I recently unfollowed a business writer on Twitter.

Nothing special about that, except for the reason I unfollowed him: politics.

Consider that for a moment. I was following him because I agree with many of his ideas about business, only to be put off by something totally unrelated to his work. He lost a hard-earned customer, and not through anything he’d done wrong at a business level.

Social media gives you a wonderful opportunity to speak your mind, to show the ‘personality’ behind your business.

Every time you go off-topic, though, you run the risk of alienating a section of your readership. Your “yay Obama” is someone else’s “this country’s falling apart”.

Of course, it’s a fine line between being careful about what you say and censoring yourself to the point of blandness.

A couple of suggestions, then:

1. Keep it on topic

Chances are, you’re not going to be interested in all the same things as me. Yesterday was the first day of the Lord’s Test Match. A big deal to some of us, but of no interested whatsoever to 99% of my readership. So, I didn’t tweet about it.

You can choose to fill your networks with the social media equivalent of a cat blog, sure. Really, though, is your life so interesting (and your opinion so important) that everyone need know about it?

2. Be respectful

If you choose to go off the reservation, do so with caution. Some topics – politics would be one – might be best left alone.

If you do go there, though, please be respectful. My distaste with the blogger mentioned above wasn’t his political stance (each to their own, and I certainly don’t need to agree with every opinion someone holds in order to like them) but rather the way in which he expressed it. Saying, “I like X” is very different from a stream of invective about how, “I hate Y, they’re ruining the country”.

***

A big decision you need to make as a one-person business is where to draw the line between the personal and the professional. Do you want your readers and customers to follow you for you, or follow you for your business?

If it’s the former, then by all means speak your mind. Editorialise to your heart’s content.

If it’s the latter, then be sensitive to the fact that your audience will be a rich tapestry of different tastes, opinions, and interests. Just because they’ve aligned themselves with what your business makes or sells or stands for, doesn’t mean they’ll agree with everything else about you.

And, what’s more, they needn’t.

They can still be great customers and True Fans, even if you’re a liberal, cat-loving vegan and they’re a conservative, dog-loving barbecue aficionado. So long as they love the widgets you make, none of that need ever matter.

Voice your opinion, by all means. Free speech is a wonderful gift.

Just be aware that, when you take to the social media airwaves, you’re speaking for your business as well as yourself.

Next Thursday sees the arrival of Magazines for the Rest of Us.

I get a lot (a lot) of emails from people who are interested in running their own online magazine – a magazine like In Treehouses or The Micropublisher.

If you’re tempted by the idea, this is the course for you.

Importantly, if you enter your email on this page, you’ll be on the VIP list and get access to the course a day ahead of everyone else. This matters, because there’s limited space and I expect it to sell out fairly quickly.

To avoid missing out, then, simply enter your email here. Marvellous.

I can’t remember where I heard this, but it carries more than a hint of truth.

As recently as 10 years ago, the “rock star lifestyle” was a big reason to be a musician. You would make an album every few years, sell millions, travel the world, get all the attention you ever needed…

The number of people living that lifestyle as a result of being in a band has steadily diminished in the past decade. And all the while, a new type of celebrity has emerged.

The entrepreneur is the rock star of the new century.

***

We all know the great rock’n'roll creation stories.

The early days of living on friends’ floors, traveling in a beaten-up van, playing to half-empty bars. The joy of finally getting picked by the all-powerful record label. Becoming successful, selling those first million records. And, eventually, the over-indulgence – the private jets, the power struggles, the focus on money over music…

We also all know the great entrepreneurial creation stories.

The early days of living on friends’ floors, eaten ramen noodles, launching version 1.0. The joy of finally getting picked by the all-powerful VCs. Becoming successful, reaching that first million dollars in revenue. And, eventually, the over-indulgence – the private jets, the power struggles, the focus on money over mission…

Not so long ago, everyone was in a band. Now, everyone’s running a startup, or plotting an online business.

Magazine after magazine is dedicated to glamorous businesses and daring entrepreneurs. Thousands of blogs, podcasts, and books offer advice on how you can join the party.

***

Now, I’m not saying this is a bad thing. You and I are a part of this, after all, and – just like being in a band – it’s fun and it’s exciting. It’s an adventure.

But here’s a question worth answering: would you stick with it if you knew you’d never make it big?

Thousands upon thousands of bands have built careers from their music without ever reaching the rock-star pinnacle. They’re happy just to be able to make a living from doing what they love, even if they don’t get the glory of which they’d once dreamed.

Aiming for the fairytale of fame and riches is a perfectly valid ambition. But, just as not every band gets to be the Rolling Stones, not every entrepreneur gets to be Steve Jobs.

If you can be happy simply to be able to make a living from all this, you’re far more likely to stick with it and make it work.

Are you happy just to have the chance to play your music?

Work for someone else, and it’s like jumping up from a standing start on the ground.

You’ve got a nice solid footing. From there, you can probably jump up a couple of feet. About the same height as most other people, in fact.

Work for yourself, and it’s like jumping from a trampoline.

At first, your weight dips you below the level. But, by accepting that initial dip and putting in a bit of effort, you’re able to spring up.

The onus is on you to take the risk, get on the trampoline and put in the work to get going. Once you do, though, you have the potential to spring far, far higher than those folks who preferred to stay on the safe, solid ground.

It’s more fun, too.

I like working at the weekend.

Fewer distractions, fewer incoming emails, fewer blog posts and tweets on which to catch up… it’s nice.

One of the features of being a writer is that, in terms of your own work, weekends feel pretty much like any other day.

I can work on the In Treehouses and The Micropublisher anytime, anywhere. I don’t need clients to be available, people to be in the office – any of that stuff. It makes just as much sense to take Monday and Tuesday off as it does Saturday and Sunday.

It’s just as well that I don’t mind working weekends, because life as a micropublisher or a freedom business owner pretty much necessitates it. Especially in the early days. You’ll likely have to squeeze your new pursuits around a day job, a family, or other such commitments.

As time goes by, you may be able to take weekends off. To relax, like the rest of the working world.

The acid test of whether you’re doing work that matters to you, though, must surely be that you don’t crave the weekend. You’re not desperate to take a break from it all. Work is more fun than fun.

We all need to step away, now and then. We all need balance.

But if you can happily work (for at least a few hours) every weekend from now until the end of the year… Well, that’s a pretty good demonstration of passion, enjoyment, and dedication.

And those, in turn, are pretty good indicators of your chances of success.

Here’s the problem: it’s a niche. It’s small.

While this is a good way to find a passionate readership, it’s also a good way to write yourself into a corner. After a while, the well starts to run dry. You’ve written about everything.

You haven’t, of course – it just feels that way. Here are some suggestions in which you may find some value:

1. Discover what’s changing

The world is moving pretty rapidly these days. Rather than waiting to be told what’s changing in your niche, go out and do some – shock horror – original research. Ask around. Find out what others are noticing and on what projects they’re working. Report back.

Instead of waiting for the inspiration to come to you, hunt it out.

2. Experiment

Take the point above to its natural conclusion and start pushing boundaries yourself. Involve yourself in a project or two that pushes at the edges of your niche. Make discoveries.

Remember, your writing is a barometer – if you’ve nothing interesting about which to write, then you need to do more interesting stuff.

3. Look to the extended family

It’s easy enough to picture a stereotypical minimalist. Drinks green tea, wears Vibrams, does yoga, takes vitamins (hence the image above), is location independent, meditates, doesn’t eat meat…

The reality, of course, is different – but there’s a reason the stereotype exists. In any niche, there are going to be related pursuits and interests that are bound by a common thread. The mindfulness of minimalism translates well into yoga, or the open-mindedness needed for world travel. Have an interest in one, and you may well be of the mindset to think favourably toward the others.

How does the mindset of your niche link to other areas and topics? Can you bring in related ideas about which your audience will be interested?

Write more, think more

One of the best recommendations I can give – beyond the above – is to commit to writing more.

Knowing I have to write a blog post every weekday, for example, forces me to think more about the details of my niche, to explore the angles, to come up with ideas.

As Michael says, committing to writing a lot helps to clarify your thinking.

Above all, please, don’t give up.

Judging by the amount it’s been shared, this post - about the types of work that fill your day – strikes a nerve.

The illustration that leads the article shows a depressingly accurate breakdown of how many of us spend our time. Lots of reactionary work – answering phones, responding to email, replying to tweets – and little creative, problem-solving work.

Boo to that.

There’s a secret hidden in The War of Art, the rightly-lauded book from Steven Pressfield about fighting Resistance and “doing the work”. It’s right there in the excerpt on his website.

“It’s about ten-thirty now. I sit down and plunge in. When I start making typos, I know I’m getting tired. That’s four hours or so. I’ve hit the point of diminishing returns. I wrap for the day. Copy whatever I’ve done to disk and stash the disk in the glove compartment of my truck in case there’s a fire and I have to run for it. I power down. It’s three, three-thirty. The office is closed.”

Because his percentage of reactionary work in this time is precisely nil, Steven is only at work for “four hours or so” in a day. Not bad. Plus, those four hours of creative work are still more than most will fit into a day, even if they’re at work for ten hours.

Trim back relentlessly on the types of work that don’t offer the chance to do great things.

Your potential reward? A shorter day doing better, more interesting work.

Hugh has a post about the success of his daily cartoon, in terms of email open rates.

“With email newsletters, the ave­rage open rate is around 6% to 8%. Our news­let­ter is 40% plus. That’s amazing”. The secret? “I think it’s because we keep it simple - a nice car­toon to brighten your day, deli­ve­red to your inbox every morning”.

This got me thinking.

As I look at AWeber – my email provider – the open rate for the email that announced the latest issue of In Treehouses was 95.8%. The emails for the previous two issues were 88.9% and 87.3%. For a list of a couple of thousand subscribers, that’s pretty decent.

I say this not to brag, but to offer an explanation.

Every reader of Hugh’s newsletter knows what they’re going to get when they open his email. There’s something inside, something valuable that they get to enjoy for free.

With In Treehouses, the same applies. I only ever send an email if there’s something inside of value. I don’t mean ‘useful tips and tactics’ value, I mean an actual thing. A magazine.

When The Micropublisher launched, I sent a couple of emails announcing the publication. When Magazines for the Rest of Us lands later this month, I’ll probably do the same. Otherwise, the only time you’ll ever hear from me is when I’ve got the latest issue of In Treehouses to give you.

The secret to high open rates, then, isn’t really a secret: every time you send an email, make sure it contains something of huge value.

Now, not everyone has the time or inclination to do that. Not everyone can give away a magazine, or a daily cartoon. I understand that. But if you’re going to offer less, then you have to expect less. Lower value, lower open rates.

You might do just great with a ‘weekly tips newsletter’ and an open rate of 10%. That might fit your business model perfectly. It’s not for me to judge.

But if you’re obsessed with getting huge open rates, you need to start giving huge value.

P.S. Those who are subscribed to The Micropublisher will find something of value in their inboxes today: the latest edition of the magazine. If you’re interested in how to be your own publishing house and make a living with words, you can discover more here.

…not even you.

Above is a picture of my iPod case (handmade by some lovely folks over at Etsy, if you’re wondering). It spends its days holding a device that was beyond any conceivable limits a few short years ago.

On that device, there’s a billion-dollar app. Again, beyond the limits of belief until we were shown otherwise.

When a market gets disrupted, all bets are off.

Right now, publishing is going through one of these disruptions. The game is changing.

Running your own one-person publishing house was off limits not so long ago. So was running a niche online magazine. Now that there’s disruption, though, nobody can tell you where the limits are. You have to explore for yourself. You have the opportunity to draw your own map, to experiment over and over again to discover what works for you. There’s nobody to tell you, “you can’t do that”.

For some, this is terrifying.

Amidst all the storm and stress surrounding publishing, many – even those who are benefiting from the disruption – are waiting for things to calm down. They’re seeking to find order, to write the new rules and say, “this is how it’s done, now”. That’s understandable. Rules are comforting – they show you the proven path that you should follow.

This disruption won’t last long. Soon enough there will be new walls, new limits to which you’ll be bound.

So my plea is this: be brave.

Before the new rules are written, embrace this chance to experiment. Don’t just imitate what others are doing – make your own discoveries. Work out what’s best for you and your publications.

Who knows, you might just help to redefine where the next set of limits lie.

Seth has an excellent post about how to win by caring.

“Care more than you need to, more often than expected, more completely than the other guy”.

Thing is, before you can care more, you need a business that gets you customers about whom to care. And in those early days when you’re struggling to get off the ground, it’s really, really hard to care more about others than yourself.

Maslow explains why, right here.

Caring about others is great when you’re up at the top of the pyramid, looking for esteem and self-actualisation.

But when you’re struggling with the basic needs of security – did I earn enough to buy food this week? – it’s damnably tough to focus your energy on anything other than yourself and your short-term needs.

In my experience, there’s a tipping point here.

It comes right around the point where you’re making enough money to be secure – at least for a while. At that point, you’re able to make an active choice to focus more on others than yourself. Your perspective flips, from needing to make rent to wanting to help others.

Instead of charging $1 for an ebook, you give it away. You host free webinars for anyone who wants to show up. You improve your ‘good enough’ website.

Now that money isn’t quite such a push, you can be more generous.

Why is this a tipping point?

Because, as you give these things away and focus more on others than on yourself, your progress accelerates. By caring more, you build a better reputation. In time, that becomes a better income, which in turn gives you more security and more freedom to care. It’s a virtuous circle.

The key, then, is to reach that tipping point and to recognise it when you arrive.

And the great irony that underpins all of this? The best way to ensure you reach that tipping point is to care more. Even in the early days, even when you’re struggling to survive and can’t see beyond the next meal.

Like I said above, it’s damnably tough. Worth it, though.