šŸ‘ Write. That. Shit. Down.

It might feel like you're winging it. But you're not. I swear.

ā€œHell if I know,ā€ snorted Andy — amused by the mere idea that I would assume he had followed some sort of intentional process. ā€œIt was chaos,ā€ he added.

A bunch of us were sitting on a Stealth Mastermind Zoom call for agency owners, most of whom were in growth mode. And Andy had achieved exactly what the others were trying to do—

He had bootstrapped his solo practice to a team of seven — in two years.

The sustainable growth he created had given him enough flexibility and income to launch a second business — and recently acquire a third.

F*ck yeah. Well done, mate.

Actual footage of our appreciation for Andy. Source: Giphy

But there was just one problem…

He didn’t have a clue how he did it. 😬 

šŸ» THE DRUNK BUSINESS ADVICE

šŸ‘‰ A decision you can’t explain is a decision you can’t repeat.

šŸ‘‰ The most valuable process is the one you already lived. You just forgot to write it down. Oh dip. 🤦 

And now — the story behind why this advice matters. šŸ‘‡ļø 

But first…

For the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing snippets from my new weekly newsletter that teaches you how to write killer stories that outlast the noise. Go subscribe, dammit!

Screw hooks. Slide in with shit-storms instead.

What’s the difference between a story and a lecture?

A story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. That’s the formula. And if you want to be a good storyteller, you must master that formula.

But if you want to be a badass storyteller, after you master that formula, you gotta shred it.

In Hollywood, it’s called a ā€œcold openingā€ — when they skip the setup, and smack the audience with a car chase, casino brawl, or carnal sex scene. 😳

In writing, we call it a ā€œhookā€ — a sentence or two at the top of a story that draws the reader in.

But when ChatGPT analyzed my writing, AI opted to call it:

šŸ‘‰ Dropping the reader into a shit-storm.

Worst nightmare. Source: Giphy

Yep. That’s definitely my style.

This phrasing is surprisingly helpful because writing a killer ā€œhookā€ feels so damn theoretical. But ā€œdropping the reader into a shit-stormā€ feels like an instruction that we can all follow.

And it does the same job of a ā€œhookā€, because it creates immediate questions in your reader’s mind that they’re dying to have answered.

In last week’s issue of Drunk Writing Advice, I broke down the best ways to do this. šŸ‘‡ļø 

You’re not winging it

Back to my pal Andy—

According to him, none of his success was ā€œplannedā€. His decisions didn’t feel intentional. He was winging it.

So when I asked him to break down his process for us, he shrugged. There was no process — only chaos that happened to work out pretty damn well for him.

Building a business tends to feel that way. Every day, Andy had a dozen different decisions to make, each accompanied by a hundred different possible outcomes.

And since Andy wasn’t following an intentional process, it felt like chaos.

But when I asked him about his decisions, why he made them, and what the outcomes were, he began creating his process — over just a few impromptu minutes on a live call in front of his peers.

It turned out, Andy made a lot of great decisions, which were inspired by important beliefs he held. And he learned valuable lessons from the not-so-great decisions.

He had just never reflected back on those decisions in a productive way — a way that could be helpful to both himself, and others. 

He felt like he was winging it. But he wasn’t.

None of us truly are.

Write. That. Shit. Down. šŸ‘

When I began publishing Drunk Business Advice last year, I was lining up dozens of people to interview for stories.

Why?

Because I was certain I only had a handful of helpful stories about my own life.

I assumed Drunk Business Advice would predominately feature other business leaders — friends of mine with interesting backgrounds and great successes.

But every time I wrote a story about my own life, it sparked new memories.

And every new memory surfaced lessons that I should have learned, but failed to recognize, simply because my eyes were so steadfastly set on my future that it seemed physically impossible to turn my head and reflect on my past.

But I’m telling you — once I started reflecting, and writing that shit down, my entire outlook improved.

I hadn’t created a business newsletter.

What I actually created was a weekly ritual of self-interrogation. Every week, I had to look at a situation from my past, ask myself what I really thought about it, and put that belief into words that didn’t suck.

I quickly realized that I never really knew what I thought until I wrote it down.

The things I’m now known for…

  • My no-bullshit take on corporate America…

  • My entrepreneurial spirit…

  • My unfiltered advice…

I didn’t discover these values at a restful yoga retreat in Sedona. šŸ™„ 

I discovered them at my laptop, cursing at the sirens and jackhammers outside my window to ā€œshut the f*ck up and let me thinkā€, while scrambling to meet my Sunday publishing deadline.

And while there’s nothing wrong with taking time to relax in a serene environment, reflecting back on your life through guided meditation and journaling pods — most of us don’t have time for that crap.

And because we don’t have time to escape the grind of our day-to-day lives for intentional reflection, we simply don’t reflect. 

We just hit the gas, completely blind to the absolute gold that awaits us in our own memories, if only we’d turn our goddamn heads to look back there.

So consider this your official kick-in-the-ass. We can all afford to carve out a few minutes every week to reflect back on the decisions we made, and—

Write. That. Shit. Down. šŸ‘

Clarity doesn’t come from puking up ayahuasca in some remote sweat lodge. It comes from documentation.

I mean… puke up ayahuasca if you wanna. No judgement. But write down what you learn in the process. Source: Giphy

Um. So…. how do I do this?

It’s easy for me to say ā€œreflect on your life and write it downā€, but that’s hugely abstract and unhelpful.

It’s also easy for me to say ā€œstart a newsletter like Drunk Business Adviceā€, but holy hell, that’s a lot of work.

So here are a few simple ways you can start reflecting on your life, and writing shit down. šŸ‘‡ļø 

1. Let AI interview you

Yes, I’m serious. Yes, it works. Yes, I do it all the damn time when I’m feeling stuck.

Source: Tenor

Here are a two prompts to try if you’re unsure of where to start:

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œAsk me 20 questions to uncover my personal operating principles.ā€

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œAsk me 20 questions to help me define my non-negotiables in life and business.ā€

Have some specific challenges in mind? Try prompts like these:

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œAsk me 20 questions to help me understand why I always say ā€˜yes’ to the wrong people.ā€

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œAsk me 20 questions to help me understand why I feel stalled in my career.ā€

Or set up a weekly date with AI:

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œI’m going to give you a brief summary of what I did this week. Then I want you to ask me questions that will help me determine what I’ve learned, and how I can apply those lessons in the future.ā€

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œI’m going to tell you about something that made me feel good/bad about myself this week. Then I want you to ask me questions that will help me better understand why I feel good/bad about it.ā€

Let AI ask the questions, so all you have to do is write down your answers.

2. Start a ā€œshit I stand byā€ doc

Open a blank document.

Title it: ā€œShit I stand byā€.

Then add to it –one sentence at a time– as you make decisions. For example:

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œI said no to that partnership because I didn’t trust the founder’s vibe. Good call.ā€

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œI moved cities even though everyone said not to. And things are going great.ā€

šŸ‘‰ļø ā€œI fired that client when they crossed a boundary. Damn, that felt good.ā€

Don’t worry about analysis — just collect the evidence.

Soon, you’ll start seeing your own values come into focus. Not because you invented them, but because you remembered them.

3. Write for an audience

This is (obviously) a tactic I wholeheartedly support. And I know it can feel intimidating, but your audience doesn’t have to be big (nor does it have to be strangers). And what you’re writing doesn’t have to be nearly as in-depth as this newsletter.

It could be as simple as sending out a single paragraph to friends and family on Fridays, or posting on LinkedIn twice per week.

But writing for an audience forces you to do two important things:

  1. Stick to a cadence. Deadlines rock. Writing is a perpetually iterative process. If we don’t have a deadline, we never quite know when we’re finished.

  1. Find value in your experiences. This is why writing for an audience is far more badass than journaling. We must question why an audience should care about the shit we’re saying, and in turn, we uncover the deeper meaning behind our decisions. Plus, we help others. Win/Win

You’re not a mess. You’re just unwritten.

āœ–ļø You don’t need a psychedelic microdosing retreat.

āœ–ļø You don’t need a $1,200/hr business coach with a YouTube channel.

āœ–ļø You don’t need a vision board scribbled in gold Sharpie under a full moon. 

You just need a quiet moment, a half-decent question, the courage to stop bullshitting yourself, and maybe a ticket to a Natasha Bedingfield concert circa 2004. 🤷 

I actually did see her in concert once. She opened for Train. 10/10 would recommend. Source: YouTube

You’ve already built something — a business, a process, a set of values, a life. It’s all there.

The only thing that’s missing is the story of how it happened — the documentation that proves you really do know your shit.

And remember — this isn’t about proving it to others.

This is about proving it to yourself.

Cheers! šŸ» 

-Kristin

P.S. — If you enjoyed today’s issue, and want a behind-the-scenes look at how I craft Drunk Business Advice every week, don’t forget to subscribe to Drunk WRITING Advice!