“The secret to marketing success is no secret at all. Word of mouth is all that matters”
Seth Godin
I love Seth Godin. Though he remains a global marketing icon, he seems to have arrived at a place that is way beyond and different to what we might normally call “marketing”, diverting his wild energy into tackling climate change and helping people find their best means of self-expression. I have read a couple of his books, the more recent ones focused on individual, creative acts, and - as an example of word of mouth - I highly recommend them in the same way they were recommended to me.
“Linchpin” was devoured in quiet moments during a mission to Nefyn, in North-West Wales. As a major project at work drew to a close in early 2020, a friend and I played speedgolf, hickory golf, and even beach golf around the main course and “The Point” there, in what was meant to be a kick-start to a new deep dive back into the game. I had grown stale from working in golf and badly needed to see if the same basic love of the game remained, buried but not destroyed under a Sisyphean admin load.
Playing in such a free manner, with this inspirational teacher (that’s you, Luke) for company, was revelatory, and as we drove home, stopping to play up and down a mountain on the way, I could feel this draw towards writing stirring within me. The trip had helped me question my life and choices; the fresh air and pursuit of a small white (occasionally yellow; that’s for you & Danny K, Mark S!) provided a few answers.
So as we hammered down the motorway, I started to plot a written piece on this nostalgic return to Nefyn, where my late father had once carried my junior bag for a day, and where we’d returned to the car exhausted, only to discover that we’d left the lights on, and had to wait for the AA in this remote coastal outpost. I spent the dusky hour putting, of course. Dad was probably practising his Anglo-Saxon…
But something else was happening on that return journey, which threw these newly formed plans into disarray. For each time we stopped for fuel or comfort, the petrol stations would have alarming signs on the windows, and the staff would be wearing strange masks. The virus that had been in the international news had reached our shores, and so began the weirdest year of our lives. We all had to learn to use Zoom, and to deal with uncertainty and fear (although I have come to realise that these are ever-present when writing). And so my plans to once again immerse myself in golf went out the window, and the game actually became illegal for the first time in about 500 years.
But Seth’s book stuck in my mind, and, after writing a daily blog for the members of Woking Golf Club during those first couple of lockdowns, I knew that there was a scratch that needed to be itched here, and started to admit to myself (and only myself) that I had always loved writing, and secretly wanted to have a go at it. So I joined one of the online community writing platforms that Seth’s Akimbo platform offered, and set my alarm earlier still, and I and a few virtual friends from all over the world tuned in to our own writing dreams and each other’s attempts to uncover them.
The working day would remain awkward for a time - enforcing social distancing and revising catering permissions on an almost daily basis - but before each of these shifts began, I would write, and edit, and read. And it felt just wonderful, after all these years of meaning to do it. Eventually, the golf courses opened up again, and things slowly veered towards normal, but my normal had changed, forever. And I had a “book” in my top drawer (it’s still there, although I am working on that), and a thirst for exploring these desires to continue to write and to delve back into golf, which is where a sabbatical and this pitchmarks blog (formerly called Stymied) fit in.
It is hard to describe how exposed I felt pressing “Send” on that first edition of Stymied back on 14th December 2021, but this feeling - of doing something for yourself, to express yourself - and then letting it go is exactly what Seth goes on about. “Ship the work”, he’d say, and there is something magical in doing so - whether it is writing or painting, committing to a pitch shot, or even just being present with loved ones. The gift of a smile, or a book recommendation, or even something as simple as wishing a stranger a good day - these are all just ways of connecting to something beyond just the “me” that we’re all obsessed by. This stuff makes the world go round…
Without word of mouth, this blog and my half set of clubs would have gone nowhere, and the adventures of the last couple of years wouldn’t have happened. I have met dozens of wonderful people through word of mouth since this whole thing began. Golf, and the extraordinary blend of great people who sail in her, have brought me a lifetime of memories and taught me to have a little more courage. And now I try to remember to write for myself - to express and understand myself - and to treat with equanimity and gratitude any reactions that surface.
But word of mouth - so much more valuable and meaningful to me than conventional marketing, at which I am proud to be awful (see here!) - has brought me a pallet of books whose smell makes me smile every time I pack one up and send it off; hoping that the recipient might then go and find Huntercombe or Painswick, or maybe even the rustic beauty of Borth & Ynyslas. Each of those treasured days has come from word of mouth; I am just passing on the good news.
Word of mouth has brought me a dozen reviews that I savour (here), and a hundred gorgeous letters and emails, that speak of the very connection I suppose I hoped might emerge. The connection that I found as a teenager; the last time I was so deep in golf and literature. And word of mouth has built me a decade or more of further golfing pilgrimages to make - a bucket list that has outgrown the bucket - but golf is like this, so rich and rewarding.
Visiting places is like peeling back the layers of an onion; the more you see, the more there is to see. Before next Sunday, word of mouth will have delivered me to Durness and Reay, and this time next week I will be pulling on the layers for Royal Dornoch, and the next day Brora. And as I mention this little voyage to the northeast, word of mouth pulls together another little list, for the next time - Fortrose & Rosemarkie (D, my thousandth thank you here!), Golspie, Tain. These threads of possible future adventures - golfing secrets shared - multiply like rabbits.
Golf does the writing for me, really, and I just have to be open to the people and places I come across, but in difficult times such as these we all need cheering up now and then, and your kindness, dear pitchmarks reader, means so much. A new friend - with whom I finally played our sort of golf last week, halfway up a mountain with a few blades and some persimmon - was kind enough to take Grass Routes on holiday, and said some nice things which created a few dozen new orders to walk up to the Post Office with (thank you, Joe!), but it was three words that stopped me in my tracks. He described those essays as “unapologetically positive musings”, and I am not sure I have ever been so delighted with a turn of phrase.
So I will tune out for today smiling, and hope that - despite hardly mentioning golf this weekend - my rather clumsy theme of word of mouth might inspire you to do something unapologetically positive today. Maybe take the dog out for a long walk amid the autumnal leaf fall, or call a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. Or book a game, or watch a movie that makes you laugh or smile. And if you feel like engaging in this mysterious sauce we call word of mouth, and have enjoyed these blogs or even read Grass Routes already, tell a few friends.
The rest of your inbox is probably already stuffed with Black Friday nonsense, but by now you know that marketing isn’t my bag. So I will call this Green Sunday instead, and hope that by return I find a few more book orders to post, or a few more recommendations of courses to walk upon. For “word of mouth is all that really matters”…
Beach golf... absolutely love it. As almost always happens when I read Richard's writings, something he says reminds me of something in my life. This time it's "campus golf." 8 or 9 of my fraternity brothers (ITB Theta Delts!) grabbing a wedge of some sort and a golf ball or two (in case one went down a sewer drain or got lost in the Bernice Miller Crocus Gardens) and going from our West Quad, across the parking lot thru the East Quad, then across Sheridan Road, desperately trying not to hit random passers by or automobiles. Laughter, catcalls, insults and the like filling the air. Fellow Northwestern students, with an occasional professor or administrator) bemusedly observing the absurdity of the crazy guys trying to hit "The Rock" (a Northwestern campus institution) with a Top Flite or Pinnacle found in the bottom of a golf bag pocket -- the Titleist DT's didn't do well bouncing on streets or sidewalks, so they stayed in the bag. We'd work our way down to South Beach, and try to flop sand shots up onto the lifeguard's chair (while he's not there of course). Last one to get one up there buys a round of beers from the Coke machine in the basement of the frat house -- $0.25 for a can of Old Style, listed as "Efficiency Juice" so the Coke delivery guy wouldn't rat us out for selling beer in the leased machine! I actually think that hitting pitches and chips from garden mulch, or the manicured lawn of Long Field, helped my game when I got the chance to wander off campus for a round at Chick Evans Golf Club. $12 to walk, with mats on concrete pads for tees, and the wondrous Glen View Club across Golf Road (visible thru the trees in the spring and fall, there to make us wonder what it would be like to actually play on those verdant green fairways where Willie Anderson, Bobby Jones, Gene Sarazen once teed it up).
Thanks again, Richard, for stimulating my imagination and memories about this silly game that we love.
So well said, your “mouth” to my “ears”.