the surface, my grandmother was a homebody whose greatest pleasure was going for walks in her beloved Ozarks, strolling around her yard and garden, or reading any book within reach. But she also loved to travel, and I am so happy that I was able to take her all over New England, a little of Canada, and even New York City. And it was there in 1984 that she made a statement that defines my desire to live in Italy.

As we were driving in NYC, the apartments looked pretty old and there was laundry hanging outside the windows (so Italian). Suddenly my grandmother said, “I’d like to move here and live like these people.”

My ever-so-literal mother was also in the car, and she said, “Surely not. Why on earth would you say that? Look how dirty it is and crowded and unsafe.”

Now we all knew that my grandmother wouldn’t leave her beloved home in the mountains and her daughters who lived nearby. But she said, “Because I’d like to live a totally different life just to see what it’s like. To figure out how to get by in a whole other world.”

I have thought of that so much because that is exactly what brought me—and keeps me—in Italy. The moments when I feel the cultural difference most acutely is when I am most enchanted. I’ve always loved jigsaw puzzles, and now I am the odd piece, constantly trying to figure out how to fit myself into the bigger picture of my Tuscan village.

People who make a big move are running away or seeking something or probably both. I left the U.S. months after my father’s supposed suicide and my husband’s revelation, after thirty-three years together, that he wanted a divorce. Not to mention the death of my very good dog Traveler.

Certainly my feelings have evolved in the last year. When we came, I brought four suitcases in total for myself, my mom, and Prose (who is a very material girl). One of those suitcases was full of research for the novel I’m writing.

I brought nothing sentimental except Traveler’s ashes. I wanted no reminders of the past, no loose ends of pain. I wanted a clean page for my new chapter, my new life, the new me.

When I returned to Arkansas six months later for a whirlwind ten days of appointments and tasks, I had a half year under my belt of learning new ways to do things, of figuring out challenges, of thinking about more than how the men I loved betrayed me. Now, coming back to Arkansas was almost like lifting up the bandage very carefully to see how the healing was progressing.

I discovered that I was ready to begin to join the fragmented pieces of myself back together. This time, when I boxed up my complete historical research library to bring to Italy, I allowed myself one box, maximum 70 pounds, for anything I wanted. I put in all Traveler’s little sweaters, hoping Prose could wear them. I put in some mementos of good moments with old friends. I put in pictures of my grandparents and dad. I tore all the written pages out of a lifetime of unfinished journals and brought the pages.

I felt as if I were gluing myself back together, forging the new me and the old me into one stronger person.

Sometimes, I am filled with wonder. Who is this woman who can find her way around foreign cities with no help, who can usually make herself understood in pidgin Italian, who has lost 30 pounds? I don’t know her. Other times, I find I’m still the same insecure, easily embarrassed nerd I always was. The truth is, of course, I am all those things. It just depends on which side of myself I want to turn toward the light.

For years, I abdicated as much responsibility as I could because it was easier. It was easier to let my husband manage the finances or figure out the TV remote. When we traveled, it was easier to let him drive the rental car, read the walking map, convert kilometers to miles. I chose helplessness because it was so easy.

Now, I choose strength. I choose to turn that side of myself to the light. I can convert gallons to liters, euros to dollars, miles to kilometers and know how much it costs to drive a hundred miles. And then, I can drive it. I choose to be the person who can do the thing—whatever it might be—that needs to be done.

What is true for me is, of course, true for us all. If I know anything, I know that I am not special. “You’re so brave,” people say. “You’re so strong.” That is simply not true. I just try not to talk myself out of things because I know that any situation can be faced with this simple procedure: Show up. Take the next step. Solve today’s problem.

You really don’t have to have it all figured out ahead of time. You can’t anyway. I had no idea how I would feel living in Italy. Maybe I would hate it. How could I know? But I did know this: nothing has to be permanent.

So, here I am, a year in. Who knows where we’ll be in another year. Maybe right here. Maybe not. I’m figuring it out as I go. Aren’t we all? But one thing I know. We all have a strong side. And that should be the one that we turn toward the light.

This is Alison and her mom — two women who spent a lifetime in Arkansas — enjoying the daily life of living in Italy:

I want to thank Alison for inspiring me so much in this past year, and for allowing me to share her writing in this post.

So many of the writers I work with each day in my Creative Shift Mastermind and outside of it are focused on making their creative work more central to their daily life. When I consider all that Alison has done, it seems symbolic of the many little things that each of us can do each day to immerse ourselves in our creative work. To choose to live the life of a writer.

Could Alison have rejected the idea of moving to Italy because she owned a house and a lifetime of possessions? Sure. Or because she couldn’t possibly bring her mother? Sure. Or her dog? Sure. Or because she didn’t speak the language? Sure. Because of the mountains of paperwork that would no doubt be a part of it all? Sure.

But none of that stopped Alison. Instead, she has taken a journey filled with new experiences, friendships, and creativity.

You don’t need to move to Italy to live your own version of a writer’s life. But is there one action you can take that would nourish your writing?

I also want to encourage you to follow her journey:
Her newsletter
Facebook
Twitter

Wait, what? You want a picture of Prose too? Okay, here she is with Alison’s mom on the train to Pisa:

I’m almost certain that even though Prose lives a cosmopolitan life in Italy, she barks with a thick Arkansas accent.

-Dan