Category — Building a Brand

As an entrepreneur, how do you measure success? Is it measured by the amount of money you’re able to generate? Is it the ability to duplicate your idea or get the greatest acclaim? Can it be your staying power in the marketplace or your brand building? I believe there are as many different ways of measurement as there are entrepreneurs, and success is an individual determination. 

For me, having dabbled in the game of self-generated income, I am reconsidering my idea of success, as my current situation is causing me to feel some conflict. Although I have had the ability to be self-supportive from revenues garnered from my gifts and talents through the years, I have not been able to sustain nor excel to the point of what others may think is success for too long. 

Many ideas, time and effort have come and gone. My interest was piqued for while, but eventually waned and I moved on to something else. Nevertheless the time I’d spent and the pleasure derived from my performance of the activity was thought of by me as positive measures of my success. 

When I published my first book after waiting 18 years for the pleasure, the congratulations and love shown me by my family, friends and business associates made me feel on top of the world. Before I sold one copy, I felt like a success. I had accomplished a great part of my mission. But the work to sell the book is ongoing and difficult, and sells have slowed. Do I measure my success, not in selling books, but in having a book to sell? 

The conflict I am having is in trying to gather the same level of enthusiasm and excitement into marketing my product as I had in getting it made. I am in a new arena and a new game in which the measure of success is different. I am wondering if making money is the most concrete, important evidence of a successful entrepreneur. 

Some of the elements of entrepreneurship I’ve decided to consider are: how willing am I to risk being a failure? Am I learning things of importance as I go? How much more do I know about business or life? How much personal growth can I claim? Have my values changed, or do I view my products or customers or my responsibility to my customers in a different light? Is my attitude or my level of patience or consistency to my expression of quality the same? Do I feel that I am doing and being the best that I can be at what I do? 

For me and others struggling with our definition of success or feeling disappointed in not being what and where we think we should be, perhaps we should consider using another yardstick of measurement. I’d like to read any comments on the subject you care to share.

I wish I had the ability to express the wave of powerful emotions that washed over me and brought scalding tears to my eyes when I thought about writing this article. My mind flashed on my grandmother wearing her long white apron in Louisiana who was born in 1865, the year the slaves were “freed.” I saw the fields of cotton my fiance took me to see in 2003 in California because I had never seen similar places down south where my people had labored during slavery. 

In my mind’s eye I saw pictures of my sisters and brothers being attacked with water hoses, dogs, Billy clubs and savagery. Then like fast forward, my mind brought me back to sitting in my bed and a blank sheet of paper, but the pain lingered. 

I am a person who does not like black rhetoric, in fact I hate it; particularly when we linger and wallow in our ex-slave misery, using it as an excuse not to perform on the level we are capable of; we meaning black folks. But then I remember those who were left behind when the flight to white neighborhoods and a “better life” took away our teachers, doctors, business people, ministers, and others of higher status and education after civil rights were mandated. 

I don’t blame them. When my ex-husband and I bought our first home in 1976, it was in a new development with only one other black family. So I can relate to the desire to live the “American dream,” but what about all those who couldn’t leave and were left behind? What about all those who had menial jobs, but were decent, God-fearing folks who marched, and were beaten and spat on, but were left behind? 

Those are whose shoulders and graves so many of us stand on today, and the generations they spawned are the people we now call the black Underclass. They are that group of low-income, barely educated, unsophisticated, crude people that many of us now avert our eyes from rather than notice or acknowledge. The ones many of us are employed to serve because we are teachers, social workers, government employees, preachers, doctors, lawyers, police officers, prison staff, counselors, etc. etc. They are also the ones we can’t stand as fellow human beings. We denigrate them to cases and files, numbers without faces or souls, but characters who are certainly not like us. 

To us they are welfare mothers, drug-addicted or incarcerated or absent fathers, low-lifers, irresponsible, criminal, stupid, crazy, less-than-human wastes of time. And we wonder where they came from, or call them “refugees” as they were labeled in New Orleans after Katrina. We can take their children because they are poor and give them to others without a look back or a thought about their feelings. We can make them wait for hours while we take breaks or talk on the phone, thinking they have nothing else to do, and they need us to give them food, clothing and shelter. 

But they are none of these things, and without them we wouldn’t have jobs, or be able to live in our comfort zones. But primarily, we should consider that they are the products of the same stock of people from which we all have come. They are the descendants of the bridges over which many of us have crossed, and they only want what we all want…to be loved and understood. But primarily, we should consider that they are simply the offspring of the people who were left behind.

From September, 1988 to May, 1991, I was involved in a civil child abuse case. I was never arrested, nor were my children proven to be other than “endangered” by me because I believed in spanking, but they were placed in shelter for the majority of that time nonetheless. I present the full details in my book, By Hope Alone: The Making of a Parent; The story of a mother’s journey through life, love and a child-abuse case, so I won’t relate it too closely here. The purpose of this writing is to give you some idea of the changes my life has taken since that experience.

When I wrote the book, I was trying to figure out how I had gotten to that place…a child-abuse case. I grew up in a loving home, with both parents who were married nearly 50 years. My father was never abusive, verbally or physically to my mother, me or my siblings. There was no drug or alcohol use or abuse, and I was well taken care of.

We went to church every Sunday. I attended private school until high school. And although we were poor, I never realized our poverty until I look back now. I had loving grandparents, aunts, cousins, friends and neighbors for the most part. But what happened? Where did my life take the wrong road that led to a child-abuse case?

We read in the scriptures of the Bible the parable about the foundation on which we build our house; whether it is sand or rock. Without a firm foundation the house will not stand in a storm. The fairytale of the three little pigs is about change, adaptation and triumph. One pig had a house of sticks and one straw, which the wolf was able to blow down. But when they all escaped to the brother’s brick house, the wolf’s hot air had no effect.

Those two stories illustrate my premise for this writing. To my dismay, as I sat down to write my book, I discovered how my life had been built on a foundation of sand in a house of straw. The life my parents gave me, with all its protection and secrets failed to provide me with the tools I needed to survive in the “real” world…the world I was destined to enter and brave after they encouraged me to marry someone not for love but for security’s sake.

The marriage I was too young and totally unprepared for turned out to be unlike my parents’ idyllic portrayal of wedded bliss. Mine set in motion changes which affect me until today; changes which led me completely astray from what once was my innocence. I went from being my parents’ child, to starting out as a dutiful wife, but a tremendous heartbreak of infidelity by my husband led me to a near breakdown of my moral code which ended in another dysfunctional relationship, two additional children and a child-abuse case.

Sitting in the courtroom during the “trial,” I cried out and the desperation in my heart was heard. A voice whispered, “Pay attention,” and from that response to my prayer, everything was transformed. I made a conscious decision to change, to build my life on a firm foundation out of the bricks of self control, introspection and most of all the love I needed to restore my family and become someone I am proud to be now. Change can happen. I’m a living witness and an avid advocate for it.

http://www.createspace.com/3428567

I believe our experiences happen because they should; it’s just a matter of timing. Individual experiences are not just about individuals, but are part of a larger design. When we share what we learn, we help to make another’s journey easier and less complicated.

As I come to understand more and more that there is “nothing new under the sun,” just simply repetition of what has already been done or a continuation of what others have started. So in effect, our experiences are events just waiting for their time to be manifested and shared.

It is with that thought in mind that I am choosing to publish my autobiography, By Hope Alone: The Making of a Parent; The story of a mother’s journey through life, love and a child-abuse case.

On September 16, 1988, I got a call from my kids’ principal that my two sons, ages 8 and 9, had been put “under police protective custody and placed in shelter.” In May, 1991, I was able to restore custody, but the activity during and after have changed my life forever.

I hope that by publishing this book, it will motivate parents to rethink their approach to parenting; call attention to the need for families to receive help before the removal of kids; stress that foster care should be made safer and more child-friendly; and add value to the call for review and scrutiny of methods used by Child Protective Services (CPS).

Laying me bare before the world is a duty I would have preferred not to have, but I believe the time is right to share my story. Families are suffering and children are still being hurt, some even dying. I believe my experience was not just for me. I have only been blessed with the ability to write about it, and given the strength to share it. The time has come when my life can be defined by more than my past pain, but by the hope which has replaced it.

http://www.createspace.com/3428567

For the last three years, I have been doing online social networking. To date I belong to over 250 different networks and groups. I also have three groups of my own: iAmerica, The Seniors of Society and the Cultural Arts Network.

Getting on the internet was a somewhat frightening idea for a 60-plus year old great-grandmother, but my late son, Tracy, would tell me almost daily, “Mama, you can do it.” If it had not been for me losing him too soon, and his encouraging me before he died, I doubt I would have ventured forth. But now that I have, I find great joy, fulfillment and a greater sense of worth for my efforts.

In the beginning, having little more than knowledge of word processing, I was limited in knowing the terms being used or how much of an education internet social networking would require or give me back. I knew how to ask questions and articulate my needs from my pre-retirement days as a secretary and administrative assistant. Soon I was blessed with knowledgeable people placed in my path who have helped me along each step of the way.

I have learned how to upload pictures, download information, and send comments and videos. I was soon adding friends, chatting back and forth, sharing stories and engaging in discussions. Now I am a blogger who is also learning the art of “tweeting.”

Through my friends from around the world, I have seen art, pictures and places of interest, heard and enjoyed music of every kind, and learned about many cultures, personal triumphs and tragedies.

Merging the medium of social networking with the magic of computer technology has given me international exposure of my business venture, The Oodles Company. The launch of my children’s book, The First Trip, and rag doll character, Bubba Oodle, garnered many congratulations and is bringing in online sales. It seems that Tracy was right…Mama is doing it!

On January 30, I turned 67. Being 67 gives me a privileged opportunity to look back over a span of many years to see how far, not only have I come, but also how far my fellow human beings have evolved on this earth that we share. 

Behind me are 6 decades, 3 generations, and half a century of changes, tragedies and wonders. And I’ve viewed them all from the perspective of a woman, an American and a black person. Those three are not my only characteristics, but being a black woman in America has always played a particularly affective role in my life. 

In America, the U. S., being black has often over shadowed the other aspects. Try though I might to circumvent my ethnicity and focus on the job or task at hand, I have always been made aware or needed to consider my ethnicity. Having to declare it has become particularly much more worrisome than in past years when it was viewed as either a duty or necessity. But I am wondering what the beneficial reason is for it now? 

We are all in a financial crisis in the world; everyone is feeling the pinch. So what does my color have to do with anything? To me, knowing how hard I’m struggling is a matter of status, and members of the haves or have nots include folks from all ethnic groups. 

At this point, will I receive any extra benefit because I am black, female or American? What will my sex, ethnicity or citizenship provide that the status of human being cannot?

 www.paristompkins.com

www.thefirsttrip.com

When you write your autobiography, one of the most important decisions you make is about what to share. Some experiences, though shared, cannot give in-depth scrutiny, because it would cause the book to go on. So we find other ways to express those impressions, and writing blogs is one of them.

As the book, By Hope Alone: The Making of a Parent; A mother’s journey through life, love and a child-abuse case,  is at the printer’s, I am taking time to reflect, and attempt to expound on lessons I learned which I touched on in the book. One is dealing with breakdowns in relationships.

My earliest relationship outside my family was my little neighbor who lived across the street. From the age of 5 or 6 we were inseparable. We called each other “P” and “J.” She lived in a big white house with her parents and her older brother we called “BoBo,” after whom I named one of the characters in my children’s book, The First Trip.

“J” was bigger than me, and darker, with a pretty round face. We spent most of our time contemplating ways to add excitement to our lives. We often caused the neighbor’s geese to chase us, and once canned scraps from our meals into glass jars, then hid them under the house, to later discover they had turned into jars of maggots.

Even as little girls, our personalities were often in conflict. J was quieter and more directed. I was impulsive and curious. Because I spent most of my time being parented by my father, my view of the world was skewed by his male viewpoint; to the consternation of my mother.

One day, J did something to make me upset and I ordered her out of my house. My mother gave me a whupping for my actions. I was dismayed, but never forgot it. One lesson I learned from that experience was that mothers are sometime wrong, as it may be necessary to dissolve a relationship to find relief, and another was that in every relationship there comes a breakdown. We just have to be prepared for the consequences and the pain.

I have just given the final okay to publish my autobiography, By Hope Alone: The Making of a Parent, and the culmination of my labor gave me cause to reflect on the great changes which have occurred between my youth and now. Before my father died in 1983, when I was 40; he had told me quite often from my early adulthood , “You’ve finished school, now all you need is direction.” I  am almost 67 now, but I am still seeking direction. 

The difference is that now I decide what I want to do, when I want to go, and where I want to end up. The only direction I currently need is what further steps I must take to get me there. But that doesn’t worry me, because that phase of direction is of my own choosing, and not out of rebellion against my father’s authority. 

I have gotten my education, perhaps not as much of it as I wanted. I wanted to become a doctor of psychology when I graduated from high school, but listening to my father, I went to secretarial school instead to learn shorthand and typing. I did return to school at the age of 60 and received an A.A. in psychology and sociology, but when my eyesight failed due to cataracts, I lost my enthusiasm. Nevertheless, I have reinvented myself into an author of children’s books and am organizing a not-for-profit organization, called the Restore Childhood Project, to give support to resources which provide services to children and their families. 

I was always able to get a job, as Daddy promised, but I remained somewhat frustrated even until today because I didn’t follow my own mind and direction. That was the problem back then, in the 60s, and I’m sure there are a lot of baby boomers now, those folks who are in their early to middle 60s and looking to or who have already retired, who can relate; especially women.

For most of us, including me, the primary objective was to find a man with a job, get married, have children and settle down. That was our lot…to settle. But for me, settling was not a very easy way to live. I was never quite comfortable in the role my father’s direction led me. After a tumultuous marriage and 4 children, I jumped ship and became someone no one I knew quite recognized…a free spirit, but one whose lifestyle led to suffering many negative consequences, including the involvement in a child abuse case, which is the subject of my aforementioned book.

But now, as a woman, I find myself  in a whole new world. One in which we women have options and freedom to choose our own paths. And it is good!! I have a few regrets, but I am grateful to have overcome my mistakes, and lived long enough to see what a difference 40 years has made to allow us to not only make changes in direction, but to make positive ones.

My brother, who has been involved in the music industry for many years, has been bugging me about the necessity to create a “buzz” about my newly published children’s book, The First Trip, and its accompanying rag doll, Bubba Oodle. But being little sister, of course, and stubborn, I envisioned things going a certain way when I began my journey with this endeavor over 18 years ago. And I’ve doggedly stayed the course of my intentions.

My partner and I, both novices in PR and creating a “buzz,” were following the logic that all we needed to do was put information and pictures on the web and the world would flock to our door…NOT!! We have found that there is more to this “buzz” game than we thought.

Even with my spending nearly every waking hour for the last three years at the keyboard, joining countless groups (well over 250), making thousands of network friends, taking, cropping and uploading dozens of pictures and videos, sending innumerable comments, and literally trying to be everywhere on the web at the same time, our efforts have created a limited “buzz”, while we still await the onslaught of orders on our website, www.thefirsttrip.

Our faith in our product has not waned one iota. We still believe we have the greatest toy and gift idea since the Cabbage Patch doll, but we have learned that when it comes to creating a “buzz” the challenge is more daunting than we expected. So we must rethink and redirect our thoughts and energies to new ideas, and the skill and knowledge of others in order to created the “buzz” we need to obtain the breakthrough I feel is coming.

When that happens, I will give my brother all the credit for his wisdom and insight.

I am proud to announce that my first book for children 4 – 10, “The First Trip” is now available! The story is one of Bubba Oodle, the News Reporter for the Oodleville News, and his arrival in “The Land Beyond” (our Earth) from the world’s first all-black imaginary land of “Oodleville.” There is also an introduction of the other “Oodles” and tales of their adventures.

In coming stories, Bubba will be exploring and making friends in our world to share with the Oodles in “Oodleville,” and sharing the Oodles’ stories with us. Eventually, all of the Oodles will come to visit, meet interesting people, and have their own storyline books and character dolls.

The links below will give more information. A portion of the revenue from the sale of dolls and books will be dedicated to supporting my Restore Childhood Project (RCP). The RCP’s mission is to promote the maintenance and/or restoration of play for boys and girls. Play is very important for the learning experience, but primarily for the simple joy of being a child.

To introduce yourself to Bubba and the other Oodles: http://www.thefirsttrip.com

God bless, Paris