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You know by now that I am a geek, an English major, a technophile, and an increasingly passionate advocate for nonprofit social networking. I am an independent consultant; I'm also a mom. But what am I really, in the essence of my being? I'm a novelist.  I've actually written four novels, but the first three I don't choose to recall except perhaps in bad nightmares (no, you can't find them on the Web!). The fourth I'm quite proud of, and am currently pitching for publication. I've started on the sequel, too.
I recently took a class called, "Get Published: From Pen to Paper" that purported to teach me the mysterious ways of the publishing world and hopefully increase my chances of landing the elusive book deal. Part of the class was devoted to writing exercises, which are like other forms of exercise (read, "hard work"), and we avoid them just as much. I thought, "I write all the time, probably 1,000 words a day or more, so why should I need to exercise?"
At the same time, I was working on a project to reinterpret the Governor Jonathan Trumbull War Office in Lebanon, CT. It's a tiny museum with an enormously important story. The client wanted some kind of interpretive panels on the wall (more on that in another post) that provided a baseline story, but did not distract from the recreated interiors and reproduction artifacts (again, more on that later). Our original plan was three 38"x48" panels with 500 words each. By museum standards, that's not a lot of text.
But then I discovered flash fiction, the art and craft of telling a complete story (protagonist, conflict, and resolution) in 6-500 words. In class, we were working on the low end of that scale, 20-150 words. Dang, was that hard. I'm still not good at it - my novel is nearly 160,000 words - but over the course of the class I started to see an effect not just on my fiction but my professional writing as well.
Remember those exhibit panels? I reduced one of them by 90%. It went from three 80-word paragraphs to one paragraph of 60 words. Wow. The others slimmed down, too. I think we probably have a total of 600 words on the wall now, maybe less. With some great pictures, they look fabulous.
Here's the point: writing exhibit labels should be exactly like writing a short story. The emphasis should be on narrative, rather than fact, centered on a key individual or group of real people, with conflict and outcome. Too often we in the museum business try to "educate" or "inform" the visitor. Look, they're at our museums for fun! They want to be entertained and engaged; they want to know the people from the past in the same way they get to know a character in a story. Just like the fiction writer, we need to show, not tell.
Show, not tell.
See? It works. Come to the exhibit opening on June 12, 2010 and you can see for yourself!
So, how are you doing on your resolution to finally keep up with this social media thing? 
I'm behind, of course, but the spring is always busy. However, I wanted to share a story with you that might convince you of the value of investing time in blogging.
Let's face it: blogging is the most time-intensive form of Web 2.0/3.0 content generation there is. Facebook, Flickr, and Twitter are pretty quick. (That's part of the reason why I recommend Facebook if you do nothing else.) I've talked to professional P.R. and media consultants, and they all roll their eyes when it comes to finding the time to blog. Why? Despite the huge proliferation of word-based media, writing is still darned hard.
1. It takes uninterrupted time (who has that?) 2. You have to have something to say. 3. You have to make yourself do it, rather than anything else.
Now, I'm an English major, as you know. I've completed a 160,000 word novel, and have started on the second. I frequently write 10-pp grants in one or two days. So if I find blogging challenging, you can be it actually is. So ease up on yourself a bit about that.
Here's why you need to blog: A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from a colleague with whom I worked on a project two jobs and seven years ago. I hear from him once or twice a year via LinkedIn, and that's about it. But he needed help with a major client, and came to me, saying, "I read your whole blog, and you're the person we need to talk with." I did, and we had a great conversation, and there may be some future collaborations.
Now, I didn't realize my colleague had been reading my blog, but clearly it was a major factor in why he approached me for the project. Interestingly, it wasn't the specific topical content of each of my entries that convinced him. It was more that he had insight into how I think and work. (Remember that point; we'll be coming back to it.)
So, let's deal with the three reasons we all have difficulty blogging.
1. Uninterrupted time. I get this one - I have small children, remember? Frequently I can't even get in the shower or use the bathroom without a visitor. Fortunately, there are physical solutions. Turn off the phone (OMG! OMG! OMG!). Or at least, put it on silent. That's why you have voicemail, after all. Don't answer your email - for half an hour. Shut the door if you have one. 2. Something to say. Another colleague of mine recently remarked, "Whenever I start a project, I have to remind myself that my first ideas aren't sh---y." I laughed, but I know what he means. It's very easy to think that one is called upon to come up with an idea as revolutionary as string theory or Keynesian economics, and to feel entirely unequal to the task. Truth is, there isn't a lot that's new under the sun anyway. Blogging is about being authentic, rather than authoritative. Remember my story above? I didn't get the call because my blog entries deserve to be recorded as part of the greats of Western literature. I got the call because they were enough to convince my colleague that I was smart and likeable. So take a little idea and run with it. That's enough. 3. Making yourself do it. This is hard if you're an avoidance person. But blogging is actually a lot of fun, when you loosen up and use your authentic (see above), real voice. I tend to blog without editing, other than a quick spell check and read-through to be sure I've caught typos and stupid errors. Schedule in the time if you have to. Just do it.
My larger point is that good blogging is basically giving out free advice to your clients and customers. If you come across an interesting article, have a great idea in the shower, or hear something in passing, chances are the people you work with and/or serve would like to know, too. The more you give out, the more likely you are to get back. Quality counts, too, but the first step is simply to do it. It's karma.
So get out there and have fun! Can't wait to hear from you.
OK, see, I get it! It's been a LONG time since my last entry. Why? I got busy, of course.
 Let's tally up my excuses: 3 grants due November 15 Thanksgiving Kids 1 grant due December 1 Bronchitis Totaled my car (oops) Kids Christmas Kids Playing catch up in January 5 grants due in February (four done, one to go)
That's a pretty full list. Any of it sound familiar? We in the small shop have a lot to do, and of course we all still have family obligations as well. And yet, we KNOW perfectly well that we have to find the time to blog, to update our profile on Facebook, launch an email newsletter, and maybe even tweet.
So, now that we're well into the new year, let's make a resolution together: somehow, we are going to find the time to do this new media thing. Here are my thoughts on how those of us who are always trying to do a million things at once can manage.
1. Set achievable goals. I started out thinking I would be able to blog weekly. You've seen how well that's worked for me! Instead, I am going to set a goal of monthly posts, with more frequent updates on Facebook. Instead of trying to find an hour a week, find ten minutes.
2. Schedule the time for new media, just as you would any other appointment or task. I'm starting to think that this stuff is as important, maybe more so, than some of the tasks that we've always considered essential. Yes, you still need to work on that grant, but maybe you don't need to do something else.
3. Pick what's going to work for you and your audiences. You don't have to do everything. If you're trying to decide where to start, I'd suggest a Facebook page for your nonprofit. It's free, and doesn't take much time to set up. Also, every page looks pretty much the same, so you don't have to worry about competing on design and "flash." Your board will be impressed, and you can decide where to do from there.
4. Do less with less. If you have scarce time and resources, you can't do more. You need to cut back. Sounds obvious, but somehow we've all fallen into this belief that somehow we can achieve more with the same resources. The U.S. government reports huge growth in corporate productivity in December 2009. That means that people in the workforce are being pushed about as hard as they can be. I'm sure you can relate. From the "non-essentials" list that you created from Part 1 of this post, pick one thing to drop. There's your 10 minutes to work on new media.
5. Find some part of new media that you enjoy, and make it a priority. This is one I have to remember myself! Somehow we always manage to find the time to do things that we enjoy, whether it's working with clients, talking with donors, checking our email, or watching TV. If you resent a task, you won't push to get it done.
I have some other thoughts, too, mostly having to do with mobile devices and the role that they will play in our work... but I'm saving that for next month. Really. I promise.
Okay, yes, it's been awhile since my last entry. What's my excuse? I've been busy, of course. And in thinking about that, it occurred to me many of you out there are in exactly the same position I am: you know you should be blogging, emailing, tweeting, etc. but you think, "Yeah right. Who's got the time? I'm already trying to do it all. How can I possibly add one more thing to my to-do list?" Well, you do have a valid point. In my "other" (non-professional) life I'm a mom of two kids aged 4-1/2 and almost-2. Just getting them fed, dressed, and where they need to be everyday is an exercise in minute-by-minute time management. I know I'm not alone; we all have families of one kind or another and multiple demands on our time. Throw in a job and - whoa! It's crazy.
In the case of many non-profits, there is only one paid staff person, or maybe only one full-time person, and he or she is often only (technically) part-time. What I've found as a consultant is that it's harder to manage part-time work than full-time work. (For those of you full-timers who are currently scoffing, I say: walk a mile in our moccasins sometime.) Look at it this way: we only get paid so much for a certain number of hours, but sometimes things take longer than expected (I call it "project creep"), and often there is no set schedule of when you are "on the clock" and when you aren't. It's hard to say to a board chairperson, "I'm sorry, it's Tuesday so I can't talk to you until tomorrow," or, "I'm sorry that the roof is leaking, but I've already gone through my hours this week," or, "Yes, that's a great funding opportunity but it's too bad the proposal is due on a Friday because I don't work Fridays."
So there you are, lonely non-profit staffer, incredibly well-intentioned but already hopelessly behind, and here I come along saying, "If you haven't jumped into new media to promote your non-profit you'd better do it quick or risk being left behind." And it's not just me: check out this issue of Guidestar's monthly email newsletter (you'll have to create a login but it's free). What do you do? Do you cover your ears and run into a corner (very tempting sometimes, I know)?
I wouldn't advise that option. First, take a deep breath. Ok, now let's talk. We're dealing with two givens here: on the one hand, you already have way too much to do; on the other, I'm telling you you've got to jump into this pool at some point. Impassable dilemma? I hope not.
It's true that you probably cannot add more to your workload. Whenever you're doing one thing you're not doing something else (probably many things, actually). So the answer to how you fit new media into your workload is simple, really: you have to give up doing something else.
"But but but" I can hear you (and your board?) stammer. "Everything we do is important and critical." Is it really? Now is a great time to look hard at what you are spending precious staff hours on, and to sort those things into boxes labeled, "Critical - we would close down without it," "Important to somebody," "We have no choice, we have to spend time on this because...." and "We've been doing this pretty much forever." Notice that I didn't ask you to evaluate the efficacy of the activities. We'll talk about that later.
Now, sort out the same list of activities, only this time label them by audience - who is benefiting? Clients/audience, board, staff (paid and volunteer), and whomever else.
Finally, sort the same list into two categories: those activities that directly support your non-profit's bottom line, and those that don't.
You'll end up with a small handful, maybe two or three things that emerge as absolutely non-negotiable top priorities. Are "communicating with donors, raising funds, and providing direct services to our clients" on that list? Probably. And these are all activities that new media can help you with.
What about the rest? Can you give up doing something, or do it in a simpler way, in order to allow yourself more time on the mission critical stuff?
All right, I feel your pain at this point. You go do what you need to do, and come back soon for Part 2 of this post.
 Okay, so I know I'm taking my life in my hands on this one, but I think it's time I say something about the issue of healthcare, since everyone else seems to be doing it too. Let me begin with the usual disclaimers: I'm no healthcare policy expert; I'm not trying to get tons of flame emails; yada, yada. But here goes.
When I was a non-profit executive director (yes, I was) the absolute WORST, bar none, part of my job was the annual negotiation of the health insurance package. Now, my agency actually had - woo hoo - six, count e'm, six employees paid to work 30 hours a week who could thus qualify to be on our plan. I know many, many non-profits who have far fewer than that. Our group, however, was so small that our rates were astronomically high. You see the law in the State of Connecticut essentially required any insurance company that wished to sell health insurance in CT to offer small group policies. Sounds good, right? Wrong! The giveback to the industry was that the small group rates were set by the Insurance Commissioner, and so there was no meaningful competition. Every year I would have our agent shop around, and every year the rates were within pennies of each other. And, the increases from year to year were huge: 22% one year, 15% the next, 20% the next, etc. My employees complained bitterly, especially since the agency could not afford to contribute much to the cost. The staff bore the full brunt, essentially. At one point, I had a staff member who was paying over $900/mo for a family plan WITH A $10,000 OUT OF POCKET DEDUCTIBLE. Her take home was around $400/mo after insurance. Her family basically had to pay $20,000 a year before anything was covered. And this was five years ago. Can you imagine what it would be now?
I've been listening a little to the healthcare debate, and rarely does this issue come up. People talk about employer-based insurance a lot, and they either don't realize or don't seem to care that many, many non-profit employees don't have ANY option from their employers, because the agency is too small and/or too poor to offer it. Many non-profits treat their staff as contractors for this reason. Giving tax breaks for offering health insurance doesn't apply to non-profits either.
So, whatever side of the debate you're on, just remember that there is a significant and very valuable component of our society out there - the non-profit workforce - that I suspect is very underserved by the health care system. Remember them, and let's see what we can do to help them.
So, many of you know that my career has mostly been spent working with arts and culture nonprofits, particularly museums and historical societies. Only recently (within that past six months) have I had more regular contact with human and social service nonprofits. At first, I was a bit hesitant to enter this arena; I thought it might be vastly different, and my 18+ years of experience would simply evaporate. To my relief I found that while there are differences, many, many of the same issues come up regardless of what type of nonprofit agency I'm dealing with. (Another consultant friend of mine says, "No matter how different a project seems when you start it, they all end up being the same project in the end.")  There is one notable exception however, and that is the area of grant proposals. To wit: I am currently working on a proposal for an historical society to request $2500. The narrative so far stands at eleven single-spaced pages, plus attachments, and the program officer is asking for more. It's taken me about 12 hours of consulting time so far, and will probably come to 15-20 hrs altogether. At the same time, I just finished a proposal for a social service agency requesting $5000; it was a three-page fill-in form plus attachments. It took about 8 hrs of consulting time all told. The first proposal will need six copies, and the second just two.
So what's the point? Simply this: the arts & culture field is too much in the habit of making long and torturous arguments in order to convey concepts such as objectives and impact. In the human and social service arena, things are more concrete, direct, and outcome-focused. Part of the reason is obvious: it's very hard to quantify the impact a museum program has on its participants, for example. We can't hold a yardstick to someone's head and determine that they are smarter going out than when they came in, whereas a soup kitchen can count the meals provided. However, I've learned that social service agencies don't necessarily quantify results either. Desired impacts can be much more nuanced than simply the numbers of people served, and focused on goals that apply to broader society. The difference is, these kinds of agencies are 1) more comfortable with the whole idea of describing impact, and 2) are quite good at expressing succinctly what it is they do, whom they do it for, and how it makes the world a better place. Apparently, the funders who are receptive to their requests know this, and construct their applications accordingly.
I think the human service agencies have a real competitive advantage in this respect, and I suggest that arts & culture organizations become much more comfortable with thinking of themselves as outcomes-driven. Really, it's not that bad. I guess the reluctance has been due to the fact that when one starts discussing the actual impact of the museum or historical society on its audiences and broader society, the question inevitably arises, "Are we actually making an impact at all?" I've been in board rooms when that question comes up, and everyone says, "Yes, of course," but then no one can articulate the impact. This is a major warning bell for the long-term survival of your institution.
There are ways to pick apart that question in order to tease out the answer. They start with truly understanding what the organization's current market identity is, and what its unique competitive advantage is - what I call the essential difference. Have you thought about this? I'd love to hear from you.
Or not. I haven't decided yet. 
Yesterday a catalog of children's clothing arrived in my mail. It was full of back-to-school buys and that was all expected, but what I was surprised by was how old-fashioned the clothes were. Jumpers. Cadigan sweaters. Knee socks. Mary Janes. Rugby shirts. Pleated skirts. In short, the whole thing looked like a maroon and navy Dick and Jane book.
Interesting, I said to myself. For some time, I've noticed society at large going kind of retro. In 2007-2008 it was like living through the 1970s again. I half expected macrame to make a comeback. Now, in 2009 it's feeling even older. I told you I've taken up sewing in a big way, and a trip to WalMart the other deal revealed that I'm not the only one. What are popular projects? Aprons, of all things, done up in faux 1940s print cottons with ruffles and tight waists. Just the right thing to can your own peaches in or make your own apple pie.
Let's cut to the chase: my thought is that we're trying to recapture some kind of sense of American identity that's associated with thrift, endurance, and focus. I don't believe that we're recreating the 1930s and 1940s in all their details, however - we're proud of the fact that we have an African American president, for example, something that would have been unimaginable then. And of course we're buying smart phones by the zillions and spending way too much time on Facebook. No, we're retooling old concepts in the form of aesthetics, I think.
Does this mean that history and heritage organizations have a new lease on life? Maybe, if they managed to tap into this zeitgeist I'm talking about, and somehow reinvent themselves as "retro" rather than simply old-fashioned. I think they ought to figure out how to attract the kids dressed in those jumpers and rugby shirts, and with them their parents. That's a tricky proposition, of course, and the danger is that this is a short-lived fad. However, I'm intrigued enough that I'm going to keep tabs on this phenomenon and will report back periodically.
If you have you're own thoughts, please let me know!
 Today I worked with a great group of board members of a lineal descendant society that owns a 300+-year-old farmstead. They called me in to help them refine their mission statement, feeling that it didn't accurately reflect who they actually are and what they want to achieve in the world.
Sure, I said. I can help. Mission development happens to be a favorite gig of mine. People are usually pretty positive and eager to be energized. It's great fun when I can help them pull together a few words and bam! all of a sudden they have a focus for the future.
For the past six months, people have been wondering if the current economic downturn is the same or different from anything we've seen in the past. In other words, is this a "business cycle dip" or the next Great Depression? I've told folks that I don't know the answer, only that these times we're in don't feel like anything I've been through in the nonprofit business, and I've been doing this since 1991. But I'm starting to have some glimmers of understanding.
First, mission is essential. We've always said that, right? But mission has come to mean more than just a clean, catchy mission statement. It means offering unique services of value to specific people who will be effected positively in specific ways. It means impact as well as outcomes. You've gotta answer the question, "And why should I care?"
Second, expansion is not the road to sustainability. There is a lot of overlap and duplication in the nonprofit community; this is not good, especially in a sector that doesn't like to talk about competition. If we try to expand and drive another group out of business, we may in fact succeed in killing ourselves as well. The name of the game now is focus, focus, focus.
Lastly, we have to figure out how to keep going effectively, not simply limping along with less. We have to be ready to cut loose whatever's dragging us down, and really, really, really be willing to accept change and roll with it. Darn, that's hard. But it can also be fun.
My group this morning went from a passive, safe, secure, and very private mission statement to one that "opens the door of the house," to quote one board member. Now they're free to walk outside and look around. While I was leaving they were actually cheering - not for me, but for all the hard work they had done, and about the prospect of a brighter future that they have control over.
I was so inspired that I knew I had to formulate our own mission statement, so here it is:
Musevue360 helps nonprofits think critically, plan effectively, and achieve lasting results.
What do you think? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Last night my two daughters, aged 4 and 1-1/2, woke me up no fewer than EIGHT times. On six of those occasions I had to drag myself out of bed and calm down somebody who was screaming, crying, or both. My husband, who had worked on an office homework project until 1 a.m., was no help. It was up to me. 
Naturally, when I woke up for the ninth time and had to face a workday I was exhausted. I had two grants due last week, two due the week before that, an all-day planning session over the weekend, four final reports due by June 1, and a whole list of household issues that needed attending. I spent part of yesterday in the hospital with a seriously ill relative. In other words, stick a fork in me; I was DONE.
Now, normally I'm a "press on regardless" type, but today my mind and body went on strike. I simply could not dredge up the mental energy and concentration needed to get started on those reports. In one of those rare moments of perfect clarity, I realized that I had to come up with Another Plan.
So today I gave myself permission to work on the nagging little things that have been piling up. I called a preschool to line up a visit. I registered the girls for summer swim lessons. I entered invoices into Quickbooks. I did laundry. I deadheaded the petunias. I finished my last blog entry (was it really a month ago? oh my). Shortly I will take a nap.
And I feel about 100% better for it. I know that tomorrow I'll be able to tackle those final reports with a new degree of enthusiasm and creativity because I was able to rest, regroup, and accomplish some small but meaningful milestones. The moral here is that more work isn't always the best way to achieve results.
Can you take a "day off" from the major worries that are plaguing your nonprofit, and maybe give some attention to the details that have been nagging and tormenting you? Success is one of life's most restorative experiences, even if it's in the little things. In fact those little things can be diverting you from focusing on some larger question. Get them done, or at least dealt with, and you might just restore your equilibrium in time for a brilliant insight into the big issues.
Please tell me about your experiences playing "hookey." I'd love to hear from you.
I recently read a very good entry on the Museums 2.0 blog in  which the author discusses the pitfalls of achieving sustainability. Now, every nonprofit I that I'm working with has included sustainability in their list of goals to achieve. I'm sure yours probably has, too.
Why is this? Well, sustainability sounds virtuous in its own right. If we're "sustainable," the implication is that we don't have to cater to the whims of scrutinizing donors, or fall prey to the periodic undulations of the stock market index, or worry about fewer people buying our product. Sustainability hearkens a bit to the old Gilded Age mentality of "pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps," or in slightly more contemporary parlance, "making it on our own." Doesn't that just sound All-American, complete with flag and apple pie?
In the blog post I mentioned, the author says that museums too often mistake sustainability for success. It's somehow enough to limp along on an endless journey, rather than sprinting to a finish line. That which does not kill us makes us stronger, but it can also make us tired, bored, bitter, cranky, and resentful.
You see, I have this idea that perhaps we as nonprofit leaders are deep down slightly embarrassed or ashamed that our business models are fundamentally built on welfare. The handout. The free ride. Perhaps the constantly pleading for funds that every nonprofit is required to make is somehow, somewhere inwardly humiliating. After all, the (occasionally demonized) for-profit world is required to sell or die. Quite simple, really, and there's no pang of guilt when a better product comes along.
So we (the nonprofits) try to salve our own wounded pride by making sustainability a goal. After all, we like our jobs. We want them to last. We have families with expenses just like everyone else. And again, we really, really like our jobs. Of course, we want to be there for our communities too, doing important, needed things for the greater good. If we can just achieve the elusive "sustainability" benchmark, people will admire and respect us, and maybe those pesky, inquisitive donors won't ask us so many questions about our programs.
But, is sustainability the same thing as success? I don't think it is. Success is achieving your mission in the best way possible. For many museums as well as many nonprofits, true "sustainability" is an unachievable goal, because it's a rare program offering that truly pays for itself. Most programs require periodic infusions of cash in the form of gifts and grants.
And that's ok. I'm here to say that donors, both organizational and individual, really want to help and feel that they're making a difference in the world. We as nonprofits exist as much to enable their philanthropy as to serve our customers. More effective than pursuing "sustainability," I think, is for museums and nonprofits to instead pursue entrepreneurism. In other words, seek the funding where you can get and for what you can get it, without qualms. Ask for the amount you need, and be prepared to explain what the outcomes and impact will be. Don't hesitate to shut down programs that are no longer performing up to expectations, even if they are long established or popular with certain constituencies - if they don't advance your vision for the organization, they're dragging you down rather than helping. And finally, be prepared to accept that your organization may have a life cycle that's drawing to a close. It can be hard to let go, but it's much better for something new and exciting to be born from the ashes than to hang onto something old and tired.
Thoughts, anyone? Let me know.
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