The thing is, the site being mocked up may well be overkill. The client has no real background in Web design or site management, so the contractor will basically be perpetually on-call (read: “never-ending revenue stream”) for updates and modifications. The rich presentation layer sucks on mobile screens, at least so far in the prototyping process. And the complexity of the design work means that the business owner will never truly “own” his site, even if he wanted a different contractor to handle maintenance.

You know the saying: To a man with a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Likewise with Web design: To a man with Illustrator, every problem looks like a CSS fix.

Thing is, a solid Web designer will function under the doctor’s dictum to first do no harm. That means that any site must be transparently manageable by someone other than the original developer. I’ve inherited enough messes from the graphic-design crowd to know that a graphically rich design takes time and money and, without documentation, is difficult to transition to someone else.

That’s why for almost all Web work, I think virtue rests in templating a CMS like WordPress instead of rolling a complex site from scratch using Dreamweaver, Illustrator, etc. Anyone with basic skills can modify and maintain a CMS. Not everyone can maintain a site based on 5,000 image layers.

The best design strategy puts the designers on the task of template construction, with the tech folks handling CMS deployment.

The right tool, then, is the one that gives the client the least risk of long-term headaches, long after the original development project has been final billed.

IRNP redefines “remote” in terms of the Lower 48. From downtown life in a Top 50 national market to the harbor at Houghton in the Upper Peninsula — an 8.5-hour drive — you cross very real cultural boundaries. You leave the feel of the greater Grand Rapids area around Reed City. It’s rural Michigan between Reed City and Gaylord. Gaylord starts the “U.P.” experience, except for a break at St. Ignace at the Mackinac Bridge. And from the Bridge to Houghton, you see lots of trees, lots of wildlife, and lots of one-stoplight towns that seem trapped in the 1970s, with the sole exception of Marquette.

And from Houghton? It’s another 6 hours by ferry across Lake Superior.

The island is beautiful: Undeveloped, rugged. Abundant wildlife with no real fear of humans. A mix of climates and terrain. All that, on an archipelago roughly 60 miles long and about 5 miles wide.

You know what else is fascinating about the island? No cell signal. No radio signal. No Wi-Fi. Nothing. Nada. And no power plugs on the trail, either. The National Park Service maintains a private radio repeater for ranger radios, and the rangers monitor Marine VHF, but otherwise, you’re completely disconnected from electricity and communiation. You’d need a satellite phone, or a portable HF radio, to reach the mainland.

Indeed, although I did carry my phone (powered off, and only for use as a backup GPS receiver) and my handheld VHF radio (in case of emergency), I had no other electronics with me. The only battery-powered object I had — a flashlight — never got used; I read Aristotle by candlelight instead.

So why do I bring all this up? Two reasons.

First, the proliferation of consumer tech gives us an “out” — a distraction — from everyday life. When you have no Twitter and no email, you don’t have anything to protect you from inner dialogue. So you have to face internal conversations that may prove difficult. I know that I was astonished by some of the insights I gleaned about myself, because I had no means of escaping those insights. Even cord-cutting or Facebook disconnection means little when you can replace one distraction with another. It takes a wilderness hike to get back to basics, sometimes.

Second, I logged 669 pending emails in five days when I returned to Houghton. Of those, I answered just two — both to my mother, about my cats — and kept 13 for later answer. The remaining 654? Filed in bulk to my email folders. I sorted through them in about an hour and got back to Inbox Zero; moving threaded conversations with Windows Phone really accelerated the sorting process. That said … only 2.2 percent of my emails mattered, despite the amount of time I spend daily trying to keep my inbox clean. Fascinating, that.

A word of advice: The best way to identify our own strengths and weaknesses is to evaluate ourselves from an outside perspective. Look not at your motivations — for we’re all quite accomplished at telling ourselves stories to protect our egos — but rather, evaluate your behaviors. Behavioral analysis tells the story that we are often unwilling to tell ourselves. And there’s no better way to force a confrontation with self-deception than to unplug completely for a few days, alone, with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

Check out my new six-page guide for details: Introduction to Statistical Reasoning. Click the title to download the PDF.

Have questions? I’m happy to help! Log a comment, send me a Tweet, drop me an email, make a phone call — always available to assist.

The way out of the trap, then, is to study and model truly good prose.

I’m acquainted with a lot of mediocre writers who read other mediocre writers. The phenomenon is understandable; after all, if you want to write fantasy novels, you’re likely to read fantasy novels. And not many fantasy novelists are masters of the written word. Someone who spends his free time writing fan fiction probably doesn’t spend a lot of time reading the collected works of Bill Buckley or Gore Vidal.

Good writers read good writers. They study the classics. They study modern works by masters of poetry and prose, not just the works promoted by Oprah or which have been translated into silver-screen blockbusters.

Although it’s lots of fun to read throw-away novels — a pleasure to which I am first to admit guilt — if your diet consists of little more than mass-market fiction, undistinguished by the eloquence of its prose, then you’re likely to end up writing what you read.

So if you find yourself stymied by bloated prose, unwieldy metaphors, off-sounding descriptions and weak word choice, put away your pen. Put away your genre fiction. Instead, grab a cup of coffee or tea and curl up a Great Book. Or a columnist (George Will is particularly effective with language). Or a sample of recent Pulitzer winners.

Pay attention to word selection. To sentence style. To the use of simile and metaphor. Look for literary devices and allegory and extended argumentation. Seek inspiration from the fluidity of prose. See how good writers never let five words communicate what’s best expressed with one — or zero — words.

You cannot be an effective writer unless you spend ample time studying the great writers.

Yeah. They will. Which is why it’s so infuriating that so many high-profile online properties allow such subpar content to pass into production, such that the diamond of greatness really does lurk in a large and ever-growing pile of detritus.

Take Lifehacker. For every 20 articles I read, I find one article that’s genuinely interesting and useful and keeps me engaged through RSS. The other 19? Usually pedestrian, but sometimes, the content is infuriatingly absurd, like the articles about using lint rollers to pick up bugs, written with a breathless air of eagerness that suggests the writer is one cherry cordial short of Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates.

Or the blogs from folks like Seth Godin or Jeff Bullas, which are positioned as wise and insightful and industry-leading but usually just render the same generic crap with a “buy my book” call to action. How many times do we need blog posts about how to write copy that goes viral that says nothing even remotely substantive? Or posts about how to write a perfect Facebook post that merely regurgitate every other “blogging 101″ article on the Internet? Does anyone believe that vague platitudes really translate to superior content?

I don’t mean to rag on Godin, Bullas, Lifehacker or anyone else. They’re doing what they see fit, and they’ve clearly done something right that gets them wide exposure. Success is always a defense against methodological criticism.

The point, merely, is this: If it really is true that “content is king,” then why do so many persist in putting out substandard, generic, vapid content day after day after day? What’s the point, really, except perhaps a cynical manipulation of the law of large numbers?

The dirty secret is that the Grey Cardinal behind King Content’s throne is volume. You need to get stuff out there all the time. Not monthly, not weekly (like I do). You need to be out there daily. You need to promote. You need to have something up there all the time to retain and grow your mindshare. At least, you do if your whole goal is to be a national brand in your own right as some sort of Public Intellectual 2.0.

So given that push for volume, what’s a solo practitioner to do? You guessed it: Provide a steady stream of wise-sounding generalities that don’t really help much but nevertheless get their stuff in circulation with a minimum of prep time. It’s easier and faster to write coherent but vague platitudes than to research in-depth solutions to difficult questions that perplex intermediate- and advanced-practitioners within the industry. The time spent on self-promotion necessarily eats into the time available to really be an innovative thought leader.

An alternative strategy may work for a more typical enterprise. If you’re a plumber or a lawyer, for example, you’ll probably find that King Content is best served over the long haul, with fewer articles of greater depth and a slow-but-steady presence on Twitter, etc. The “hyperactive model” advocating daily engagement of something is self-serving insofar as the advocates of such a model must, by necessity, follow it; however, although some businesses benefit from that approach, many more will not.

Bottom line: The stuff you put on the Internet under your name should be your best work, presenting a novel perspective of insider information that others won’t easily find elsewhere. Never put a crown on your generic crap and call it good, simply for the sake of “being present.”

If content is truly king, don’t let yours be the monarch that others point to as having no clothes.

Facebook’s new Graph Search presents one case study, insofar as a member’s Facebook persona becomes fodder for socially aware search. Yet for a privacy-minded sort, the solution is simple: Don’t put stuff on Facebook. Engage in the behavior that is, effectively, a “lifestyle opt-out.”

A whole ‘nuther kettle of fish arises with Google Glass. Someone wearing Google Glasses can surreptitiously record another, snapping photos or even videos, and providing whatever tags he wishes. Those being recorded are unaware — the glasses lack a blinking light to indicate that the camera is in use.

Hence, I may be subject to recording by a private person, and I have no control over what happens to the recorded media.

“So what?” some ask. “It’s not like it’s searchable.” Or better yet: “Well, I’m already recorded by traffic or ATM cameras, so that train has already left the station.”

Oh, really? Head off to a site like Safe Shepherd to see just how many sites track data about you, including your presence on social media platforms. You don’t need to be a member of a site to be tagged on that site, and the more info that’s out there about you — whether you know it or not — the more likely it is that certain connections can be drawn between otherwise non-overlapping data sets, such that a complete online dossier becomes a matter of a simple search. Such is the awesome power of statistics that it’s trivial to calculate the likelihood that Person X in Dataset Y is actually Person A in Dataset B. And identity data in the hands of a private company (or even a private person) enjoys far less legal scrutiny than identity data in the hands of, say, the government.

So. Google Glasses fundamentally alters the prospect of maintaining a degree of privacy through obscurity, by denying average citizens the right to opt out. The question, then, is what to do about it? How can you avoid being part of the system?

Several options come to mind:

• If you run a business, set clear expectations about the use of recording devices — Google Glass, cell cameras, etc. — and post them prominently. Enforce them. If you clarify that Glass isn’t welcome on site, then you help to shape a social expectation early in this tech platform’s lifecycle.
• If you’re in a position of authority in a private place, like a house party, set ground rules about recording and social-media engagement in a broad sense. Never hurts to reinforce etiquette.
• If you’re in the vicinity of someone wearing Glass, don’t be afraid to politely say that you prefer to not be recorded. The goal, again, is to set early on a standard of behavior that pushes back against the “no such thing as privacy” mindset. Stand your ground, too, and get venue management involved if necessary.
• Push Google to make it obvious to others when Glass is recording photos and videos. Ideally, the device should have an obvious LED that glows when the camera app is running. Google’s decision to skip on visual cues about Glass use isn’t an accident, and it’s up to the marketplace — through feedback to Glass users — to tell Mountain View that there are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
• If you’ve been recorded without your consent, sue or file charges. Almost all U.S. jurisdictions have laws against private surveillance and recording; those laws generally don’t favor Glass users. If enough people get sued or prosecuted for inappropriate recording, Google will have to adapt.

Some futurists argue that wearable computing is the next generation of consumer technology. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not — but any consumer tech that further erodes individual privacy should be kept on a short leash. By pushing back against Google and against individual Glass users, ordinary people can set a red line of privacy, beyond which no tech company shall be allowed to pass.

My take on this was somewhat less than favorable.

“Oh, really?” I answered. “Why is that?”

So after 20 minutes of give-and-take, the truth came out: He slotted me because he didn’t understand the scope of my operational focus.

As a good BNI Kool-Aid drinker, my friend believes in specialization. Person X does job Y, and colleague Z makes a good referral partner. Like cogs in an intricate gear, each practitioner serves a single and discrete purpose. Even the capital-P professions aren’t immune: A lawyer isn’t just a lawyer, he’s a real-estate guy or a tax guy or a criminal-defense guy.

My friend’s problem with my much more broad focus, though, was that the model doesn’t fit conventional wisdom. He asked — astutely — why someone should hire me, with my wide but not-very-deep professional profile, instead of someone very specifically focus on a clearly outlined purpose.

And all I can say is: Sometimes a jack of all trades is preferable to a master of one.

Put it in context. Let’s assume you’re a newly minted entrepreneur who saved up $50,000 to start his own business as a cabinet maker. You’ve built many different cabinets over the years and even did a couple of houses for a friend. But you’ve never run a business before.

Who do you call to get started on market development? Do you call the guy who runs the display-ad department at the local newspaper? Do you call the local printer? Do you call the lady who sells ads on the local cable system? Do you call the person who sells pens with custom logos?

Or do you call the guy who can shepherd the entire process — market segmentation, brand development, advertising ROI analysis, Web infrastructure, local marketing opportunities, non-ad market strategy — from start to finish?

Specialization works great with large budgets and managers who can juggle several different contractors simultaneously. But small-cap, small-size enterprises may find a better solution working with a single person who knows the lay of the land at a small-biz level. Someone who knows a bit of everything and knows when to subcontract, sparing his client the hassle of dealing with different folks with competing goals.

Specialization matters. But sometimes, a generalist is the right person for the job.

OK, so yes — ethicists are supposed to help people make the best choices, right? Right. So what’s the problem?

Merely this: An ethicist should discern your ethical profile and then offer guidance to help you make a difficult choice that’s consistent with your values. He should not just tell you what the “right” answer is.

Everyone comes from a different ethical background. Some people dwell on consequences, others on duty. Some people are more worried about preserving relationships, while others are only out for themselves.

A good ethicist can help you clarify your thinking from within the frame of your own ethical viewpoint and evaluate the logical rigor of your own self-analysis. He can also counsel you about general social norms — i.e., what an average person might do or think or say in a similar situation, sometimes called the “view from nowhere.”

But a good ethicist will never just say, “Do this, not that.” He will guide you, not coerce you. He will challenge you, but work within your belief system.

Work from Home

Working from home has its charms, especially if you prefer to spend your day in your pajamas. That said, although the convenience and potential tax implications are good, the home office suffers from access to things that will distract you — children, pets, laundry, the TV, look a butterfly …

And client meetings? You’ll probably have to limit yourself to Skype.

Coffee Shops

Road warriors love Starbucks, although a good locally owned shop with a laid-back staff can feel more comfortable. A java joint is good if you like coffee and pastries and need to get away from all other distractions. It’s bad if you spend so much time there that you become one of the regulars and spend half your time talking to the other regulars, thus eating into your productivity. Plus, there’s a minor point: A coffee shop is a place to visit and drink coffee or see friends, so it’s a bit rude to treat it like it’s your workplace … especially when everyone else gets the same bright idea.

Cigar Lounges or Bars

Many cigar lounges welcome occasional drop-in visits from customers who just want to spend a few hours with a stogie and a laptop. If your local cigar lounge maintains a bar exemption, you can even enjoy adult beverages while you work. Each lounge has its own culture and rules, but in general, lounge owners won’t hesitate to let folks come in, buy their product and bring in new customers. Plus, a lounge encourages discussion — leading, possibly, to serendipitous referrals. The major downside? The smoke.

Libraries

Many libraries are re-configuring themselves to serve as community working zones, with softer chairs, ample power outlets and even access to vending machines. For someone who needs to sit in silence, a library is as good as a church. But meetings? Talking? Dancing to loud music while you create? Not so much.

Co-Working Spaces

Larger cities now host at least one co-working space. These facilities — often converted warehouses or rehabbed industrial settings — feature open layouts, first-come conference rooms, kitchenettes and such. They frequently work on a tiered subscription model, so that you can pay for the use you get from the space. Co-working spaces bring very small businesses and entrepreneurs together, facilitating cross-collaboration and the trading of contact info and referrals. The downside is that some spaces can get pricey if you want to the facility to truly serve as a remote office.

Leased Offices

Commercial space gets expensive, but some landlords offer low-cost space in old buildings that’s ideal for artists, craftspersons and knowledge workers who care more about cost than quality. Old warehouses that are pending rehabilitation work great; a landlord will often parcel out space in a property that’s not ready for prime time but still meets code, and charge a substantial discount over “clean” and finished space elsewhere.

Other options for leased space include working with a dedicated office-space company that provides accommodations for individuals or small teams on a monthly rent package. These spaces usually come furnished and include amenities like a receptionist, Wi-Fi and a phone system. The rent premium might be higher than a traditional fixed office lease, but the administrative work of property management is managed by the company that actually owns the space.

The moral of the story: Every creator needs a space to work. Every space option involves a cost-benefit matrix. Pick the solution that’s best suited to maximizing your productivity, even if the solution tugs at your pocketbook. Your goal, after all, is to get things done.

• You get exposure as a writer, not just as a source of work product.
• You can associate yourself to your work product, helping (albeit marginally) with the assertion of IP rights to what you’ve written.
• You can increase your social reach provided you’re reasonably savvy about Plus.

The process for authenticating with Google Author seems straightforward: Log into your Plus account and simply enroll your publishing email address (particularly if your address is on the same domain as the site your work appears on — which should be the case for people who own and publish to their own domains) or insert a bit of code into your work to link back to your Google Plus profile.

Simple, convenient — especially for people who’ve already bought into Google’s authentication regime.

Of particular interest: Directly associating your ID with your work product, right when it’s released, helps protect any future claim you may make (especially with Google) about cases of copyright infringement.

Only takes a few minutes, and could have non-trivial rewards in the future.