Bizniz
What a week. July was a very dormant month. I spent most of the time with my feet on my desk, or being pulled around the house by my tug-happy dog. Suddenly, the clients have come out of the woodwork, and I'm flooded with work. Ack! Just when I was going to take a vacation.
Yesterday, I was down in Palo Alto (Stanford-land for those of you not familiar with the geography) to see a client. That's about an hour drive each way from my usual haunt. Today, it was across the bay and to a city way south of San Francisco for a meeting with one of my favorite clients. This client has just opened up a new warehouse/research space, and aside from the fact that I really like these people, I make it a point to set foot in every client's facility at least once if at all possible. I like getting my hands dirty. I like seeing things actually being invented and made.
Now, everybody knows that I like to talk and I like to write. This is not news, and particularly not news to the high school classmate whose free time I've completely devoured via Facebook chat over the last couple of weeks. (The only sad part about all these trips is that I get back late and haven't been able to catch her so as to continue eating up her free time. Alas.)
Much as I like to talk, and much as I like to write, when I write for work, I tend to be as concise as possible. It's my general belief that if one can't explain something technical and complex in a maximum of 30 pages, one had better try again. I've seen complex biotechnology explained with startling clarity in 10 pages. As I tell clients, I start getting bored at 30 pages, and by 40 pages, I'm usually really bored. My boredom is a good indicator. If a patent application is more than 30 pages long, chances are, it contains more than one invention and needs to be divided.
Lately, I've had clients coming to me with things written by others that are 100+ pages long. Generally speaking, the clients in question have had to part ways with the original authors, and look to me to clean up the mess. Uck! I mean, sure, I'll do it, but who in their right mind would write something that long in the first place? (I shudder to think what the bill for such a thing was!) "You want me to READ this thing?" Believe me, my full hourly rate will apply.
Whatever happened to brevity being the soul of wit?
Yesterday, I was down in Palo Alto (Stanford-land for those of you not familiar with the geography) to see a client. That's about an hour drive each way from my usual haunt. Today, it was across the bay and to a city way south of San Francisco for a meeting with one of my favorite clients. This client has just opened up a new warehouse/research space, and aside from the fact that I really like these people, I make it a point to set foot in every client's facility at least once if at all possible. I like getting my hands dirty. I like seeing things actually being invented and made.
Now, everybody knows that I like to talk and I like to write. This is not news, and particularly not news to the high school classmate whose free time I've completely devoured via Facebook chat over the last couple of weeks. (The only sad part about all these trips is that I get back late and haven't been able to catch her so as to continue eating up her free time. Alas.)
Much as I like to talk, and much as I like to write, when I write for work, I tend to be as concise as possible. It's my general belief that if one can't explain something technical and complex in a maximum of 30 pages, one had better try again. I've seen complex biotechnology explained with startling clarity in 10 pages. As I tell clients, I start getting bored at 30 pages, and by 40 pages, I'm usually really bored. My boredom is a good indicator. If a patent application is more than 30 pages long, chances are, it contains more than one invention and needs to be divided.
Lately, I've had clients coming to me with things written by others that are 100+ pages long. Generally speaking, the clients in question have had to part ways with the original authors, and look to me to clean up the mess. Uck! I mean, sure, I'll do it, but who in their right mind would write something that long in the first place? (I shudder to think what the bill for such a thing was!) "You want me to READ this thing?" Believe me, my full hourly rate will apply.
Whatever happened to brevity being the soul of wit?