I’ve worn many hats.

And no...

I don’t regret any of them.

One of the hardest questions I’ve had to answer throughout my life wasn’t “What am I good at?”

It was...

“Which one do I choose?”

Because I’ve never been interested in just one thing.

I like learning.

I enjoy starting over.

I get excited when I discover a new skill.

Most people will tell you that’s dangerous.

That you should niche down.

Focus on one thing.

Master it.

While I agree with that to some extent, I also think life is too short to ignore parts of yourself simply because the internet told you to stay in one lane.

Many people don’t know this about me.

When I was about fifteen or sixteen, I was a fashion model.

Not just taking random pictures.

I attended a modelling school.

Graduated from the academy.

Joined a modelling agency.

For a while, I genuinely thought that was the direction my life was heading.

Then life happened.

My dad passed away, and we relocated.

That dream quietly came to an end before it really had the chance to begin.

A year later, I found out about web development from my neighbour while waiting for admission into a higher institution; I decided to take that opportunity.

I became obsessed with learning.

Java, JavaScript, Node.js, SQL and Database management.

I spent almost two years there.

I won’t lie, I wasn’t naturally in love with coding.

I was fascinated by what it could build.

But over time, I realised something.

I admired the skill more than I enjoyed doing it.

There was another reason I walked away.

I looked at the person teaching me.

As much as I respected him, I couldn’t see the kind of results I wanted for my own life.

That mattered to me.

So I left.

Not because I failed.

Because I knew it wasn’t where I belonged.

The funny thing is...

Even before all of this, I had always been writing.

Back in secondary school, I wrote poems in my notebooks.

Not because anyone asked me to.

I simply wrote how I felt.

Almost like a diary.

Writing became the place I could think.

Later, I stopped writing poems and started writing stories on Facebook.

I’d share something that happened during my day, then end it with a lesson.

Looking back now...

I was storytelling before I even knew storytelling had a name.

Around that same period, I learned content writing.

Then copywriting.

I kept writing.

Kept posting.

Kept improving.

Then I heard I could write books and publish on Amazon KDP.

I bought a course and started publishing self-help books.

Those books weren’t random.

Most of what I wrote came from things I had lived through, researched, or struggled to understand myself.

At this point, I was writing books while trying to understand financial markets.

While publishing books, I somehow found myself learning crypto.

Then DeFi.

Then trading.

One of my friends traded Forex and offered to teach me.

So I learned that too.

Looking back now...

It sounds crazy.

Then 2023 happened.

My Amazon account got suspended.

Years of work disappeared.

I was devastated.

For almost two months, I barely knew what came next.

Then I stumbled into Web3.

Everything felt strange.

New words, new communities.

I joined Twitter Spaces.

Read articles.

Took courses.

Started writing and sharing stories and experiences.

Eventually, I landed my first client.

One client became another.

Then another.

That journey introduced me to content marketing.

SEO.

Brand strategy.

Thought leadership.

Eventually, I realised something else about myself.

I didn’t enjoy being the loudest person in the room.

I enjoyed building people behind the scenes.

That’s how ghostwriting found me.

I became obsessed with studying voices.

Learning how founders think.

Understanding communication.

Turning scattered ideas into stories people actually remember.

Last year, another opportunity came.

Communications.

Today, I work in communications.

Along the way, I intentionally paired it with marketing because I’ve always believed great communication without marketing gets ignored.

Then I added PR because I became fascinated by how narratives shape public perception.

Looking back, people might think I’ve changed careers too many times.

I don’t think so.

I think I’ve been following the same thread all along.

Storytelling.

Every single thing I’ve done has revolved around stories.

Modelling taught me visual storytelling.

Writing taught me written storytelling.

Amazon taught me long-form storytelling.

Ghostwriting taught me storytelling for influence.

Marketing taught me storytelling for attention.

Communications taught me storytelling for clarity.

PR taught me storytelling for reputation.

The hats changed.

The thread never did.

That’s what many people miss.

You don’t always need to limit yourself to one talent.

Sometimes your advantage is knowing how all your skills work together.

Yes, there are seasons where niching down is necessary.

You can’t build authority by introducing yourself differently every week.

People need to know what to remember you for.

But that doesn’t mean you stop learning.

It doesn’t mean you bury the other parts of yourself.

It doesn’t mean your curiosity has to die.

Keep learning.

Take courses.

Explore.

Invest in yourself.

Become multidimensional.

Just make sure there’s a common thread tying everything together.

Looking back, none of the things I learned was wasted.

Not modelling.

Not coding.

Not Amazon.

Not crypto.

Not Web3.

Not ghostwriting.

Not communications.

Not marketing.

Not PR.

Every one of them prepared me for the work I do today.

If I had stopped after the first setback...

If losing my Amazon account had convinced me to quit...

If I believed changing direction meant I had failed...

I wouldn’t be writing this letter today.

So if you’re someone who loves many things, don’t let people convince you that you’re confused.

You may simply be collecting tools for a future you can’t see yet.

Wear the hats.

Learn the skills.

Follow your curiosity.

Just don’t stop moving.

One day you’ll look back and realise none of it was random.

It was all preparing you for the person you’re becoming.

See you in my next letter.

Also share this with someone who needs this.

If you ask anyone who knows me well, they’ll tell you one thing.

I think.

A lot.

Sometimes too much.

I think about ideas.

I think about plans.

I think about decisions.

I think about what could go wrong.

Then I think about how to avoid what could go wrong.

Then I think about whether that solution is even the best one.

By the time I’m done, I’ve become tired...

...without doing anything.

That’s analysis paralysis.

And if I’m being honest, I’ve suffered from it more times than I’d like to admit.

There was a project I wanted to launch for my personal brand.

I knew exactly what it would do.

I knew the audience it was for.

I knew the impact it could have on my business.

Looking back now, I can confidently say it would’ve increased my earnings and opened doors I wasn’t even seeing then.

I planned it, researched it, mapped it out.

Thought about it for weeks.

Then weeks became months.

Months became almost half a year.

Today, as I’m writing this letter...

It still hasn’t happened.

Not because I lacked the skill, the resources or the time.

I simply wanted the execution to be flawless.

I wanted everything to be perfect before I started.

And perfection quietly became procrastination wearing a suit.

That’s the dangerous part.

Analysis paralysis doesn’t feel like procrastination.

It feels responsible.

It feels intelligent.

It feels like you’re preparing.

It convinces you that you’re making progress because you’re constantly thinking.

But thinking isn’t progress.

Execution is.

This happens more than we realise.

Founders spend months planning products they never launch.

Marketers rewrite campaigns until the opportunity disappears.

Writers keep editing the first paragraph and never finish the article.

Creators spend weeks choosing the perfect logo instead of creating the first piece of content.

Entrepreneurs wait for certainty before making a decision.

And while they’re waiting...

Someone else ships.

Someone else launches.

Someone else learns.

Someone else grows.

The problem is rarely the lack of ideas.

Creative people have ideas every day.

The real problem is making peace with a decision.

Choosing one path.

Accepting that it may not be perfect.

And moving anyway.

Analysis paralysis is dangerous because it slowly convinces you that movement without certainty is irresponsible.

But business doesn’t reward certainty.

It rewards execution.

Marketing doesn’t reward perfect ideas.

It rewards tested ideas.

Writing doesn’t reward unwritten masterpieces.

It rewards published work.

I’ve realised something about myself over the years.

The moments I’ve grown the most weren’t the moments I had the best plans.

They were the moments I stopped planning and started moving.

My first ebook wasn’t perfect.

My first newsletter wasn’t perfect.

The first client I ghostwrote for wasn’t perfect.

Even this newsletter you’re reading could probably be edited another twenty times.

But if I keep chasing perfect, you’ll never get to read it.

And that’s exactly what analysis paralysis wants.

It doesn’t ask you to quit.

It simply asks you to wait.

A little longer.

Until tomorrow.

Until next week.

Until next month.

Until “everything is ready.”

The problem is...

Everything is never ready.

Not with motivation.

Not by thinking harder.

But by changing how you approach decisions.

Here are five things that have helped me and continue to help many founders, creators, marketers, and entrepreneurs who struggle with analysis paralysis.

1. Give Yourself a Deadline, Not a Feeling

One mistake I used to make was waiting until I felt ready.

Readiness is a moving target.

Deadlines create decisions.

Tell yourself, “By Friday, I’ll publish it.” Not “I’ll publish it when it feels right.”

One is measurable.

The other is emotional.

2. Decide What “Good Enough” Looks Like

Perfection has no finish line.

Good enough does.

Before you start, define the minimum standard that allows you to move.

You’ll be surprised how much progress happens when you stop chasing flawless execution.

3. Test Small Before You Think Big

You don’t have to bet everything on one decision.

Launch the small version.

Write the first chapter.

Post the first article.

Sell to the first client.

Small experiments give you real feedback.

Overthinking only gives you imaginary outcomes.

4. Separate Thinking Time From Execution Time

Thinking is important.

But don’t confuse it with working.

Give yourself time to plan.

Then stop planning.

When it’s execution time, execute.

Don’t reopen every decision you’ve already made.

Trust your earlier thinking and let your actions catch up.

5. Accept That Clarity Comes After Movement

This one changed everything for me.

I used to believe clarity came before action.

It doesn’t.

Most of the clarity I’ve gained in business, writing, marketing, and life came because I started before I knew everything.

Movement creates information.

Information creates confidence.

Confidence creates better decisions.

Waiting rarely does.

If you’ve read this far, I want you to do something.

Think back to the beginning of this year.

Not to your achievements.

To your ideas.

The business you wanted to start.

The newsletter you wanted to write.

The product you wanted to launch.

The skill you wanted to learn.

The conversation you wanted to have.

The opportunity you kept postponing because you wanted the timing, the conditions, or the execution to be perfect.

Now ask yourself one question.

Did perfection protect me... or did it quietly keep me stuck?

Because analysis paralysis doesn’t usually destroy your dreams overnight.

It does something much worse.

It steals them slowly.

One delayed decision at a time.

Don’t let overthinking become your personality.

Don’t let perfection become your excuse.

Don’t let planning become where your ideas go to die.

Choose.

Commit.

Execute.

Adjust.

Repeat.

That’s how things get built.

See you in my next letter.

Don’t forget to share this with who you think needs it.

When I first started writing on Substack, I had one goal.

Share value.

Every letter was centred around helping founders, CEOs, and thought leaders grow their brands, communicate better, and position themselves as authorities in their industries.

I talked about storytelling a lot.

Almost every other newsletter somehow found its way back to storytelling.

I genuinely believed in it.

I still do.

But there's something funny I noticed months later.

I wasn't really using storytelling in my own newsletters.

I was teaching it.

I was recommending it.

I was encouraging founders to use it.

Yet, when I sat down to write my own letters, I became obsessed with passing knowledge.

I wanted every newsletter to be packed with insights, frameworks, and value.

Somewhere along the line, I forgot the very thing I was preaching.

Stories.

It was ironic.

I was telling people to do something I wasn't fully doing myself.

Not because I didn't believe in it.

But because I couldn't see it.

And that's what psychologists call The Solomon Paradox.

It's the strange tendency where we can clearly see the right answer for someone else's situation, yet struggle to apply that same wisdom to our own lives.

The name comes from King Solomon.

A man known for extraordinary wisdom.

People travelled from different kingdoms just to seek his advice.

He solved disputes, gave counsel.

He was known as one of the wisest men to ever live.

Yet when it came to his own life, his own decisions, and his own relationships, wisdom didn't always follow him.

That's the paradox.

Sometimes we're better advisers than practitioners.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised this doesn't just happen in writing.

It happens everywhere.

The founder telling people to build a personal brand hasn't posted in months.

The marketer teaching consistency is inconsistent with their own content.

The fitness coach skips workouts.

The financial adviser struggles to manage their own finances.

The ghostwriter telling founders to tell more stories... forgets to tell his own.

It's funny.

But it's also human.

We're often too close to our own problems to see them clearly.

When it's someone else's life, the answer looks obvious.

When it's ours, emotion gets involved.

Fear gets involved.

Perfectionism gets involved.

Overthinking gets involved.

And suddenly the advice becomes difficult to follow.

One thing I've learned is that knowledge doesn't automatically become practice.

You can know exactly what to do and still fail to do it.

Not because you're incapable.

But because awareness and execution are two completely different skills.

The beautiful thing about discovering my own Solomon Paradox was that it changed how I wrote.

Instead of trying to sound like a teacher every week, I started sounding more like myself.

I began sharing experiences.

Client stories, mistakes, lessons and conversations.

The things that actually shaped my thinking.

Ironically, that's when people started connecting more deeply with my writing.

Not because I had become smarter.

But because I had become more honest.

Maybe a Solomon Paradox is hiding somewhere in your own life.

Maybe you're giving advice you've never taken.

Maybe you're helping everyone else build the thing you've been postponing for yourself.

Maybe the solution you're looking for is the same one you've already given someone else.

It's worth thinking about.

Sometimes the wisdom we need isn't new.

It's simply waiting to be applied.

See you in my next letter.

Don’t forget to share this with whoever you think needs it.

We’ve all heard the saying.

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

It’s one of those pieces of advice that sounds good, feels motivating, and has been repeated so many times that we hardly stop to question it.

But what if I told you not to make lemonade?

Hear me out.

One thing life has taught me over the years is that not every problem deserves the obvious solution.

Not every setback should be handled the way people expect you to handle it, and not every opportunity should be accepted simply because it showed up.

Sometimes, the biggest mistake we make is believing there is only one correct response to whatever life throws at us.

There isn’t.

I’ve had moments where I thought I had my life planned out.

A particular opportunity would come, and I’d already picture the outcome in my head. I’d convince myself that this was the breakthrough I’d been waiting for.

Then it wouldn’t work out.

At the time, it felt like life had handed me lemons.

Naturally, I wanted to fix the situation immediately. I wanted to force an outcome because I believed every setback had to become a success story overnight.

Looking back now, I’m glad some of those things didn’t work.

Some of the clients I desperately wanted never replied.

Some opportunities disappeared before they even started.

Some plans completely fell apart.

At the time, I called them disappointments.

Today, I call them redirections.

Because had they worked out, I probably wouldn’t have had the time, the energy, or even the reason to pursue the work that has shaped who I am today.

That’s why I don’t always believe in making lemonade.

Sometimes the lemons aren’t meant to be squeezed.

Sometimes they’re meant to be planted.

Sometimes they’re meant to teach you patience instead of urgency.

Sometimes they’re there to show you that your perspective not your circumstance is what actually needs to change.

We spend so much time trying to control outcomes that we forget we can also control interpretation.

A failed interview can either become proof that you’re not good enough or evidence that you need to prepare differently.

A rejected proposal can either convince you to quit or force you to improve your offer.

A delayed opportunity can either feel like punishment or become the extra time you needed to become ready.

The event is the same.

The perspective changes everything.

This is why two people can experience the same setback and end up with completely different lives.

One becomes bitter.

The other becomes better.

Not because one had an easier journey, but because one chose to see possibility where the other only saw pain.

As founders, creators, marketers, and professionals, we’re often told to move fast and fix everything immediately.

But some things don’t need fixing.

Some things need understanding.

Not every closed door is asking you to knock harder.

Not every failed plan is asking you to try again.

Sometimes life is simply asking you to pause long enough to see what you’re missing.

I’ve learned that the older I get, the less interested I become in forcing outcomes.

Instead, I pay more attention to what each experience is trying to teach me.

Because every disappointment carries information.

Every delay carries perspective.

Every failure carries instruction.

And if you rush too quickly to make lemonade, you might miss the lesson hidden inside the lemon.

So the next time life gives you lemons, don’t rush.

Don’t force a solution simply because everyone says you should.

Sit with it.

Learn from it.

Understand it.

Then decide what it deserves.

Maybe you’ll make lemonade.

Or maybe you’ll discover there was something far more valuable than lemonade waiting on the other side.

Happy new month!

Six months of the year are gone already; whatever happens in the next six months depends on your actions and decision.

So go out and crush it today!

I’m rooting for you all.

See you in my next letter.

Have you ever wanted to launch a huge campaign or promote a product you truly believed in, only to realize you didn’t have all the tools you needed?

No marketing budget, influencers or paid ads.

Just you and an idea.

I remember 2022 when I launched my very first ebook.

At that point, I wasn’t earning much. Running ads wasn’t an option.

Hiring influencers was completely out of the question, and I didn’t have a marketing team sitting behind me to figure things out.

For a moment, I thought about postponing it.

Then I asked myself a simple question:

What do I already have?

I remembered my friend Abigail had built a strong community on WhatsApp and across her social platforms. I reached out to her, explained what I was building, and she agreed to share it with her audience.

People started engaging.

Some joined the waitlist.

That gave me another idea.

Instead of waiting for launch day, I started recording a storytelling series in audio format. Every week, I shared one story, and at the end of each recording, I invited listeners to join the waitlist if they wanted to learn more.

Then I reached out to more friends.

I spoke to colleagues.

I asked people to share it with someone who might find it valuable.

Slowly, one person became five.

Five became twenty.

Twenty became a community.

Before I knew it, the waitlist was full, and I had exceeded the marketing goal I originally set for that project.

Looking back, I didn’t realize I was practicing something called bricolage.

Bricolage is the art of creating with whatever resources you already have instead of waiting for perfect conditions.

It is solving problems with what is available.

It is making progress before you have everything.

The mistake many founders and marketers make is believing they need more before they can start.

More money, equipment, followers, connections and resources.

Sometimes what you actually need is a different perspective.

Marketing has never been about having the biggest budget.

It’s about making the best use of the resources already within your reach.

Your network is a resource.

Your story is a resource.

Your previous clients are resources.

Your audience, your voice, your experiences, your relationships, and even your phone are resources.

The question isn’t whether you have enough.

The question is whether you’ve looked closely enough at what you already have.

Some of the best campaigns don’t happen because people had unlimited budgets.

They happen because someone was resourceful enough to make ordinary things work together.

That’s the art of bricolage.

As a business owner, founder, or marketer, there will be seasons where you don’t have everything you need.

Don’t let that stop you.

Build with what you have.

Borrow trust through relationships.

Turn your experiences into stories.

Use your network before your wallet.

Be resourceful before you become resource-rich.

Because sometimes the biggest marketing advantage isn’t having more resources.

It’s knowing how to use the ones already sitting in front of you.

Learn how to use that to your advantage.

See you in my next letter.

Life has a funny way of making you choose.

Not between good and bad.

But between hard and hard.

For the longest time, I used to think there was a perfect path.

One career, one decision, one opportunity that would magically solve everything.

The older I get, the more I realise that doesn’t exist.

Everything costs something.

Every path demands something from you.

Every decision comes with its own poison.

If you decide to build a business, you’ll sacrifice comfort.

If you decide to get a job, you’ll sacrifice some freedom.

If you choose to build a personal brand, you’ll deal with criticism.

If you choose to stay invisible, you’ll struggle to be remembered.

There is no option without a price.

The question is:

Which price are you willing to pay?

I think about this a lot whenever people ask why I still ghostwrite.

The truth is, ghostwriting isn’t easy.

There are days you write, and nobody knows it was you.

There are moments your words go viral under someone else’s name.

There are countless hours of thinking, researching, structuring ideas, and refining stories that never carry your signature.

For some people, that sounds unbearable.

For me, it isn’t.

Because that’s the poison I chose.

It aligns with who I am.

I’ve never been the loudest person in the room.

I’ve always enjoyed building things quietly.

I enjoy helping founders find their voice.

I enjoy turning scattered thoughts into stories that move people.

I enjoy staying behind the scenes while the work speaks.

That’s a price I’m willing to pay.

Someone else might hate it.

And that’s okay.

Because not every poison is meant for everybody.

The mistake many people make is choosing someone else’s life.

They see the money but ignore the pressure.

They admire the success but ignore the sacrifices.

They copy the career but forget the personality behind it.

Not every successful path is your path.

That’s why comparison is dangerous.

You’re comparing rewards while ignoring costs.

And every reward has one.

When I say “pick your poison,” I don’t mean choose something that destroys you.

I mean choose something that stretches you.

Choose work that challenges you but doesn’t make you lose yourself.

Choose relationships that grow you, not drain you.

Choose environments that demand more from you without taking everything from you.

Choose ambitions that give you purpose, not just applause.

Because that’s what “make sure it isn’t lethal” really means.

Don’t choose a career that pays well but slowly kills your curiosity.

Don’t choose opportunities that force you to become someone you don’t recognise.

Don’t choose circles where you constantly shrink to belong.

Don’t build a life that looks successful from the outside while you’re falling apart on the inside.

The right path won’t always be easy.

In fact, it probably won’t be.

But it should still feel like your path.

One that aligns with your values.

One that aligns with your personality.

One that allows you to grow into the person you’re trying to become.

Life will always ask you to pay something.

Just be careful what you’re paying with.

Because some poisons build resilience.

Others slowly destroy you.

Learn the difference.

See you in my next letter.

I used to mentally masturbate.

Back in 2020 and 2021, I wanted to write books.

Not just write them, but author them, publish them, and have people read them.

Growing up, my mom had a collection of books she kept around the house.

Because of that, I got addicted to reading at a very young age. I read books from thought leaders on growth, self-development, spirituality, leadership, and life.

I admired them.

I wanted to sound and write like them.

More importantly, I wanted the feeling of knowing that somewhere in the world, someone was reading something I had written.

The funny thing is that I wasn’t even serious about writing then.

I loved the idea of it.

I loved imagining it.

I loved thinking about it.

And every time I imagined myself becoming an author, I felt good.

Really good.

It gave me a strange sense of satisfaction. The kind that feels like accomplishment even though you’ve accomplished absolutely nothing.

At the time, I didn’t know there was a name for what I was doing.

Well, I found out later that it was called mental masturbation.

I would read, study, research, consume information, watch videos, and learn frameworks.

And afterwards, I would feel productive.

But I wasn’t.

Because I wasn’t implementing anything.

I wasn’t writing, publishing or taking action.

I was simply enjoying the emotional reward of imagining success.

And that’s the dangerous thing about mental masturbation.

It feels productive.

It feels like progress.

It feels like you’re moving forward.

But you’re standing still.

This applies to more people than they realise.

You have ideas.

Big ideas.

You have plans written down somewhere.

You have goals.

You have visions for your future.

You have businesses you want to start, books you want to write, skills you want to learn, brands you want to build, and opportunities you want to pursue.

Yet nothing happens.

Not because you’re lazy.

Not because you’re incapable.

But because the idea itself is giving you enough pleasure to avoid doing the work.

You dream, plan, imagine, visualise.

But you never execute.

Unlike failure, it doesn’t hurt immediately.

Unlike rejection, it doesn’t sting.

Unlike mistakes, it doesn’t embarrass you.

In fact, it feels amazing.

That’s why so many people stay there.

You can spend months imagining success.

You can spend years talking about what you’re going to do.

You can spend a decade preparing for a life you never actually start.

And one day you wake up and realise time moved while you stood still.

The saddest part is that you don’t even know you’re trapped.

You think you’re planning.

You think you’re preparing.

You think you’re being strategic.

But what you’re really doing is postponing action.

I know because I was there.

The thing that got me out wasn’t motivation.

It wasn’t another book or course, nor was it a different YouTube video.

It was action.

At some point, I got tired of imagining.

• I started reaching out to people.

• I gave myself deadlines.

• I made public announcements.

• I told people what I was working on.

• I created pressure around my goals.

And then in 2022, I did something I had spent years thinking about.

I wrote my first ebook.

Not only that, I held an online launch around it.

The same thing I had spent years imagining became real the moment I stopped fantasising and started executing.

Was it perfect?

No.

Did everything go exactly as planned?

Not at all.

But it existed.

And that was more valuable than all the years I spent imagining it.

If you’re reading this, maybe there’s something you’ve been postponing.

A business, a project, a newsletter, a podcast, a book, a skill, a conversation, a decision.

Whatever it is, stop feeding on the pleasure of imagining it and start doing it.

Because ideas don’t change lives.

Execution does.

And the cure for mental masturbation has always been the same:

Take the first step.

Then the next one.

Then keep moving.

PS: Don’t finish reading this and fall into wishful thinking again, GO TAKE ACTION!!!!! LOL

See you in my next letter.

Before someone gets surprised, no, I’m not talking about relationships.

I’m talking about marketing.

And the more I think about it, the more I realise marketing and flirting are almost the same thing.

Both are about getting attention, creating interest and building trust.

And both fail when you try too hard.

Think about it.

Nobody likes being sold to.

Just like nobody likes desperation.

The moment you start forcing things, people pull away.

The same thing happens in marketing.

You don’t convince people by shouting louder.

That’s why the first few seconds matter.

Your profile, your website, your content, your message.

That’s your first impression.

It’s the equivalent of walking into a room and introducing yourself.

If you bore people immediately, you’ve lost them.

But attention alone isn’t enough.

Most founders get this wrong.

They tell people everything about their product, service, offer, features, benefits, and pricing all at once.

No curiosity or giving them a reason to stay.

Good marketing doesn’t dump information.

It creates interest.

It gives people enough to want more.

The same way a good conversation makes you want another conversation.

And then comes the most important part.

Because eventually, every client asks the same question:

“Can I trust you?”

Not verbally.

But psychologically.

• Can you solve my problem?

• Can you deliver?

• Can you make my life easier?

• Can you help me get where I want to go?

Most people think marketing is about convincing.

I don’t.

Marketing is about reducing doubt.

The less doubt people have, the easier decisions become.

Which is why authenticity matters.

The brands that grow aren’t always the funniest.

They’re the most trusted.

People buy from people they understand.

People buy from people they trust.

People buy from people who make them feel seen.

And that’s where most marketing advice misses the point.

Your audience isn’t a number.

They aren’t impressions or clicks.

They’re people. (REAL PEOPLE!)

The moment you stop treating them like data and start treating them like humans, everything changes.

Marketing becomes easier.

Sales become easier, and growth becomes easier.

Because at the end of the day, the goal isn’t to force a transaction.

So, How Do You Get Your Client in Bed?

The process is actually simpler than most people think.

1. Get Their Attention

You can’t sell to people who don’t know you exist.

Your content, brand, positioning, and messaging should make people stop scrolling and pay attention.

Not because you’re loud.

But because you’re relevant.

People pay attention to things that solve their problems.

2. Make Them Curious

Most founders make the mistake of explaining everything immediately.

Don’t.

Give people enough information to understand the value, but leave room for curiosity.

Curiosity creates engagement.

Engagement creates conversations.

Conversations create opportunities.

3. Build Trust

This is where most sales are won or lost.

Anyone can get attention.

Very few people can maintain trust.

• Show your work.

• Share your experiences.

• Talk about your failures.

• Share your results.

Let people see the human behind the brand.

Trust is built when people believe you understand their problem.

4. Stay Consistent

Imagine meeting someone once and expecting them to trust you immediately.

Not possible!

Yet that’s how many founders approach marketing.

• One post.

• One newsletter.

• One campaign.

Then they disappear.

People trust what they see repeatedly.

Show up enough, and people begin to remember you.

Show up long enough, and they begin to trust you.

5. Make The Commitment Easy

After all the attention, curiosity, and trust, don’t make people work hard to buy from you.

• Tell them what to do.

• Book a call.

• Send a DM.

• Reply to the email.

• Visit the website.

The easier the next step is, the more likely they are to take it.

And that’s how clients end up “in bed.”

Not through pressure, manipulation or desperate sales tactics.

But through attention, curiosity, trust, consistency, and commitment.

That’s marketing.

And the best marketers in the world understand this better than anyone.

The goal is to build enough trust that working with you feels like the obvious choice.

That’s why I say marketing is flirting.

Not because they’re the same thing.

But because both start with attention, grow through trust, and end with commitment.

And if you’re constantly getting rejected by your audience, maybe the problem isn’t your offer.

Maybe you’re trying too hard.

I trust this would help change your perspective and approach.

See you in my next letter.

Playing it safe has never been my thing.

Not because I’m fearless.

But because I’ve always wanted to play in bigger rooms.

I’ve always wanted to be around the 1% of the 1%, to sit at tables where ideas are exchanged, businesses are built, and decisions are made that shape industries.

And one thing I’ve noticed about people at that level is simple.

They take risks.

Not reckless risks or stupid risks, but calculated risks.

The kind of risks that make your heart beat a little faster when you think about them.

Looking back, some of the biggest opportunities I’ve had came from taking risks.

• Sending that message.

• Applying for that role.

• Working with someone I admired.

• Starting something before I felt ready.

• Putting myself out there when there was no guarantee anything would come from it.

Did everything work out?

Absolutely not.

But every risk built something in me.

It gave me confidence.

It taught me experience.

It showed me awareness.

It built resilience in me

Something always came out of it, even when the result wasn’t what I expected.

That’s why I believe taking risks is a basic skill everyone should learn.

Because risk is everywhere.

Most people think risk is about money.

Taking loans.

Making huge investments.

Putting everything you own on the line.

But that’s not the kind of risk I’m talking about.

Risk can be much simpler than that.

• Starting when nobody believes in you.

• Building something alone.

• Changing your environment because you know you’ve outgrown it.

• Walking away from people who no longer align with where you’re going.

• Investing in yourself when nobody else sees the vision yet.

Those are risks too.

And sometimes they’re harder than financial ones.

Because they require you to bet on yourself.

Many people avoid risks because they associate them with pain.

Failure, embarrassment and loss.

And yes, those things can happen.

But what most people don’t talk about is the pain of staying the same.

The pain of knowing you wanted more but never tried.

The frustration of spending years wondering “what if?”

That pain lasts longer.

The truth is, every industry leader you admire has taken risks.

Every founder.

Every creator.

Every entrepreneur.

Every person who has built something meaningful.

They’ve all stepped into situations where the outcome wasn’t guaranteed.

And even when things didn’t go according to plan, they went again.

The goal isn’t to take one risk and win.

The goal is to become the kind of person who isn’t afraid to keep taking calculated risks.

• Risks that force you to grow.

• Risks that demand a better version of you.

• Risks that make procrastination impossible because you’ve already committed.

• Risks that push you forward because turning back is no longer an option.

Those are the risks worth taking.

Not the ones that destroy your reputation.

Not the ones that hurt innocent people.

Not the ones that leave chaos behind.

But the ones that challenge you to become more than you currently are.

Because at the end of the day, growth has always required risk.

And if you’re serious about becoming more, building more, and achieving more, then learning how to take calculated risks may be one of the most important skills you’ll ever develop.

See you in my next letter.

Earlier this year, I worked with a client who is a thought leader in self-development.

From time to time, he publishes books, articles, newsletters, and content around growth, discipline, and becoming a better version of yourself.

One thing stood out immediately.

His books were doing well.

People loved reading them. They recommended them, shared them, and reached out after finishing them.

But his newsletters and articles were completely different.

Very little engagement.

Very few replies.

When we eventually got on a call, I decided to spend some time going through everything he had published.

I wasn’t looking for grammar mistakes or weak headlines.

I was looking for a pattern.

And after reading through his work, I found out that;

His books were filled with stories.

He talked about experiences.

He shared lessons.

He brought people into moments that shaped him.

As I read, I could almost picture everything happening.

But when I switched to his newsletters and articles, all of that wasn’t there.

They were informative.

They were well-written.

But they felt... empty.

They sounded like someone trying to teach instead of someone trying to connect.

That was the problem.

People don’t just remember information.

They remember how you made them feel.

Stories do what facts alone cannot.

They help people see themselves in your experiences.

They create emotion.

They build trust.

They make your audience feel like they’re having a conversation with you instead of sitting through a lecture.

That’s why his books performed differently.

People weren’t only reading advice.

They were reading him.

The experiences.

The failures.

The wins.

The moments that made the lessons worth listening to.

From that point, I started changing how his newsletters were written.

Instead of jumping straight into teaching, we started with experiences.

Instead of leading with information, we led with stories.

Because stories are what earn attention.

The lesson is simple.

If you want people to remember your message, don’t just tell them what you know.

Tell them what you’ve lived.

Your audience doesn’t connect with perfect writing.

They connect with honest experiences.

Stories are not just content.

They’re the emotional bridge between you and the people you’re trying to reach.

And that’s a bridge every founder, creator, and thought leader should learn to build.

This is the connection you should build between you and your audience.

See you in my next letter.

No, I don’t mean the kind of stories our grandparents gathered us around to tell.

Not folktales.

Not moonlight stories.

I mean real stories.

Stories of people, stories of failures, stories of lessons, stories of results, stories that move people, stories that make people trust you.

And more importantly...

Stories that sell.

The funny thing is, most people think storytelling is complicated.

It isn’t.

Storytelling is one of the simplest skills you’ll ever learn.

The problem is, not everybody knows how to do it.

Looking back, I’ve always been a storyteller.

Long before I knew what ghostwriting meant.

Long before I learnt about marketing, PR, or communications.

I naturally enjoyed telling people what happened, why it happened, what I learned from it, and how it ended.

I didn’t know there was a career around it.

I just knew stories connected people.

Over the years, that simple realisation became the foundation of my work.

Whether I’m writing for myself or ghostwriting for founders, CEOs, and businesses, I always come back to one thing.

Stories.

Because they work.

If you’ve been reading my previous newsletters, you’ve probably noticed a pattern.

I rarely write with theories alone.

I share experiences.

I talk about my wins.

I write about the setbacks.

I tell you about my clients.

The difficult conversations.

The mistakes, lessons, breakthroughs.

Because people remember stories far more than they remember advice.

Think about it.

If I simply tell you that consistency matters, you’ll probably agree and move on.

But if I tell you about a founder I worked with, the challenge they faced, the strategy we used, and the result it produced, chances are you’ll remember it long after you’ve finished reading this letter.

That’s the power of storytelling.

Most of the content, articles, LinkedIn posts, newsletters, and thought leadership pieces I’ve written for clients have been built on one simple framework.

• What happened?

• When did it happen?

• How did it happen?

• What changed afterwards?

That’s it.

Nothing complicated

Just real stories shared with clarity and purpose.

Because every founder has stories.

Every business has stories.

Every product has stories.

The problem is that you don’t know how to tell them.

You focus too much on trying to sound intelligent that you forget the one thing audiences actually connect with.

• Honesty.

• Experience.

• Context.

• Stories.

As I continue building this newsletter, you’ll notice a slight shift.

You’ll still read about ghostwriting.

You’ll still see branding insights.

We’ll still talk about marketing, PR, and communications.

But there will be one thread connecting all of them.

Storytelling.

I’ll be sharing the frameworks that have helped me write for founders.

The techniques I’ve used behind the scenes.

The simple methods that have helped clients communicate better, build authority, and create content that people actually remember.

Not because storytelling is magic.

But because it’s human.

And in a world where almost everyone can generate content, the people who know how to tell meaningful stories will always stand out.

So if you want to understand how storytelling really works, not just in writing, but in marketing, PR, and communication, stay close.

Check your inbox.

Read the next letters.

I won’t be able to teach everything in one newsletter.

But over the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing the exact storytelling principles that have worked for the founders I’ve worked with and me.

And definitely, they’ll work for you too.

See you in the next letter.

If there is one skill I think most people underestimate, it is not writing, not speaking, not even discipline.

It is believing in yourself.

And I don’t mean it in a motivational way.

I mean it in a very practical sense, the kind that actually determines whether you try, whether you apply, whether you start, whether you take the risk at all.

Because a lot of opportunities in life are not taken by the most qualified person.

They are taken by the person who simply decided to try.

I can say this from experience.

Many of the jobs I’ve gotten and the work I’ve done were not because I fully knew what I was doing at the start.

In fact, most times, I didn’t.

I had an idea of what was required, yes.

But I wasn’t the most experienced. I wasn’t the most prepared or the most confident either.

What I had was something simpler.

I believed I could figure it out.

And that belief changed everything.

There were moments where I had to step into roles and responsibilities I had never done before.

Situations where I had to learn on the job, adjust quickly, make mistakes, correct them, and keep moving.

And if I had waited to feel fully ready, I probably would not have started at all.

That is the part most people miss.

They think confidence comes before action.

But in reality, confidence is usually the result of action.

You start. You try. You learn. You fail a bit. You adjust. And slowly, you begin to trust yourself more.

But none of that happens if you never begin.


The Risk Most People Don’t Take

A lot of people are waiting.

Waiting to feel ready.
Waiting to know enough, validation and certainty.

But certainty is not something you find before starting.

It is something you build after starting.

And in that gap between “I want to do this” and “I am doing this,” belief becomes the bridge.

Not a perfect belief or a loud confidence.

Just a simple decision: I will try, even if I don’t feel fully ready.

What Believing in Yourself Actually Means

It does not mean you ignore reality.

It does not mean you assume everything will be easy.

It means you trust your ability to learn, adapt, and figure things out along the way.

It means you stop disqualifying yourself before life even has the chance to respond.

Because the truth is, most doors don’t open for the most prepared person.

They open for the person who knocked.


When I look back at the opportunities I’ve had, I can clearly see a pattern.

It was never about having everything figured out at the start.

It was about being willing to step into something and learn as I go.

Some of those experiences challenged me. Some stretched me. Some exposed gaps I didn’t even know I had.

But all of them built something important over time.

Confidence that is not based on theory, but on experience.

And that only came because I chose to believe I could handle it even when I wasn’t sure.



If there is anything to take from this, let it be simple.

You do not need to know everything before you start.

You just need enough belief to take the first step.

Because the truth is, life rarely rewards perfect preparation.

It rewards participation.

And belief is what gets you into the room in the first place.

Everything else can be learned.

See you in my next letter.

Let me start with something I have been thinking about for a while.

Writing has changed.

Not the physical act of putting words together, but the value attached to it.

A few years ago, if you could write well, you already had an advantage. Brands wanted writers, founders wanted content, companies wanted people who could turn ideas into posts, blogs, newsletters, and thought pieces.

But today, things are different.

AI can write.

Tools can generate content in seconds.

Anyone can open a dashboard, type a prompt, and get paragraphs that look polished enough to publish.

So the question becomes:

If everyone can generate content… what actually matters now?

And that is where most founders are starting to wake up.

Because the problem they are facing today is not content scarcity.

It is content overload.

Everywhere you look, there is more writing than the internet can realistically absorb. More posts. More threads. More newsletters. More people are trying to say something at the same time.

And yet, despite all that noise, very few voices actually shape conversations.

Very few voices control narratives.

Very few voices influence industries.

Which leads to something I have been observing closely.

The founders who are thinking long-term are slowly moving away from hiring just writers.

They are looking for strategic voices.

People who understand not only how to write, but why something should be written, where it should live, when it should appear, and what outcome it should produce.

Because writing without strategy today is just digital noise.

The Invisible Infrastructure Behind Powerful Founders

There is something most people do not see when they look at high-level founders, CEOs, and industry leaders online.

The posts they share.

The ideas they push.

The narratives they shape.

Those things rarely happen randomly.

Behind many of those voices is an invisible layer of thinking.

Strategic communication.

Narrative control.

Carefully structured messaging designed to position them as leaders in their space.

This is the infrastructure people rarely talk about.

The same way companies invest in product teams, marketing teams, and operations teams, serious founders invest in communication infrastructure.

Because attention today is currency.

And authority is leverage.

A founder who communicates clearly, consistently, and strategically will almost always outperform a founder who stays silent or communicates without intention.

Not because they are smarter.

But because they are visible in the right way.

The Real ROI of Strategic Writing

When most founders hear the word ghostwriter, they imagine someone who simply writes posts for them.

But that understanding is incomplete.

The real value of strategic writing is not just producing content.

It is transforming ideas into influence.

A single conversation can become a powerful piece of thought leadership.

A fifteen-minute discussion can become a thread that sparks industry dialogue.

A structured narrative can position a founder as the voice of an emerging category.

And when communication is done properly, the results extend beyond likes and impressions.

It becomes:

• Partnership opportunities.

• Investor attention.

• Industry recognition.

• Market authority.

Because people do not just buy products.

They follow voices.

They trust narratives.

They invest in leadership that communicates clearly.

Content Is Not King Anymore!

For years, people repeated the phrase including me:

“Content is king.”

But in today’s environment, that idea is incomplete.

Content alone means very little.

What actually matters is context.

Where the message appears.
When it appears.
Who is speaking to?
What conversation does it enter?

A great idea posted in the wrong place disappears.

A weak idea posted in the right context can dominate attention.

Understanding that difference is what separates casual content from strategic communication.

And that difference is exactly why founders are starting to rethink how they approach writing.

Why This Matters for the Future

We are entering a phase where everyone has access to writing tools.

Everyone can generate posts.

Everyone can publish content.

But very few people know how to engineer influence.

Very few people know how to structure narratives that position founders as category leaders.

Very few people understand how to turn ideas into authority.

That gap is where the real opportunity lives.

And it is also the direction I am building toward.

Not simply writing posts.

But helping founders clarify their voice, structure their thinking, and communicate in ways that shape how their industries see them.

Because the future of writing is not about producing more words.

It is about producing meaningful influence.

The Real Work

Founders today are busy.

They are running companies, managing teams, solving operational problems, raising capital, and making decisions that affect entire organizations.

Most of them simply do not have the time to sit down and turn every idea into a narrative that strengthens their personal brand.

But the ones who understand the value of narrative do not ignore communication.

They delegate it strategically.

They work with people who can extract ideas, structure insights, and build a communication system that positions them consistently in the market.

Not louder.

But clearer.

A Different Kind of Partnership

This is the direction my work is moving toward.

Not just ghostwriting.

But helping founders reclaim time while building a personal brand that actually moves their industry conversations forward.

Helping them turn scattered ideas into structured influence.

Helping them build communication systems that grow alongside their companies.

Because in 2026, the founders who win will not just be the ones building great products.

They will be the ones controlling the narrative around those products.

And that requires more than content.

It requires strategy.

If you are a founder building in tech, finance, or any fast-moving industry, and you are thinking seriously about how your voice shows up in the market, we should talk.

I help leaders reclaim hours each month while building a category-defining personal brand through strategic communication.

Send a message.

Let’s begin the conversation.

See you in my next letter.

Mondays Are Mentally Exhausting

Mondays have a way of draining you before the week even properly begins.

Today was one of those days.

I woke up late.

Not the kind of late where you rush into productivity and try to catch up with the day, but the kind of late where the day already feels lost before it even starts.

I looked at the time, laid there for a moment, and just knew nothing productive was going to come out of it.

And that’s exactly how it went.

I had breakfast. Slept again. Stayed in my room. Didn’t go for any classes. The day is almost ending just like that.

No big achievement. No tasks checked off. Nothing meaningful done.

Just a day that slipped away quietly.

Before I continue, I know it has been a while since I last sent a letter.

Some of you might have noticed the silence.

Final year has been crazy.

And I don’t mean that in the exciting “final lap” kind of crazy.

I mean the mentally exhausting kind where everything feels like it is happening at the same time and your brain is constantly running even when you are doing nothing.

Right now I have two supervisors.

One for my project.

Another for my seminar.

Two different academic directions, two different expectations, two different people to satisfy.

Anyone who has ever worked under one demanding supervisor already understands how draining that alone can be.

Now imagine trying to balance two at the same time while making sure you do not disappoint either of them.

It means writing two different topics.

It means researching two different areas.

It means structuring ideas, rewriting sections, reading papers, trying to make sense of information that sometimes feels like it was written in another language.

And while all of that is happening, life does not pause.

There is still work.

There are still people.

There are still responsibilities.

There are still days where clients need your attention, conversations need responses, and things outside school still require energy.

Trying to combine all of that together can be mentally exhausting in a way that is hard to explain unless you are inside it.

Some days my brain feels full before the day even begins.

Some days I sit down to work and my mind just refuses to cooperate.

And sometimes it gets to a point where I don’t even feel like picking up my phone.

Not because anything is wrong with the phone.

Not because I am trying to ignore anyone.

Just because my mind needs silence.

That has been the rhythm of my life lately.

Balancing school work that demands deep thinking.

Balancing other responsibilities that require attention.

Trying to stay present for people while also trying not to burn out.

And in between all of that, there are days like today.

Days where you wake up late, do almost nothing, and allow your body and mind to just exist without pressure.

For a long time I used to feel guilty about days like that. I would look at them as wasted days, as if resting automatically meant failure.

But lately I am starting to see it differently.

Sometimes those quiet days are not laziness.

Sometimes they are recovery.

When your mind has been stretched for too long, when you have been thinking about research topics, project structures, deadlines, client work, and expectations all at once, your brain eventually asks for a pause.

And if you ignore that pause long enough, it will take it for you.

So today became that pause.

A slow Monday.

A mentally exhausted Monday.

A Monday where nothing much happened except breathing, eating, sleeping, and letting the mind rest.

Maybe that was exactly what I needed.

Final year is demanding, and there are still many things ahead to finish.

The project needs work.

The research still needs structure.

Life outside school still needs attention.

But one thing I am learning is that you cannot pour energy into everything if you never allow yourself to recover it.

So if you have not heard from me as often as before, this is why.

Life lately has been lectures, research papers, two supervisors, deadlines, work, and the quiet mental battle of trying to manage it all.

Some days are productive.

Some days look like today.

And for now, that’s the reality of this season.

Thank you for reading.

I’ll see you in the next letter.

I know I’ve never done this before, but let’s try it.

Before you run down, someone special wrote today’s newsletter, trying to maintain my voice, tone and structure lol.

I don’t know how that will sound to my audience,, but I hope it’s not too different.

Let me tell you how my day went.

I woke up excited.

Not overly dramatic, not chasing anything big, just genuinely ready to move. I prepared for lectures, stepped out early, and told myself it would be a productive day.

It didn’t turn out that way.

The lectures were long and painfully boring.

Not boring because the topic had no value, but because I simply did not understand what the lecturer was explaining.

You know that feeling when everyone is nodding and writing, and you are staring at your notebook trying to connect dots that refuse to connect? That was me.

Thankfully, I was sitting beside a friend who made it bearable.

Sometimes the only reason you survive certain moments is the company you keep.

In the middle of class, I got a notification on my phone.

A payment notification from one of my clients.

I opened it immediately.

It wasn’t complete.

And in that moment, something inside me dropped.

I had already planned how to use that money. I had debts lined up to clear. Responsibilities waiting.

Seeing that amount felt like someone quietly pulling the ground from under me.

I wanted to cry.

But earlier this year, I made a promise to myself that I would not break down easily and I would stop taking things so personally.

So I swallowed it.

I stayed quiet and kept my face straight because i didn’t want anybody noticing.

Lectures ended with a test that felt harder than it should have been.

My brain was already exhausted, so every question felt like an attack.

From there, I went to see my project supervisor, and we discussed my project topic. It was important, but I was too tired to even process it properly.

And somewhere in between all of that, I was also carrying stress from a client.

We had an agreement with clear terms and clear expectations.

Then she went back on her word.

That kind of thing drains you more than people realize.

Not because of the money alone, but because of the principle.

When you give your time, your thinking, your creativity, and someone shifts the goalpost, it stays with you.

By the time I left everything and headed back home, I felt completely drained.

The day already felt ruined.

I got to my room and finally allowed myself to feel what I had been suppressing all day.

I cried quietly into cardboard so nobody would hear me.

Then I picked up a book and started reading.

Not because I suddenly had motivation, but because I did not want to talk to anyone.

Reading felt safer than conversation. I read until I slept off.

Later, I woke up and went for evening work with my friend.

I still had not eaten. I wasn’t in the mood and also didn’t have appetite.

I came back, did my assignment, and went to bed.

This was the highlight of my day and this is where the narrator who wrote this conveyed his thoughts of my day as explained.

My day was not glamorous or inspiring.

Not productive in the way social media defines productivity.

But real.

Here is what I am learning.

Growth is not always loud.

Sometimes it looks like holding yourself together in a classroom when you want to break down.

Sometimes it looks like finishing an assignment when your mind is tired.

Sometimes it looks like not reacting impulsively to a client even when you are upset.

I am learning that resilience is quiet.

And that being strong does not mean you do not cry. It means you cry, then you continue.

Some days will test your patience, your finances, your confidence, and your emotional control all at once. But the fact that you still show up the next day matters.

Tomorrow, I will wake up again.

And I will keep building.

Because one bad day does not cancel the vision.

Thank you for reading.

See you in my next letter.

In 2026, the thing everyone is chasing is not just growth, not just revenue, not even visibility.

It’s clarity.

Clarity in business.
Clarity in skill.
Clarity in positioning.
Clarity in what to build and what to ignore.

I speak with founders almost every week, and beneath the strategies, the metrics, the content calendars, and the product launches, there’s one silent frustration most of them share: they are not sure if they are moving in the right direction.

So many people are confused about what to do next, where to focus, how to upskill properly, how to grow without burning out, and how to stand out in markets that are more competitive than ever.

And one place you cannot afford to remain is stuck, because stagnation in a fast-moving environment is the quickest way to become irrelevant.

Here’s the truth: nobody has everything figured out.

Not the loudest voices online.
Not the biggest brands.
Not even the founders you admire.

Everyone is testing, adjusting, recalibrating.

The difference is that some people are not doing it alone.

As a founder in 2026, you do not need to sit down and attempt to decode your brand by yourself.

You do not need to carry the entire weight of strategy, positioning, storytelling, audience psychology, and content execution alone while also trying to run operations and generate revenue.

Clarity is not something you stumble into.
It is something you build deliberately.

And that is where brand strategists and ghostwriters come in.

A good strategist does not just “post content.”
They help you think.
They help you refine your message.
They help you see blind spots.
They help you understand what will actually work in your industry instead of what simply sounds good.

If everyone truly had it figured out, nobody would be working this hard, experimenting this much, or sweating through endless revisions and launches.

Growth requires effort, but it should not require confusion.

When founders reach out to me, what they are often asking for is not just writing.

They are asking for structure.

They want someone who can take scattered ideas and turn them into a clear narrative.

They want someone who can handle the heavy thinking, the positioning, the messaging, and the storytelling while they focus on leading and building.

That is the work I do.

I help founders gain clarity in their brand, their voice, and their communication.

I help ghostwrite in a way that reflects who you are while aligning with where you are going. I take on the heavy load of thinking, structuring, refining, and executing, so you can focus on decisions that move the business forward and actually enjoy the results that follow.

You do not have to remain stuck.

You do not have to keep second-guessing every post, every offer, every direction.

If you are a founder seeking clarity in your project, brand, or business, this is the week to make a decisive move.

Send a DM.
Send a mail @terveremmanuel81@gmail.com
Let’s discuss how we can get started.

I will walk you through the process, show you how we can position your brand properly, and build a system that supports your growth instead of confusing it.

Clarity changes everything.

And in 2026, the founders who win will not be the ones doing everything alone, but the ones smart enough to build with the right support.

Let’s get to work.

“Does It Make You Happy?”

“Mariam asked.”

Earlier this year, Mariam and I had one of those friendship calls where you don’t just talk about life, you talk about direction, plans, growth, and the things you’re quietly committing to.

During that call, I told her something very clearly.

That no matter how busy life got, no matter how intense my final year became, I was going to stay consistent with my newsletter on Substack, even if it meant sacrificing time for other things, because writing and sharing ideas wasn’t just a hobby for me, it was something I genuinely cared about, something I wanted to build long term.

Fast forward to last week.

We were talking again, catching up on everything we had discussed months back, and she asked about the progress on the different goals I had set for myself.

I walked her through a few things, and then I reminded her about the one commitment I made very confidently back then, sticking with my newsletter.

That’s when she said something that stayed with me.

She told me she had been seeing tremendous progress in that area.

Then she paused.

And asked:

“Does it make you happy?”

I said yes.

But I also added something very honest.

I told her the other things I’m working on are what will likely bring in more income and revenue in the short term.

And that single moment led me into a much deeper reflection.

Does What You’re Doing Actually Make You Happy?

Not just your job.

Not just your skill.

But the thing you keep coming back to when nobody is forcing you.

The thing you’d still do even if it wasn’t paying yet.

For me, it’s writing.

My Substack doesn’t have thousands of subscribers.
It isn’t bringing in income yet.

But it brings me fulfilment.

And that’s something a lot of people are quietly struggling with.

Most people today are standing at a crossroads.

On one side: what they love doing, their passion, their talent, their creative gift.
On the other side: what pays the bills.

And they feel like they have to choose only one.

The Lie We Tell Ourselves

At some point, your ego will whisper:

“Stick with what you love. Everything will work out.”

And while passion is powerful, there’s something equally important: honesty.

At some point in life, you have to tell yourself the truth.

You need to survive.
You need income.
You need stability.

But here’s where many people get it wrong.

They assume survival is only about money.

You can be earning a lot and still be miserable.
You can be making a good income and slowly losing happiness.
You can be financially okay and mentally exhausted.

And when happiness drops, everything else follows: your productivity, your creativity, your focus, even your ability to perform at your best.

The Balance

The answer isn’t abandoning what you love.

And the answer also isn’t ignoring income.

The real move is balance.

• Build income streams.

• Learn high-value skills.

• Take opportunities that pay.

• Diversify your efforts.

But don’t dump the thing that lights you up.

Your passion is not a distraction.
It’s a long-term asset.

• Monetise it.

• Grow it slowly.

• Invest time in it.

• Build it with intention.

Let it evolve.

Let it become global.

So that one day, you’re not squeezing it into the corners of your life, it becomes the main thing.

And everything else becomes optional.

My Real Truth

Right now, I’m doing both.

I’m working on things that will generate income.

And I’m nurturing what makes me happy.

I’m building my writing even when it isn’t paying yet.

Because I know something most people learn too late:

If you kill your passion completely for money, you’ll eventually pay for it with burnout, dissatisfaction, and regret.

But if you build your passion wisely while handling survival smartly, you give yourself a future where joy and income coexist.

So I’ll ask you the same question Mariam asked me:

Does what you’re doing make you happy?

Not just profitable.
Not just respectable.
But genuinely happy.

If yes, protect it, grow it, and take it seriously.

If not, be honest with yourself and start designing a life that includes both fulfilment and financial stability.

You don’t have to choose one forever.

Build income.
Build joy.
Build skills.
Build purpose.

And over time, let what you love become what sustains you.

Until then, keep showing up.

I hope this helps someone.

See you in my next letter.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned in my years of ghostwriting for the same client is this:

Your client will always have opinions about their brand.
But those opinions won’t always be what moves the brand forward.

And that’s normal.

They built it.
They live with it every day.
They’re emotionally attached to it.

But emotional attachment doesn’t always equal strategic decisions.

I remember early in our working relationship, my client would often insist on certain types of content, tones, or strategies simply because she liked them.

Not because they were performing or because they aligned with audience behaviour. Just because they felt right to her.

Sometimes I pushed back gently.
Other times, I went along with it.

And almost every time we followed ideas that weren’t rooted in strategy or data, the results proved the point.

There was either low engagement, no growth or conversions.

That’s when I understood something important about client work.

If your client could handle everything themselves, they wouldn’t have hired you.

They hired you for:
• Your experience
• Your perspective
• Your strategy
• Your understanding of what works

Not just for you to type what they like.

Your job isn’t to be a yes-person.
Your job is to guide growth.

But here’s the tricky part…

Clients Don’t Always Trust Strategy at First

Especially when it doesn’t match what they feel is right.

As a ghostwriter (or any service provider), you’ll often suggest approaches that are unfamiliar to them.

Different tones.
Different posting styles.
Different storytelling angles.

And many times, their first reaction is resistance.

Not because you’re wrong.
But because it’s new.

That’s where patience comes in.

Sometimes I walk my client through the process:

Why this hook works.
Why this structure converts.
Why this story connects emotionally.

I show the thinking behind the strategy.

And when she trusts it, the results usually follow.

When They Insist, Let Results Do the Talking

There are also moments when no amount of explaining works.

They want their idea.
They’re convinced it will perform.

In those situations, I’ve learned not to fight endlessly.

I let the content run.

If it works great, we’ve learned something new.
If it doesn’t, the data becomes the teacher.

And when the results are weak, it becomes easier for them to trust your next recommendation.

Experience beats argument every time.

Don’t Be Rigid Either

Here’s the other side most people miss.

Not every client idea is wrong.

Some of the best-performing content I’ve worked on actually started from a client’s suggestion, refined with strategy and structure.

So don’t dismiss ideas automatically.

Test, analyse, and adjust.

Growth comes from collaboration, not ego.

The Real Goal of Client Work

At the end of the day, this isn’t about who is right.

It’s about results.

Your role is to help your client:
• Grow their brand
• Build authority
• Increase engagement
• Drive revenue

As long as those goals are being met, everyone wins.

Handle your clients in a way that:
• Builds trust
• Keeps long-term relationships
• Delivers consistent results

Because clients don’t stay for creativity alone.

They stay for outcomes.

Finally;

Listen to your clients.
Respect their vision.
But don’t abandon your expertise.

You were hired to lead growth, not just execute preferences.

Sometimes that means pushing back.
Sometimes it means testing their ideas.
And sometimes it means letting results speak louder than opinions.

But always always make delivery the priority.

Because in this game, the ones who consistently deliver…
They are the ones who keep clients for years.

I’ve been down for the past week and counting; that’s why you haven’t seen any letters from me or heard from me in a while.

I wouldn’t want to go into too much detail, but I was diagnosed with typhoid. I’m okay now, and recovering well, but I won’t lie, this time hit differently.

During those days of being ill, I had some alarming thoughts.

I remember one night, around 1:00 am, I was so restless I couldn’t sleep.

My body was weak, my mind was loud, and for the first time in a long while, I was genuinely scared.

I know I get sick sometimes, as everyone else does, but this one came hard. It didn’t feel like the usual “I’ll be fine by morning” kind of sickness.

It felt uncertain.

I found myself scrolling through my contacts, just looking for anyone who might be awake so I could talk to them.

Not even about anything serious, just to hear a voice, just to feel connected, just to not be alone with my thoughts.

That fear of not knowing what could happen next is something I can’t really explain properly.

Because in the last year and even into this year, I’ve heard of people passing from the smallest things. Simple illnesses.

Things you’d never expect to take a life. And when you’re lying there weak, restless, and overthinking, those stories don’t stay far from your mind.

It makes you wonder.

What happens to all the knowledge you’ve gathered?
What happens to the plans you’ve made?
The brands you’re building?
The money you’re chasing?
The dreams you’re postponing?

In moments like that, everything suddenly feels fragile.

That period forced me to reflect deeply on the people in my life, those by my side, those who check in, those who genuinely care, and even those I’ve probably taken for granted without realising it.

It taught me to cherish people more.

It also reminded me how easy it is to assume we have time.

We plan for next year.
We postpone happiness.
We delay reaching out.
We delay starting.
We delay resting.

Until life reminds us that nothing is guaranteed.

This experience made me look at every day differently, not in a dramatic way, but in a more intentional way.

To appreciate waking up healthy.

To value conversations. To stop rushing past moments that actually matter.

Because when health is shaken, everything else becomes secondary.

Money doesn’t feel urgent.
Status doesn’t feel important.
Even ambition goes quiet.

All you want is to be okay.

To breathe easily.
To feel strong again.
To live normally.

And that alone is a blessing we overlook too often.

So yes, I’ve been quiet, but for a reason.

And now I’m back, better, clearer, and more grateful than before.

Expect more letters from me.
More thoughts.
More stories.
More reflections.

Life is short, and I don’t intend to waste the days I’m given.

See you in my next letter.

I got a lead today from someone I hadn’t worked with or heard from in years.

An old-time friend.

Someone I used to work with as her virtual assistant about five years ago.

She reached out casually and asked if I was interested in an offer.

What made it interesting wasn’t the offer itself but the context.

They already have their own team.

They aren’t short of options.

They didn’t need to look outside.

But she wanted to bring me in.

Not because I was the only one she knew.

Not because she didn’t have choices.

But because I had registered my presence in her memory.

Five years ago, when I worked with her, I did it for free.

Not out of desperation or lack of self-worth.

She was growing, and I genuinely loved watching that growth.

I had access to how she thought, how she made decisions, how she handled pressure, and how she built relationships.

I was learning in real time.

I was exposed to rooms, conversations, and people I would not have accessed otherwise.

That experience taught me more than whatever amount she could have paid me at the time.

And that’s the part many people miss.

At that stage, money wasn’t the most valuable thing on the table; exposure, proximity, and trust were.

Years later, that decision came back around.

Just quietly, in the form of a message that said: “Are you interested?”

That’s how real opportunities usually show up.

Here’s why I’m sharing this.

If you’re starting, especially as a ghostwriter, creative, or operator, it is normal to work for free at some point.

It is normal to offer value before you have leverage.

It is normal to decide that learning, access, and reputation matter more right now than immediate payment.

Working for free is not the problem.

Working for free without intention is

When you decide to do unpaid work, it should never come from a place of begging to be chosen.

It should come from a clear understanding of what you’re gaining skills, exposure, relationships, confidence, or proof of work.

Money is important.

But it shouldn’t be placed above delivering excellent service.

Because the truth is this: people remember how you made them feel long after they forget what they paid you.

When you show up early, give your best, and genuinely help someone grow, you create a memory, and that memory compounds.

That’s especially true in ghostwriting.

Your work lives in someone else’s voice.

Your impact shows up in how their brand grows.

Your value isn’t always immediate, but it’s rarely forgotten.

If you’re starting and no one knows what you can do yet, the fastest way to change that is not by arguing your worth; it’s by demonstrating it.

Wow them first.

Deliver fully.

Show them that you’re worth more than what you’re charging.

Because when you do that, you don’t just earn money later; you earn trust, referrals, and long-term opportunities.

Five years later, I didn’t have to remind her who I was.

She already knew.

That’s the quiet power of showing up early, delivering well, and playing the long game even when no one is clapping yet.

Most of the time, the results may not come from the same person you helped; they may come from a referral or a lead, but it is all a win

And that’s a lesson worth sitting with.

Don’t forget to share this with someone who you feel will help the person.

Have a lovely weekend, and see you in my next letter!