Several weeks ago, I put together a seat-of-my-pants promotion called One Finger Discount. Over the course of a week, I facilitated the listing of software being offered at a 20% discount for a limited time. I did this because I was inspired to leverage the enthusiasm for software generated by MacHeist into something that might also benefit many other developers.

The response was so overwhelming, that a day into the promotion I realized I would not be getting much work done. I spent most of the following week keeping up with new additions to the promotion, and trying to update the web site to be more useful and attractive. I worked my butt off and didn’t take a penny from any of the participating developers. It just felt great to be doing something and getting the word out about smaller software shops.

When the promotion was over, I got a few really heartwarming notes of thanks from various developers who had taken part. I also ended up selling quite a bit more software last month than I do in ordinary months. Word from developers was that they had likewise seen significantly improved sales. We all win!

Today, with memories of One Finger Discount fading, I was busy coding away on MarsEdit, when my wife knocks on the door with an important looking envelope. Air mail from Canada? Hmm, what could it be? I recognized the name on the envelope as Dan Messing of Stunt Software, a friend of mine and fellow indie developer. Inside, I found two cards:

A thank you card? But what had I done for Dan lately? Even the tell-tale white hearts on pink didn’t clue me in that it was One Finger Discount related. It wasn’t until I opened the Thank You card, and noticed that it was in fact a 10 page booklet containing dozens and dozens of personal thank you messages from a large number of One Finger participants:

Holy cow! How touching that Dan (with help from my podcasting cohort Manton Reece, and my wife) managed to collect so many notes of thanks from so many participants. This was truly an accomplishment, and a greatly appreciated one. Thank you Dan, Manton, and Chrissa for your parts in organizing this. This alone is quite a payback for the hours I spent laboring to make One Finger Discount the success it turned out to be.

And the other card in that envelope? Each developer who had graciously agreed to send a personal note of thanks had also chipped in some cash and sent me the largest Amazon gift card I have ever seen! If you ever wondered whether $700 was enough gift to convey your heartfelt thanks, the answer is yes, yes, yes! Thank you so much to each and every developer who took part in this thrilling and inspiring gesture.

It’s great to be reminded that there are so many generous and thoughtful people in the world, and in our community. Sometimes you may feel that your deeds are going unthanked or unnoticed, but the old cliché that “what you give comes back to you” is true on many levels, and it may surprise you the ways it finds of doing so.

Thanks again, everybody!

I don’t use Twitter as an official support avenue. It’s simply not possible to conduct effective support when limited to 140 characters per transaction. But it’s great for staying casually in touch with existing and potential customers. To try to stay as connected as possible, I monitor Twitter for mentions of my company name and products, as well as specific mentions of the company twitter account, the anthropomorphized MarsEdit account, and my personal account.

Starting today and running through the New Year, I’ll be giving away free Red Sweater products to a different Twitter user every day, from among those who mention them by name. This will be a fun way to recognize folks who are helping to spread the word about Red Sweater products, by casually mentioning them in their tweets.

OK, So How Do I Get My Wish Granted?

First of all, I’d like to be clear there is no guarantee that your tweet will be selected. But I’m on a mission to give away something every day, and to decide who I give it to, I’ll be reviewing the list of tweets that match our broad list of search terms. Basically, if you mention MarsEdit, Black Ink, FlexTime, FastScripts, or Clarion by name, or if you mention the @marsedit or @redsweater Twitter accounts, and you make it clear that you wish you had one of our products, then I might select you.

You don’t have to tweet repeatedly or daily. Any tweet starting today may be chosen as a winner up and through the New Year. You don’t even have to wish specifically for one of our products, but if you do it might make it easier for me to grant the wish!

If you’re curious to see who the winners are, you can follow @redsweater on Twitter, where I’ll be announcing and linking to the winner for each day.

Are You Asking Me To Spam My Followers?

I don’t think so, but I admit it’s a grey area. What really annoys me about Twitter-related promotions is when a company asks you to repost verbatim some slick marketing slogan, just for the chance of winning something. Here, I’m not asking you to do anything specific. I’m letting the world know that I’m giving some stuff away, and that in order to find out who wants it, I’m using Twitter as a convenient way of gauging desire for Red Sweater stuff.

In brief: it’s your Twitter account, and you know best how to keep it tasteful and amusing. If you can’t find an interesting way to express your Red Sweater wish, best not to participate!

The Fine Print

I REALLY HOPE THERE ISN’T ANY NEED FOR FINE PRINT BECAUSE I JUST WANT TO GIVE SOME STUFF AWAY AND HAVE NOBODY RAISE A BIG LEGAL FUSS ABOUT IT ARE WE AGREED THIS IS A GOOD IDEA AND THE LAWYERS DON’T NEED TO GET INVOLVED, AM I RIGHT?

What is it about my job that makes it so damned enjoyable? I was discussing this earlier today with a friend and came to the conclusion, perhaps obvious, that it’s fun because running an indie software business feels like playing a game.

I imagine that other small business owners, and larger venture entrepreneurs feel the same way. What a luxury to be immersed in this environment where every decision ultimately rests upon my shoulders. Whether I win or lose depends entirely on how I choose to move the pieces.

Of course this freedom and autonomy comes with a few downsides. In particular, playing the game can be stressful, and the consequences of losing can be dire. The indie software business is a long, sometimes tedious game with no extra lives.

I believe that the best game players are those who acknowledge they might lose, but who really, really, really, really, really, really don’t want to.

By acknowledging a risk of failure, you implicitly acknowledge:

1. You are willing to accept the consequences of losing.
2. The choices you make in playing the game affect the outcome.

This is good. Somebody who is blindly assured of winning is liable to play games that they can’t afford to lose, and to play them with foolish ignorance of the rules. Knowing you can afford to lose liberates your thinking so that you can play the game for the game’s sake. And your strong desire to win encourages you to seek out the wisest moves at all stages of play.

I often hear the opposite mentality celebrated. “Failure is not an option.” “Nobody told me it was impossible, so I did it.” “If you build it, they will come.” These are fantastic rallying cries, but they don’t reflect the true attitudes of a wise game player. They make a romantic postscript to games that were, ultimately, won.

Running your own business isn’t the only way to treat your job as a game. I always found framing the expectations and achievements of work in a game context made the work more fun, even when I was working for other people. Whether that was racing to fix bugs in time for a deadline, or counting the number of envelopes I could stuff in 60 seconds.

But the game has never been as complex or enjoyable as it is now. Running Red Sweater is incredibly challenging. I make decisions every day that could be the foolish move that leads to my failure, or the stroke of genius that guarantees my success.

I know there is a chance of losing, but I really, really, really, really, really, really don’t want to.

Yesterday Favrd, a site that monitored the number of favorite stars a particular Twitter update has received, was suddenly shut down.

Twitter erupted with reaction, much of which was more earnest and emotional than I expected. I had learned about Favrd and used it myself from time to time, but I assumed it was one of those sites that you should feel slightly embarrassed about loading. Or at the very least, you should be ashamed if you were caught trying to get your own tweets to be featured.

But Dean Allen, who created the site, is apparently some massively famous, well-loved internet superstar. I had never heard of him, even though many bloggers whose opinions I respect obviously had. Disorder is good for a system, so I guess it was my healthy function to be ignorant of this man so that I could experience the curious emotion of respecting him not for what he built, but for why he dismantled it.

Mr. Allen’s goodbye message, which now occupies the entire content of the site, was matter-of-fact and sincere, but its declaratory tone gave it a tinge of self-aggrandizement. To learn some of the really interesting rationale behind this fascinating end, you need to visit the comments section of Jeffrey Zeldman’s blog (thanks, Gruber), where Mr. Allen responds to Jeffrey’s criticism of the abrupt shutdown:

“I’ve spent the past year or so reading and writing and doing my level best to chip away at 40 years of belief in the logical fallacy that one’s identity meaning – self-worth, self-image, whatever you want to call it – can accurately be measured in the thoughts of others.”

Many folks use the internet as a valuable tool for research and connectedness, but also as a dubious source for ego-validation. Some of us are more vulnerable than others. How many of the following questions do you care to know the answer to?

• How many people are following me on Twitter
• How many hits on my home page?
• Has any high-profile blogger linked to me recently?
• How many people are @responding to my tweets?
• How many comments on my latest blog post?
• How early does my name show up in a Google search?
• How many people are buying my app/t-shirt/CD/craft?
• Who left positive feedback on eBay/Amazon/iTunes?

If you’re interested in the answers to these questions, it’s probably because you are concerned on some level about whether you matter or not. But more specifically, when it comes to the internet and other people you may reach by way of it, all these questions boil down to whether you have pleased anybody lately.

I relate strongly to this urge, because I find most of my time at the computer ultimately boils down to striving to get another “fix” of pleasure acknowledgment. When I’m working on my apps, I’m hoping the features I add will move somebody to send positive feedback, or to buy the software. When I’m writing on Twitter, it feels great to have people declare their enthusiasm for something I’ve said. And yes, when I’m writing on this blog, it’s ultimately because I hope what I’ve shared will resonate with other people, and some percentage of those readers will share their satisfaction with me.

What can I say? I aim to please. And I think this is a pretty common “problem.” It’s not exactly humanity’s worst defect. The expectation that our help and amusement be acknowledged has probably fueled a lot of important help and amusement. While a few saints work tirelessly and without need of emotional coddling, the rest of us always benefit from a pat on the head and an “atta boy”.

Sites like Favrd, and even Twitter itself, demonstrate how the internet has facilitated an ever-increasing diversity of positive feedback. A witty remark to an appreciative cluster of people at a party was once chalked up as a major win, but nowadays you might find yourself recognizing the wasted potential of that line, and quickly cc’ing it to Twitter. Then what? If 10 people favorite it, you’re a rock star. Until 10 people favoriting you is an everyday occurrence, then it takes 100 to move the meter. When does it end?

While the desire for praise and acknowledgement that we do matter is a healthy instinct that motivates us to do life-affirming things, I believe it can be fed inappropriately. Compare this need with hunger, which can be sated easily at first, but which tends to become harder to satisfy as your meals become larger, richer, and less complex.

It’s become relatively easy to find praise on the internet. A quip on Twitter yields a simple reply of “Hilarious!” from somebody you’ve never met. Not the most illustrious validation you’ve ever received, but it will get you through the hour. If you don’t pay attention to what you’re feeding your ego, it might develop health problems. Adulation by way of Twitter replies, favorite counts, blog comments, etc., are all fast food gratification. They are invaluable when you’re stuck in a lonely place and are desperate for a boost, but if it’s all you consume day in and day out, you’re heading for an epic fall.