Kelly McClymer's Blog

Every so often I get a wild hair. For example, when I was growing up, I would get a burning desire to put on a play, utilizing my three younger sisters as players/props. I would write the script (brilliant, of course, though sadly lost to posterity forever through the diligence of my clutter-busting mother). I would give my sisters their lines/roles and coach them through a practice (we were all so talented it usually only took one). Then I would wrangle my parents onto the couch to watch our brilliance play out on the other side of the coffee table. If they had had the influence, I’m sure they would have nominated our performance for Oscars. But, sadly, they had no pull in Hollywood.

Obviously, I continued the pattern by deciding to write — and then actually writing and publishing — novels. But I didn’t limit my wild hairs to plays and novels. Oh no. My mothering was dotted with wild hairs, too.

When one of my sons was having trouble in school, I — to the shock and dismay of his school, arranged to home school him, while still having him attend one or two classes at the school. Worked for us.

When my other son was being suffocated in the cracks that his school reserved especially for kids with dyslexia, I stood up from a parent-teacher meeting (where the teacher was telling me she was too overwhelmed to comply with the IEP directives so carefully crafted by the Special Ed dept, sigh) and politely informed her that she didn’t have to worry about it. The kid wasn’t going to be in her classroom anymore. He was enrolled in a Montessori school about ten seconds later…before I had a clue how I was going to pay for private school (dh *loved* that part).

And then all three of my children grew up and didn’t want/need my wild hairs any longer. And novels no longer felt wild hair enough for me, they were just what I did for a living. For those of you who used to follow my MySpace blog, you know my most recent wild hair was heading off to L.A. for several months to see if I was suited to Hollywood writing…just as the Writer’s Strike began. I came home before it was settled, but I wouldn’t trade the experience for a million dollars…well, yes I would, but nothing less than a million dollars).

So perhaps I’m the only one surprised by my latest wild hair, which has been tickling me hard for a year. I’ve been thinking about starting a business since I was in college. I just didn’t think I had the experience to do it. Now, suddenly I am older, wiser, and crazier, and I realized I’m never going to believe I have enough experience to start this business (my Irish peasant heritage, I suppose). So I’m starting it anyway.

I spent the last several weeks reading E-Myth, listening to Art of the Start, researching other similar businesses, and designing…my product, let’s call it. Not to mention trying to wrangle together a business plan that makes sense (artists are sooooo not left-brained enough for this kind of work…my brain, it is broke), an organizational chart that resembles a Fortune 500 company rather than the microscopic bootstrap beginnings of one. A seed grows to a mighty oak, and apparently we entrepreneurs are supposed to visualize the oak before we plant the seed. Who knew? I’ve joined a mailing list of the Maine Small Business Development, taken an online class on starting a small business, signed up for a seminar with the Women, Work and Community contingent.

Surprisingly, I find the process of growing a business (on paper) much like the process of growing a book (also on paper — in synopsis and index card form). Which makes me very afraid that implementing the business is going to be very much like actually writing the book I envision: full of hard work, frustration, joy, retracing steps off the path, and sometimes re-engineering the path altogether.

Wish me luck.

I don’t want to reveal what the business is…yet. But I’ll give you a hint. Add together novels and movie scripts, add an educational twist and a hint of my trademark crazy. Can’t guess? I’ll tell. Eventually. Succeed or fail. Until then, I’ll keep you apprised of the high points — and the low — with just a few details obscured so the men in white coats don’t come for me too early.

Kelly