{"product_id":"lost-and-founderisbn-9780735213327","title":"Lost and Founder","description":"\u003cb\u003eRand Fishkin, the founder and former CEO of Moz, reveals how traditional Silicon Valley \"wisdom\" leads far too many startups astray, with the transparency and humor that his hundreds of thousands of blog readers have come to love.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone knows how a startup story is supposed to go: A young, brilliant entrepreneur has a cool idea, drops out of college, defies the doubters, overcomes all odds, makes billions, and becomes the envy of the technology world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis is not that story.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt's not that things went badly for Rand Fishkin; they just weren't quite so Zuckerberg-esque. His company, Moz, maker of marketing software, is now a $45 million\/year business, and he's one of the world's leading experts on SEO. But his business and reputation took fifteen years to grow, and his startup began not in a Harvard dorm room but as a mother-and-son family business that fell deeply into debt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow Fishkin pulls back the curtain on tech startup mythology, exposing the ups and downs of startup life that most CEOs would rather keep secret. For instance: A minimally viable product can be destructive if you launch at the wrong moment. Growth hacking may be the buzzword du jour, but initiatives can fizzle quickly. Revenue and growth won't protect you from layoffs. And venture capital always comes with strings attached.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFishkin's hard-won lessons are applicable to any kind of business environment. Up or down the chain of command, at both early stage startups and mature companies, whether your trajectory is riding high or down in the dumps: this book can help solve your problems, and make you feel less alone for having them.\"This is a truly courageous book. It's one part business-building guide and two parts Indiana Jones-style adventure memoir. And if you've ever wondered if the 'timeless wisdom' you often hear about startups is bullsh*t, here's the proof.\" -- Chris Guillebeau, author of SIDE HUSTLE and THE $100 STARTUP\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You won't find a more honest, raw, and helpful look into the trenches of founding a tech startup than this book. Rand Fishkin shares the rare hard-won insight no one else dares tell you.\" -- Nir Eyal, author of HOOKED\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Most books on founders and entrepreneurship sell a Silicon Valley perspective. Yet the inclusive, egalitarian vision of tech that Rand shares is the one that will truly dent the world.\" -- Nilofer Merchant, author of THE POWER OF ONLYNESS\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Rand Fishkin is like the industry friend we all wish we had - funny, warm, and refreshingly honest about the rollercoaster ride that is founding your own company.\" -- Julie Zhou, VP of Product Design at Facebook \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Rand Fishkin is the real deal. This book is an honest, generous and useful look at what actually happens when you build a company, including the downs as well as the ups... I wish I had read it thirty years ago.\" -- Seth Godin, entrepreneur and authorRand Fishkin, aka the Wizard of Moz, is co-founder and former CEO of Moz, host of Whiteboard Friday, co-author of a pair of books on SEO, and co-founder of Inbound.org. This is his first solo book.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Truth Shall Set You Free (from a lot of $#*% storms)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e You've got an interesting business, but we don't believe it will      ever get past a few million dollars in revenue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e -Anonymous Investor I Pitched in 2009\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In 2005, my coworker Matt and I were working in a run-down, shared      office space above a noisy movie theater in Seattle when he walked      in. A hairy, barrel-chested, fortysomething guy with gold chains,      a mean grimace, and a stack of papers in a folder stared down at      me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He asked, \"Are you Rand Fishkin?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was twenty-five years old, disoriented by his arrival,      intimidated by his appearance and tone, and utterly panicked. I'm      usually a terrible liar, so was taken aback by how quickly a      response left my mouth:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sorry, I don't think he's here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We exchanged a few more words, but I remember none of them. My      heart was pounding. I hated lying, but I also had no idea what      might happen if I identified myself. Matt just put on his      headphones and pretended to be engrossed in whatever website he      was working on. When the extra from The Sopranos left, I called      Gillian, president of our three-person firm (who also happens to      be my mom). I told her about the unexpected visitor. She guessed      he was a debt collector, sent by one of the firms to whom a bank      had sold our debt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Oh, right. The debt. The $500,000 we owed, in my name, to finance      our struggling consulting business.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ten minutes after I returned to my apartment (actually,      Geraldine's apartment-I was unable to pay my half of rent with my      sometimes tiny, sometimes nonexistent paychecks, and couldn't pass      a credit check, either), I heard a knock on the door. Assuming it      was Geraldine carrying something she didn't want to put down to      turn the key, I opened up without looking through the peephole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was the debt collector.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Ha! Gotcha,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I was mute.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You're pretty good, kid. I totally bought that act today. . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Scared senseless, I just stared at him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He handed me the folder of papers I'd seen in his hands earlier      and said, \"Rand Fishkin, you've been served.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I couldn't even reach out to take them. He dropped them on the      ground and walked away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Oops, I Accidentally a Startup\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the summer of 2000, I was twenty-one with a year of college to      go at the University of Washington in Seattle. I'm one of those      lucky kids whose parents paid his tuition so he could \"focus on      his studies, not on work.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That is, until I got into a fight with my dad and he threatened to      cut me off. I was too prideful and stubborn to back down,      apologize, or reconcile, so, for the next two quarters, I had to      pay my own way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I worked part-time at the Wizards of the Coast Game Center, a      giant arcade, gaming events center, and retail shop around the      corner from campus. My $4.75\/hour salary was supplemented by      buying PokŽmon cards with my employee discount and reselling them      on eBay and Craigslist for a tidy profit. I designed and built a      few websites on the side for some extra cash. And, thankfully, in      the early 2000s, college tuition hadn't yet skyrocketed past the      point of absurdity. A full quarter, including books, only cost      around $3,000-a sum I scraped together while still managing to      have enough to go out to the movies, buy the occasional used video      game, and pay the rent on my small, shared apartment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But two classes away from graduating, I threw in the towel. Part      of it was the cost, part of it was the lack of value I perceived      from school, but a lot of it was because of a failed romantic      relationship (long distance + breakup = broken heart). I wish I      could say entrepreneurship was the catalyst for dropping out, but      the truth is the other way around. I wallowed in a little      self-misery, watched a lot of X-Files reruns, and only then      realized I needed something to do besides work retail. Web design      was my path of least resistance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In 1981, my mom, Gillian, started a marketing consultancy in      Seattle, helping small businesses with their logos, Yellow Page      ads, brochures, and other print and advertising materials. In the      late 1990s, her clients started asking for websites, and she      recruited me to learn FrontPage, Dreamweaver, and HTML so I could      help out. I liked the work, and the extra money, and when I told      my mom I wanted to work with her full-time and not go back to      college, she obliged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Over the summer of 2001, we dreamed big. Seattle's tech scene was      booming in Microsoft's backyard. Startups like Amazon, Kozmo, and      HomeGrocer dominated the local news. Everyone was switching from      slow, dial-up modems to high-speed broadband. We thought we had an      amazing opportunity to design sites for local businesses that      needed a presence on the soon-to-be-ubiquitous Internet. When the      dot-com crash hit, I barely noticed. Our clients still needed      websites, and I didn't pay much attention to the falling prices,      the late payments, or the commoditization of web design.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For the next three years, we struggled against increasing      competition, pervasive doubt about the web's future, the      challenges of getting our clients to pay their bills on time, and,      worst of all, our own foolish beliefs about what would help our      company grow. We were trying to sell our services in a crowded      marketplace without a competitive differentiator. We wasted money      on advertising that didn't bring in business. We leased      high-priced office space, convinced that an impressive building      would help us close deals. We hired contractors and employees who      didn't work out. We rented booth space at events that didn't even      pay for themselves. And, worst of all, we went into debt to do it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I started working with my mom, she had a small amount of debt      on the business-less than $20,000 in total. But three years later,      we'd amassed an additional $100,000 of debt, much of it from the      aforementioned missteps. The great thing about a consulting      business is supposed to be the low-capital requirements-smart      operators often make their consultancies profitable from day one.      We went the other direction, and in 2004, after we'd failed to      secure yet another client project we thought could put us on the      path to success, we defaulted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It's hard today to imagine the pre-2008-financial-crisis world of      personal debt, where banks would extend loans of $50-$100,000 to a      college dropout with a tiny salary. At the time, credit card      offers arrived almost weekly, promising $10,000 limits that would      quickly rise to $15,000 or $20,000. Lending institutions were      happy to offer us lines of credit and equipment loans despite our      meager track record and nonexistent collateral. Promotional      interest rates in the \u0026lt; 2 percent range were available for the      first two to three years of an account. Seduced by these offers      and in desperate need of cash just to make payroll and rent for      three people, we went whole hog, racking up a balance that      eventually came back to bite us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We took out loans and put them in my name because I had, at the      time, nothing to lose. My mom had her and my dad's assets on the      line. They owned not only their home in Seattle's suburbs but my      grandmother's house in Connecticut as well, which could have also      been on the chopping block as collateral. So it was my social      security number and my signature on the loans-something that, at      the time, didn't really scare me. Defaulting on these loans never      really crossed my mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two of the most memorable days in my early career came that fall,      of 2004.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first was on a Sunday. Gillian had told me and Matt, my friend      and our programmer, that we'd no longer be able to afford the rent      at our pricey high-rise office tower. Moving out was our only      option. We found a tiny shared office space in a run-down part of      Seattle above an old movie theater for only a few hundred dollars      a month (versus the $2,000-plus we had been paying), but we'd need      to break our lease. That meant the landlord could potentially hold      our equipment-including our computers, desks, chairs, and      furniture-as collateral. We had to get it out of the tower and      over to the new space fast, without anyone from the building      noticing. This part's straight out of a movie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Matt and I recruited a pair of friends-Marshall and Todd, a couple      with two sets of big arms, strong backs, and a spacious truck to      whom we promised dinner-and quietly entered the building via the      loading garage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We were halfway through loading up when the tower's security guard      arrived. Cue heart falling into stomach.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After a brief, tense discussion on either side of our locked      office door, we had the guard make a phone call to Gillian.      Somehow, she convinced him to let us finish moving some of the      items, but we had to leave a good deal behind to make it seem that      we weren't actually \"moving out\" but rather \"moving some things      around.\" With our pulses racing, we took Todd's half-full truck      out of the loading dock and across Lake Washington to our new,      tiny, bare-bones but safe-from-seizure office. We'd sacrificed a      good dozen pieces of unwieldy office furniture and some cheap      supplies but felt lucky just to make it out with our computers and      essentials. The next week, the company my mom had run for      twenty-three years officially closed, and we started a new      business under a new name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But though we'd moved and changed our name, we were far from      starting fresh. A couple of months later, that gold-chained debt      collector showed up, and I called my mom in a panic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Even though the debt was being used for business purposes, the      creditors would be coming after me personally because it was my      signature and my social security number on the applications.      Gillian told me she'd try to take care of it. That was the first      day I truly understood that most of the money our company owed was      actually money I owed personally.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It made sense. If Gillian had used her name and her credit to take      out even more of those equipment loans and low-interest credit      cards, she and my dad could be held liable for repayment, and she      already had some debt of her own. They could lose their assets and      be forced into bankruptcy. My grandmother could lose her house.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That evening, walking home from work, I started processing our      nerve-racking situation and my role in creating it. I'd willfully      chosen to ignore and not ask questions about the financial      problems we were in, ostensibly so I could concentrate on my part      of the work but, in honesty, because I didn't want to deal with      it. My mom could handle it. That was her job, right? I was just      the web design guy. . . . That's what I'd told myself. But slowly      I came around to the idea that sticking my head in the sand about      our debt in the hopes it would go away was an untenable path.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When You're in Debt to the Truth, the Interest Rate Sucks\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Considering the onslaught of \"final notice\" letters, threatening      phone calls, and the visit from gold-chains-and-chest-hair guy      (let's go with \"Rocco,\" as he already fit every other      debt-collector stereotype), the logical move would have been to      declare bankruptcy. Most of the debt was in my name, a little was      in Gillian's, and, because we had defaulted on the bigger chunks      in my name, the black marks I was racking up on my credit report      were having a similar effect to a bankruptcy (as of this writing,      my creditworthiness is still in the toilet). But we had another      impediment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e During the four years we built up debt, we'd been lying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We'd never told my dad, Scott (to whom my mom was, and remains,      married), that we had any financial problems, any outstanding      loans, or any debt collectors breathing down our necks. We both      feared, rightly or wrongly, that if he found out, he'd divorce my      mom and break up our family.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It sounds too dysfunctional to be real, but this lie of omission      wasn't without precedent. Growing up, my parents lied to each      other all the time-mostly about little stuff (or, at least, those      are the only things I knew about). Dad would say, \"Don't tell your      mom we did this\" or, \"If anyone asks, tell them you are only seven      years old\/were promised a discount\/were told by the staff it was      okay.\" Mom would say, \"If your father asks, tell him we used a      coupon\/had to because of your school\/went here on behalf of a      client.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e These were mostly innocent lies, crafted in order to prevent an      altercation and keep relationships smooth. As an adult, reflecting      on these memories makes me realize how profoundly unhealthy the      dynamic between my parents was, but as a child and teenager, it      made reasonable sense. The goal was to limit anyone getting angry      or feeling hurt or left out or ignored. We were lying to keep the      peace and maintain the veneer of a happy family unit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That debt, however, was a much bigger lie than anything I'd ever      been part of. I remember Geraldine and I talking about it at the      time and for years after. We wondered how my mom could stand to be      around my dad, day after day, holding in this giant secret,      rushing to get home before him so she could shred any potentially      incriminating mail, pretending that the debt-collection calls were      wrong numbers, keeping up the appearance that things were fine at      work-even bringing home an occasional paycheck to make him think      things were okay when we probably should have used that money to      stave off the next bank that might sell our debt to collections.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gillian, ostensibly to keep us from worrying and to help us focus      on our tasks, kept some of the details and progress of our      struggle against debt hidden from me at the time. It wasn't until      years later that I learned how she managed to dodge some of the      worst debt collectors by proactively calling the issuers of the      debt (Washington Mutual, Bank of America, Chase, Wells Fargo),      sharing the details of our situation, and offering a smaller sum      than what was owed in exchange for the creditor writing off the      debt rather than selling to collections. Because a collections      agency would typically pay the debt holder 5-10 percent of the      actual amount owed, then try to collect the full amount and profit      from the delta, my mom's tactic was often successful.","brand":"Portfolio","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304038715621,"sku":"NP9780735213327","price":28.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780735213326.jpg?v=1730756142","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/lost-and-founderisbn-9780735213327","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}