Public-facing essays from the Rewrite. The version of my thinking that's finished enough to share, raw enough to argue with. Free to read. Free to forward. The longer thinking lives in The Margins.
Most founders can't accurately answer where their last five closed deals came from. Not the last-touch source — the real origin story. If you haven't deliberately engineered your attribution model, your CRM is giving you a partially fictional answer, and you're building strategy on it.
The discovery call as most founders run it is one of the most expensive meetings in the business. You do all the diagnostic work, pitch your solution, and find out they were 'just exploring options.' Here's the structural fix.
You spent three weeks on the PDF. 47 pages. Professionally designed. Eleven downloads, eight of which were your own team. The lead magnet isn't the problem. The architecture around it is.
Open your About section and read it like a stranger who has eleven seconds before they decide whether to keep scrolling. What do they see? For most founders, the answer is: a summary of past roles that says almost nothing about what you do now, who it's for, or why it matters.
I've written inside other people's voices for most of my professional life. You learn things when you write for someone — things they don't tell you directly, things that live between what they say they want to communicate and what they actually reveal when they talk for long enough.
My grandmother kept sixty dollars in a coffee can behind the flour. I didn't know this until after she died. The sixty dollars was hers — not household money, not emergency money. Hers. She had been slipping single bills into the can for forty years.
You've been told the issue is you. That you're too in your head. That you need to believe in yourself more. I'm going to push back on this — not because confidence doesn't matter, but because the confidence conversation almost always ignores the most important variable: the room you're in.
I was thirty-two the first time I said no to something I actually wanted to say yes to, because I was afraid of how it would look to someone who wasn't even paying attention. That's the sentence I couldn't write for years. Not because it wasn't true. Because writing it meant admitting how long I had been performing for an audience that had already left the theater.
On the difference between blowing up your life and quietly deciding you are no longer available for it. The exit isn't a single dramatic afternoon. It's a posture you take, and the world reorganizes around it.
The thing you’re tolerating is not small. You made it small so you could keep tolerating it. A short essay about the audacity of shrinking real losses to fit inside a life you haven’t decided to change yet.
Permission culture is dressed up as patience, humility, consideration. What it actually is: indefinite waiting for external validation that may never arrive.
A repositioning case study. The same person, two headlines, twelve weeks. The cost of a vague summary is not aesthetic. It is the gap between the offers you’re getting and the offers your work would actually warrant.
We tell ourselves stories in order to live.
Free. Sharp. Opt out anytime, but you won't.