My cherished friend just informed me that my first post, while well written, didn’t hold a candle to my creative writing. “Where’s the fire?” she challenged. “Why should people care about what YOU have to say about business – above anyone else? Your business writing is sweet – but you’re writing like a mother.”
hmmm. Well, I am a mother. But I’m also a businesswoman. And I’m determined to do something important with my life outside of raising my two boys.
It’s true that the audience matters, and that when clients call upon me for academic material or executive training packages, I produce exactly what they want. I investigate, synthesize and prepare a case study or technical note complete with video elements on spec. But I’m rethinking my voice when it comes to this blog or any articles I write for business periodicals. This Harvard Business Review article proposal is no exception. I re-read my second draft yesterday at dawn, just after my morning cup of steamy hot chai latte. She was right: It read like a paper for college.
The HBR article discusses corporate bankruptcy and the do-s and don’ts of communication during a restructuring event. It’s based on interviews my colleague Professor Erika James and I conducted with managing partners and senior directors at four of the largest restructuring firms operating in the US and Europe. I read through my careful series of quotations and excerpts, immersing myself in the CRISIS of it all. Then I threw it all in the fire and started over with a narrative and a main character: the CEO, captain of a cumbersome boat:
“You’ve spent a decade at the helm of a corporate barge that’s about to go under. Your debt is out of control and your CFO couldn’t keep the tiny cracks in the hull from spreading – the gushing leaks have grown to massive proportions and the flooding has pulled two-thirds of your boat underwater. The first to jump ship were your able-bodied seamen. The star players you’ve counted on all these years to run the ropes and tie up eagle-scout knots smelled the wind changing months ago and have all abandoned you for newer models. Everything you’re sitting on is outdated: your capital structure, the capabilities of your people, your facilities, even your products. You’re going down.
The public – that pesky reality of operating in a context – blames you for your failure to predict the storm that’s brought you to your knees. The mariners who remain on board are crowding in the upper levels, scared and fighting for air. You’ve got a skeleton team of exhausted chief-level officers, working 16-hour days and bickering about their equity stakes. Most of them refuse to join you on the upper deck to survey the damage or to fully recognize that there’s no going back.”
I’ll make the scene come alive. Every chance I get. And slowly, slowly, people will care about what I have to say about business – because I do.