CHAPTER 19:

THE LIFE CYCLE OF A SMALL BUSINESS

A small business goes through growth stages similar to those of a child. Each stage has its unique joys and challenges. Parenting demands that you adapt to the wildly fluctuating needs of the child — there are times you have to do absolutely everything for the child and completely control his environment, and there are times when you have to let go of the control and let the child function on his own. Most of us are best at one stage or another; those of us who are great at caring for a baby, for instance, probably have a harder time allowing their child to spread his wings and take risks when he's older. These parents will also be the business owners who will have a difficult time learning to delegate responsibility and let go of control when their business reaches the stage of development that requires it. On the other hand, those who are good at relinquishing control will be especially challenged by the stages when their businesses require their absolute attention to even the smallest of details. So no matter what type of parent/small business owner you are, you will find some periods of growth difficult and some rewarding.

A travel image by Stormi Greener.

GESTATION

Gestation is an exciting time. You're picking out names and furniture, making grand plans and you're full of hope for the future — whether you're expecting a baby or starting a small business.

There's also trepidation: What if something goes wrong? What if this is the wrong time? What if you can't handle the responsibilities, the changes this new addition will bring? What if you fail? What if your dreams are dashed? You really do want to do this, or do you?

You have to make a conscious effort not to let your doubts get you down. I once asked a pastor if he ever had doubts about God. He said that doubts are to belief as ants are to a picnic — you can't have one without the other. You just need to keep the ants off your food.

In spite of ants, gestation is one of my favorite stages of business. I like it so much I go through mini gestation drills when I need to recharge my batteries. I create an entire new studio (on paper, not in the real world): I pick a name, a market, a location, a corporate image, promotional material and a marketing plan, products, fee structures and price lists, type of business entity and so on. Some of these little drills result in marketable concepts, and I file them away for future reference. Some of them are just plain clunkers. But it allows me to flex my business and creative muscles, keeps me thinking on my feet and lets me spend a little time in that wonderful gestation reverie.

INFANCY

When I was expecting my daughter I made some grand plans for all the things I'd get done while I was at home with baby. I was going to get twenty years worth of snapshots labeled and into albums, clean and organize all my kitchen cupboards and closets, write a book, and catch up on my reading. I mentioned this to a client, a mother of four, and she laughed so hard she nearly wet herself.

“Darlin',” she told me, “You won't be able to do anything except take care of your baby. Even Wonder Woman wouldn't be able to do all that.”

I smiled politely and nodded, while I secretly tagged her as a wimp.

As it happens, she was right. All I did for the first three months after my daughter was born was feed her, sleep when she slept, change diapers, bathe her and accept hot dishes from charitable neighbors, friends and family. I guess that's not all I did — I actually got to watch reruns of Gunsmoke once in a while when I was feeding her.

A portrait of Garrison Keillor by Stormi Greener.

The drill is the same for a newborn business. It will consume all your time and energy. If you don't like hard work, don't start your own photography studio because during this phase, you'll be doing almost nothing but working.

“There's a reason why employees account for 90 percent of the population,” says CPA Jim Orenstein. “That's not bad, it's just how it is. Not everybody has the drive or is willing to live with the risks of starting their own business. Some people like to leave their work at 5 p.m., go home and not think about it again until 8 a.m. the next day.”

In the infancy of my first studio, I often worked sixty- to seventy-hour weeks. I hadn't yet learned the value of delegating or the way to go about it. My business fluctuated seasonally, so I knew I couldn't commit to permanent employees, but many of the functions I needed to free myself of were simply not those that could be considered for independent contractors. I ultimately suffered from burnout, and with my 20/20 hindsight, I realize that if I'd gotten things into balance earlier and worked smarter, not harder, I could have been more profitable earlier. And yet, when I look back at that time of my life/business, I look back with fondness — nostalgia, even. Possibly I'm experiencing selective amnesia, and I've simply blocked out the agony. But it was a happy, exciting time for me,. Not that I would choose to go back and relive it exactly the same way.

POSTINFANCY

Toddlers are dangerous to themselves and others. Their foreheads are exactly the same height as the edges of tabletops, and they never look where they're going. They fear monsters under the bed, but not a 20-foot drop from a window. Biting and hitting are parts of a normal developmental stage. It's amazing to me that any of us survive into adulthood at all, let alone without facial scars.

The toddler stage of business is equally fraught with dangers. This is when we entrepreneurs have enough mobility and can get enough momentum going to plow our heads smack into that table edge.

When I was a business toddler I had enough capital and enough knowledge to feel a little cocky and make some very costly mistakes.

I'd had good responses to several direct mailings. I'd been conservative and mailed to only 2,500 highly targeted families. I'd used 4″ × 6″ (10cm × 15 cm) postcards sent at the bulk rate and meticulously followed tried-and-true marketing wisdom, including a special offer, call to action and timely expiration date.

In good old American fashion, I figured if some was good, more was better. I created a new, 6″ × 9″ (15cm × 23cm) postcard. I broadened my target and mailed the postcard to ten thousand families, even though most didn't fall into my prime demographic. I neglected to include a special offer, call to action or expiration date. If all that wasn't enough, I also got really lazy, and rather than go to the trouble of the presorting and bundling necessary to mail at the bulk rate, I went first class. Can you see where this is going? The previous mailings had cost about $1,500 each total and had resulted in about $9,000 of additional business. The 6″ × 9″ (15cm × 23cm) postcard mailing cost $4,200 all told, and resulted in three — yes, three — inquiries. I don't remember if any of those callers actually booked. It was a disastrous result. According to direct-mail expert Rick Byron, even the worst mailing piece sent out to households randomly selected from the phone book should result in a .05 percent return. So I'd set a new record — but not the one I was hoping for.

That was the dangerous-to-myself part. The dangerous to others part involved the entrepreneurial equivalent of biting and hitting. At a certain point, after I'd had steady growth for a while and felt confident that it was going to continue, I decided that if I didn't like a client, I didn't have to give her good customer service. In some cases I even decided I didn't have to work with people I didn't like. Fortunately, just as with real toddlers, this stage didn't last long, and I quickly came to realize that everybody deserved great customer service and that I really could get along with, and even like, anyone if I wanted to. It's interesting to note that many small businesses fail in their second year — when they're two. Toddlers are reputed to be most difficult at the same age, hence the phrase “the terrible twos.” Coincidence? I don't think so.

THAT AWKWARD STAGE

I love to photograph preteens — ages nine through twelve are especially delightful. The kids are all elbows and knees, their faces haven't grown into their teeth, and they're not sure whether they want to be treated as grown-ups or little children. Their mothers describe them alternately as Jekyll and Hydes, disdaining their parents and craving their affection. They're as likely to bring their favorite teddy bear to a shoot as to polish their nails, beg their mothers to let them wear makeup and try out some rock star poses in front of the camera. They're alternately insecure and full of themselves.

Businesses go through a similar phase. Sometimes you feel like the new “it” girl — you're the wunderkind, the precocious youngster who broke away from the pack to bring your new product and your new voice to your market. Lots of people know who you are and some of them tell you they love your work. Others see your book, they're impressed, and they say, “Gee, why haven't I heard of you before?” You're confident.

Sometimes, though, you realize there's a lot you don't know. You lose out on a job and you wonder if the potential client saw through you, if he figured out that you're really an impostor, that sometimes you're out of your depth technically and you're making it up as you go along.

“Prom” for the Minneapolis Children's Theater by Rob Levine.

Everyone goes through this — you're not alone. It's the preteen version of the gestation parable of the ants at the picnic. Keep them off your food and you'll be okay.

YOUNG ADULTHOOD

Now you're not having the mood swings, doubts and insecurities you experienced in earlier developmental stages. Your business is stable, but you're still excited and engaged. Each job is a challenge. You realize you don't know everything, but you also realize you can learn whatever you need to know to meet the demands of each new job. You're still experimenting with new products; nobody has to remind you to change out images to freshen up your book; you look forward to visiting with your old, loyal clients and marketing to new ones. Your business is still growing, although not at the rate it once was. Still, there's enough growth that you feel strong, and life is good.

“Best Friends” by Vik Orenstein.

MIDDLE AGE

Yawn. You're coasting. Everything any job requires of you you've done successfully many times before. Your growth topped out some time ago, so while you're making a good living, you're not increasing your income level each year like you were before. You can't remember the last time you put new shots in your book — you can't remember the last time you showed your book. You're content to work with the clients you long ago established relationships with. Long ago you forgot that happy feeling you got when people asked you what you did for a living and you got to say, “I'm a photographer!”

You're still at the picnic, but there are no ants, and you can't believe you miss them but you do. This is the time you need to create new challenges for yourself. You need to bring back the risk that you might fail at something. That's what keeps life interesting. Develop a new product. Mine a new market base. Explore new areas of specialty.

THE GOLDEN YEARS

Now you're winding down. Unlike other types of businesses, yours probably isn't salable. So your exit from the business you've worked in for so long might not involve that big, final deal that results in more feathers for your retirement nest. It'll be more a matter of riding out the end of your lease and selling off your equipment, props and backdrops. Ideally you'll have planned for this likelihood and you'll have saved enough money to keep yourself comfortable.

This might feel like an anticlimactic ending. When you're self-employed, there's no one standing at the end of the road holding out a gold watch or serving cake and punch. You might want to plan your own retirement party, some way to mark this milestone for you, your family, your clients and vendors. Or perhaps you want to celebrate a business life well lived by taking a special vacation.

There you have it — cradle to grave. If you're lucky and you work hard, your life as a photographer will probably look something like this. If this picture looks good to you, you're in the right place.

A portrait by Chris Darbonne.