Cooperate with others to open new markets. It’s one of the key principles of my brand new book, Guerrilla Marketing Goes Green (co-authored with Jay Conrad Levinson), released this week by John Wiley & Sons. The book is a manual for thriving by doing the right thing, showing businesses that Green and ethical practices aren’t just a way to stay out of jail–they’re a success strategy–and cooperation is one of those practices.

So–do we practice what we preach? Here are some of the things we’re doing to launch the book:

  • We chose to partner with Green America for the launch. We are donating a portion of proceeds, and they have spread word of our book to their 94,000 members.
  • We solicited other partners who will tell their following about the book–and we gave them two powerful incentives: the chance to build their own lists by submitting a bonus, and to promote an upsell product that pays commissions.
  • With these partnerships, we’re able to offer anyone buying the book this month a package of extra worth well over $2750 (and still climbing)–AND to reach at least 702,000 people who are on the lists of these partners.

    So…adding Jay’s lists and mine together, we have about 94,000 subscribers. Adding Green America alone doubled that. Adding in the partners means we multiplied our original 94,000 by about eight times, to 890,000. Even chopping off ten percent for duplicates, that still means 801,000 people are hearing about this book, and that’s 703,000 people that Jay and I couldn’t have reached on our own. And that doesn’t even count Twitter, e-mail discussion lists, Facebook, LinkedIn, etc.

    Oh yes, and let’s talk about my bringing in Jay as a partner co-author. Leveraging the strength of his name definitely helped to build all these partner relationships, as well as strong partner relationships within the publishing house. So now, instead of reaching 10,000 of my own subscribers to inform them of my newest book, I’m reaching 801,000, of whom 791,000 are the result of our outreach efforts, outside of my own network.

    Cost to me? Only time. OK, quite a bit of time, including my assistant’s time, which I am paying for. But time well-spent.

    Is it resulting in sales? A week ago, the Amazon sales rank for Guerrilla Marketing Goes Green was in the 575,000s. In other words, five hundred seventy five thousand books were outselling mine.There have been some wild swings, but at the moment, it’s at 28,793. In the environmentalism category, it’s #13 right now. And Amazon is only one of the five channels that we’re linking to from the books website, https://www.guerrillamarketinggoesgreen.com. In other words, yes–people are BUYING the book, and in doing so, validating this key concept.

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    Visiting my father in Florida, we treated him and his ladyfriend to lunch on fashionable Ocean Drive in Miami Beach’s South Beach deco district. Lots of lessons here on how to deal with a saturated market.

    First of all, almost every restaurant (and they are numerous), not only on Ocean Drive but on several of the surrounding streets, like Lincoln Mall and Española Way, hires shills: people to stand outside, engage anyone walking by, and try to get them to stop and eat. Most of the restaurants have at least one, some have several (for the most part, pretty young women, many with European accents. I guess it must be effective, but after a while, it feels like running the gauntlet.

    Second, recognizing that the consumer benefits from comparison shopping, many of the establishments print up postcards with their (for the most part very similar) offers. To us as consumers, this was very helpful, because after walking three or four blocks along the strip, we had a basis for remembering which ones had seemed like the best choices (and in fact returned to one to actually eat on the basis of the postcard).

    Third, when you’re doing popular loss-leaders, you make up the revenue in other ways. We were offered $4.95 breakfasts and $8.95 to $9.95 lunches all up and down the street. The food was actually quite good—but a simple cup of tea was $3.50!

    Finally, one to avoid: unpleasant surprises. When we were seated, the shill had told us she could to the advertised prices or 20 percent off the specials on display. My father asked the price of the steak special: $65! “I didn’t want to buy the cow,” he said, ordering instead one of the $4.95 breakfast deals: a huge omelet with meat, cheese, and vegetables.

    We saw this same strategy in some of the retail shops, where some items were really, really cheap, and others were wildly overpriced a shelf or two over.

    On the steak dinners, I imagine a fair number of people order one of the displayed specials without bothering to learn the price, and suffer major sticker shock when the bill arrives (or maybe after the drink specials, they’re too gone to notice). Considering that the same restaurant is using the same term to describe both its loss-leaders and its top-line offerings, I think this could be a disaster. It doesn’t strike me as a good way to make up revenue. In a crowded market, the last thing you want is a customer loudly arguing about the bill, especially in an open-air café that faces directly out on the street. Yes, of course, there are many places where you can pay $65 for a steak dinner and feel fine about it, but those are not restaurants that get you in the door on the basis of a $9.95 entrée. Different market, different clientele, different expectations, and no price resistance.

    Interestingly, our dinner choices for two of our three nights were restaurants with no shill. In both cases, we had excellent, reasonably priced food, and the place was certainly busy enough.

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    Rule Number One of my approach to marketing is to treat the customer right. As I say in my books, it’s far cheaper to bring back an existing customer than to have to go out and recruit a new one. And even in the following case, where there is no likelihood of a repeat purchase, it still would have made more sense to honor the request. A business owner never knows when a customer will tell a very large circle of people about either a good or a bad experience. And in this particular case, I’m prepared to escalate and the merchant may find itself with neither the money nor the merchandise, just for being stupid about customer service.

    For right now, I won’t name the company; we’ll see what kind of response I get. But here’s a letter I wrote that I should never have had to write:

    On January 12, 2010, we purchased two bags at your Lincoln Mall store in Miami Beach, a few minutes before closing time. We came into the store because my wife needed a replacement for her everyday purse. She found one that was a little larger and considerably heavier than her current purse, and I found a fanny pack, which I’d been looking for. It wasn’t ideal but she thought she could make it work. However, walking the few blocks back to where we were staying, it became obvious that the weight would be a problem. We actually took turns carrying it, and she decided we’d bring it back the next day.

    The purse never left the [name of store] plastic bag. It was exactly as it had been when we took it out of the store. But when we returned the next evening, the store refused to refund her purchase (we’re keeping the fanny pack). They pointed to the sales receipt, which stated that all returns would be for exchanges, not refunds.

    However, this information is not posted anywhere in the store. There is no way to know about the policy until after you’ve made the purchase and the store considers you bound by it.

    As it happens, I’ve written several books on marketing, and while not a lawyer, I have at least a basic understanding of consumer law. One of the requirements of a valid contract is that it’s entered into voluntarily by all parties. In this case, the terms of the contract were essentially changed by one party after purchase. The standard for American retail is to take back unused, salable merchandise within a reasonable time after purchase, and where the conditions are different, they need to be visibly posted so the customer is aware. Handing someone a sales receipt with different conditions is not something likely to hold up to scrutiny.

    However, the store did not accept this argument and refused to issue a refund; we spoke to four different people. We did look around to see if here was anything else we needed, but we had come to the store specifically to buy the purse, and couldn’t find anything else even remotely suitable.

    I am writing to you because I’d rather we work this out as reasonable people. We were only visiting Miami Beach and have left the area, so we can no longer bring the item back in person. However, we would be glad to return the bag if you refund our purchase price ($29.95 plus $2.10 sales tax, total $32.05) and issue a prepaid call tag from UPS or any other carrier. We will not pay to ship it back, since it was not our fault that the store refused to take it back when we went in person.

    I’m sure we’d both rather avoid a credit card chargeback, and therefore, a refund is the better path.

    Thank you,
    Shel Horowitz

    I’ll let you know what happens.

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    It started our first Chanukah in our “new” home–the 1743 Colonial farmhouse we bought in 1998. For the first chunk of my kids’ lives, we lived close to the center of town, a dense and fairly urban residential neighborhood. Then we moved to this ancient and wonderful home on a working dairy farm (my hard-working neighbors have 400 cows).

    We lit the candles and each put our menorah in a different window. And then one of the kids asked, “Can anybody see our candles from the state highway?”

    Our house is a block back and up a hill. At that time, there was only an open pasture between us and the main road. We piled into the car and made a circuit. Our house was visible, but it was pretty hard to tell there were candles in the window.

    But once we were out there with our coats on, someone got the bright idea to walk around the house and look at all four menorahs, singing “Oh Chanukah, Oh Chanukah.”

    Since then, we’ve walked around the house, singing, eight nights a year: four humans who live here, one dog, and whoever happens to be visit and is not too infirm. Sometimes it’s been so icy we needed ski poles. Sometimes we have our whole Chavurah (circle of friends) each with a menorah and there are dozens or hundreds of candles, depending on how far into the holiday we are (you add a candle each night). Sometimes it’s been sleeting.

    Last night, the first night of Chanukah this year, was clear and cold. The constellations were incredibly clear, and one planet hung just over the mountain behind our house. I had left my glasses inside, because it was cold enough that I wore the hat I’d bought in Russia that I can’t wear if it’s above 20 degrees F, and wrapped a scarf around my face—and I knew the glasses would steam up. And yet, the stars were still fabulous.

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    Thirty-one years ago, the housemate with whom I’d found an apartment moved out, and I invited a poet friend of mine to take his place. We shared that apartment for several months, until he, too, moved on, and another friend moved in.

    Today, I went to see that poet friend for the first time since around 1980. We’d been completely out of touch–but about a year ago, a mutual friend tracked my wife down on Facebook. Turns out that mutual friend also convinced my old housemate to join Facebook, where we found each other a month or so ago.

    The friend who moved in after him stayed in that apartment after I left, but later moved to Vesey Street, two blocks from the World Trade Center. It was a primitive form of social media that let me know, finally, that she was OK, two weeks after 9/11.

    And there are a number of others.

    I remember very clearly the first time something like this happened: AOL was still my Internet portal, so that fixes it somewhere in 1994-95. All of a sudden I got an e-mail from a high school friend. Tom and his wife Liz came up to visit (we live four hours apart), attended my wife’s book party in New York, and have generally reentered our lives. As have Lew and Katherine, the friends who connected us with my old housemate. A few months ago, they moved up from New Jersey to two towns away from us in Massachusetts; we hadn’t seen them since a falling-out somewhere around 1989. Now, we’ve seen them several times. In fact, we’re seeing them tomorrow.

    Oddly enough, when I’ve searched for old friends, I haven’t had much luck finding them. But quite a few have found me.

    I’ve forged or deepened many connections via e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, and other communities with people I hadn’t known before–but those reconnections from 20 or 30 years in the past are particularly special.

    (A slightly different version of this article was published on Technorati under the title Technology Helps Me Cross Time Tunnels to the Distant Past.)

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    Inspired by a Tweet from Susan Harrow, I’ve decided to post my Twitter policy every once in a while.

    Some of this may sound harsh. Please keep in mind that as a somewhat public figure, I am absolutely bombarded with messages not only on Twitter but through many other channels. I have to cope with about 300 emails on a typical day, plus a three-inch stack of postal mail, plus the 1454 people I’m following on Twitter. 2390 are following me, and I recognize the disparity—but I also do have a business to run, a family to be with, and a physical need to be off the computer for half an hour or so after I’ve been on for about an hour.

    I did seven Tweets outlining my policy, and I think they’re worth repeating here (slightly modified with the benefit of “but I MEANT to say” hindsight and spelling out the contractions/not needing to cram it into 140 characters):

    1. I don’t follow you just because you follow me (on Facebook and LInkedIn, BTW, I pretty much do). I check out a few each profiles from new followers day (somewhat randomly, but if your follow notice includes a keyword I pay attention to—see #5, below—it ups the odds substantially). If your feeds interest me, I follow. I don’t unfollow you for not following back, since I followed you in the first place because I found your profile interesting and not because I expected reciprocity. And I don’t track whether or not you unfollowed me; it doesn’t matter in the way I sue Twitter unless you’re someone I have an actual friendship with.

    2. You can drastically increase odds that I follow back by sending me an @ (NOT a spam), naming me in #followfriday, or Retweeting me; this will get me to look at your profile .

    3. Having watched with horror as spammers killed e-mail, I zealously protect Twitter as useful tool. Spam me and I make it public/block/report. (I will tolerate a clueless auto-DM when I follow, unless it links to something scummy. If your auto DM or an @ message sends me to a game-the-twitter-system-get-more-followers site, porn, dating or gambling site, I’m gone. If you did it as other than an auto-DM on follow, I report and block you too.

    4. The first time your account gets hijacked and you involuntarily spam me with “join my mafia family,” I cut you slack and tell you I’m not interested. If it happens again, I assume you’re not smart enough to change your password and that spammers will bother me through you. At that point, I block you.

    5. I tend to follow: Green/eco/ethical, soft-sell marketers, book publishers and authors, social media people, folks into progressive social change, quoters, people who post interesting links, people who tweet leads from reporters looking for sources. If you fall into one of these categories and you @ me telling me so, I’ll certainly click on over for a look.

    6. I always like to say that I became a writer because I’m interested in almost everything, but don’t forget the almost part. If you have a great profile about stuff that I’m simply not interseted in, now matter how good it is, I won’t follow. A few subjects I find uninteresting: online gaming, hard-sell interruption marketing, get-rich-quick stuff, football, super-techie computer coding…and schemes to get more followers you haven’t earned.

    7. I tend to follow people who offer a mix of glimpses into their personal lives, interesting tidbids they find online, dialogue with the community, and no more than 20% blatant promotion. And I try to keep my own Tweets in this pattern. I try to be helpful, friendly, useful in my Tweets. Follow me because you like my posts, not to game the system with one more well-connected follower.

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    If you don’t count my toddler rebellion against smoking at about age three, I’ve been an environmental activist for 37 years. And yet the Green Work conference tomorrow in New Haven is only the second actual environmental conference I can remember speaking at (I did speak at a couple of anti-nuclear events in the 1970s, but the emphasis there was on protest, not learning).

    Anyway, I’ll be speaking at 3 pm on marketing your environmental commitment, and exhibiting both at Green Work on Friday and at the folk festival/Green Expo on Saturday. Say hi if you’re in the neighborhood.

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    Who knew? The tomato blight that’s been ravaging organic farms and gardens in my area of Western Massachusetts has been traced to starter plants apparently grown originally at one location in the South, and shipped to some of the big-box suppliers like Wal-Mart.

    I know at least three local farms growing tomatoes in commercial quantities that have no crop this year. Thousands of infected plants had to be destroyed. At least one of those started their own plants from seed, and yet was done in by blight spreading from infected plants grown far away form the local ecosystem. And of course, organic farms can’t, by definition, use chemical fungicides.

    Just tearing out our half-dozen rotten, smelly, toxic plants and doing our best to dispose of them properly was a job and a half. I can’t imagine dealing with a whole field’s worth.

    In 2007 and 2008, we averaged about 1600 tomatoes, with a taste that simply cannot be equaled with commercial methods. This year, we managed to harvest *one* San Marzano before the blight set in. We still have a few from the hundreds that I dried last year, but not having fresh tomatoes is a huge disappointment. Still, I count my blessings. Compared to those who farm for a living and/or supply CSA members, we had a lot less to lose. Farms are faces losses of thousands and thousands of dollars.

    The sad thing is, the farms hardest hit are those with a commitment to local, sustainable agriculture–tainted by other companies’ reliance on non-local, centralized systems that allowed this nasty disease to blanket the Northeast all the way out to Ohio.

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    This is something I’ve been struggling with pretty much since I joined Twitter over a year ago: how do you let people know you appreciate what they’ve done without filling up your Twitter stream with posts that are of low value to other readers?

    Yes, if they’re following you, you can send a DM (Direct Message). But if they’re not, you have no choice but to post in the public stream. Because I don’t want my page to be dominated by what-should-be-private thank-yous (I hate it when I visit someone else’s page and see 70% of the Tweets are thank-yous, and I don’t choose to follow those people), and because when I’m thanking for retweets (reposting something I’ve posted, so their own network sees it) or Follow Fridays (nominations of cool people to follow) it’s generally a mixture of followers and non-followers, I’ve tended to send a group thank-you to everyone at once (which is very easy to do on TweetDeck). I don’t always know who is in each category, and it’s certainly frustrating to try to DM someone only to discover they aren’t following you.

    I don’t send a thank-you for following me, because I don’t see auto-DMs as adding value very much of the time, and with over 2000 followers, it’s not practical to send real individual notes. But I do like to say thanks when someone retweets or nominates me as a cool person to follow. And yet, if my stream were filled with personal thank-yous to those not following me, the stream would become boring and people would stop nominating me.

    Today, I logged on to find that someone had criticized my group thank-you practice, in both an @ reply (public) and a DM (private). He didn’t feel the group thank-you was sufficiently personal. And he’s right–I’ve never felt the solution was ideal.

    So I wonder…what IS the ideal way to handle this? How do YOU balance the need to be personal with the need to deliver high value in a Twitter profile? I’m eager to hear your comment either below or on Twitter @ShelHorowitz .

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    One of the fun things about social media marketing is that you rub shoulders with other social media marketers, and there a bunch of smart folks with lots of good ideas. I’m always in learning mode, and a lot of my consulting practices synthesizes a gazillion bits I’ve picked up from a book, blog, teleseminar, lecture, or even a Tweet.

    During my rather frequent travels, I’ve often put in one or two blog posts, but usually from some Internet cafe or library on the road. Watching Chris Brogan continue to keep his blog active during vacation with a bunch of preloaded posts, I decided to do that as well. After all, why spend my travel time looking for WiFi? Chris is posting pretty much daily. I’m not as ambitious as he is–but this is one of three posts that will appear over the next ten days while I’m off on the West Coast.

    Hopefully it’ll work. The last time I preloaded a post, which was not for a vacation but to coincide with a blogosphere event, I had to go in manually and publish it.

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