Confession time.
Somewhere along the way I started doing the thing I swore I’d never do.
I started behaving. I know I know…
Polishing ideas before sending them. Sitting on the weird ones. Asking myself grown up questions like “is this on strategy?”
Which is the kind of question that turns writers into LinkedIn content machines and content machines into beige paste and I’m not about that life.
If you’ve been here a little while. You know how I usually operate.
You didn’t sign up for beige paste. You signed up because somewhere in your inbox battered soul you wanted one email a day from a man who refuses to sand the edges off.
So I’m going back to my roots.
Just writing and sharing.
They’re all coming again with no filter.
Which brings me to the second thing.
I built a new landing page. And I need you to go look at it and tell me how absolutely horrible it is.
“But Stephen,” you say, “I’m already on the list. Why would I look at a page whose only job is getting me on the list?”
Because, dear meat puppet. Creativity and cult indoctrination is hard work, AND it needs to look pretty. Those are the rules. I don’t make them. (I do make them)
It’s got a clip out coupon like a 1970s mail order ad. It’s got a rubber stamp. It’s got a tick box thingy again.
It is, frankly, the most direct response thing I’ve ever built, and if you’ve ever enjoyed a single email of mine, you owe yourself thirty seconds of looking at it.
Then send it to one person who’d survive in here. Recruitment is how cul—communities grow.
On that note. Going to go binge watch Legends…
Stephen Walker.
P.S. “Going back to my roots” is writer speak for “the next few emails may be genuinely deranged.” Consider this your only warning. The unsubscribe link, as always, lives at the bottom, though leaving right before things get interesting would be a very strange choice.