"Facebook for Beginners" Gently Leads New Users Through the Maze
6:15 AM / Posted by
Will Conley/
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Facebook for Beginners (facebookforbeginners.blogspot.com) is a new blog of mini-lessons for people new to Facebook. It's "to-the-point and caffeine-free."
New users often have a lot of random, elementary, or seemingly unimportant questions, such as:
Can I delete this email I got from Facebook?
How can I send a message to all of my Facebook friends at once?
But in fact it's those types of odd questions which, if brushed off and left unanswered, can linger in the mind and get in the way of learning. Facebook for Beginners is designed to answer those odd questions so new users can become veterans as soon as possible.
Every post is a random definition, how-to, or informational tidbit about using Facebook. (Don't worry, articles can also be searched or browsed via archive and tag cloud, all organized-like.)
You most certainly know someone you can direct to that blog. Is it your dad? Your grandmother? A co-worker who has stopped scoffing whenever you mention Facebook and is now curious about it? Someone from Alpha Centauri who has never seen one of our primitive human laptops?
When you figure out who that is, direct them to facebookforbeginners.blogspot.com.
How to Determine Whether a New Company is a Good Candidate for Venture Capital Funding
11:01 PM / Posted by
Will Conley/
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Ever wonder how all these garage-run start-up companies get hold of an angel investor or venture capitalist, and use the funding to make it big and eventually go public? The answer is simple: Those start-ups were a good fit for whatever certain angels and VCs were looking for. If you have a business idea and the only thing holding you back from executing it is massive amounts of funding, go ahead and dream big--but put your head in the game too.
The first step you need to take is to determine whether your potential new company is a good candidate for venture capital funding. If it turns out your company is not a good candidate for angel or venture funding, you may realize your business plan is better suited to obtaining debt equity (loans) or bootstrapping (funding your own company out-of-pocket). That would be fine; your business goals should be viable first and foremost (and not necessarily high-growth.)
I wrote a brief article, which you can read over on eHow, describing how to research and answer the question outlined above. It should get you started on the right path. Please link to it, tweet about it, "like" it on Facebook, email it to your friends and family, what-have-you. A teaser screenshot of the article:
Will Conley has written extensively about angel investors, venture capitalists, business planning, and crowdfunding, on a vendor basis for Growthink, which since 1999 has helped over 2000 raise more than $1 billion in funding. He is currently contributing definitions pertaining to options trading, tax law, the stock market and more to a comprehensive online glossary of investment terms, whose publisher has been recommended by Barron's.
An Unusual Cabby: A Story in 25 Tweets
I improvised this story today on Twitter, one tweet at a time. It comes from a place of need. All tweets appear here in chronological order from top to bottom and have been proofread for respectful capitalization only.
Lord, I need a lift. I need to get from here to there. You're the expert, but if I may suggest a route, hang a left and aim for the glowing."Hang on to your shit," spake the Lord, and floored it. In reverse. Pinned by velocity to the back of the passenger seat like a sixth-grade science project, I could just make out my past flying by.As Fall Branch receded into the future, I saw the places I've been. At this divine speed they appeared as wet Polaroids not fully developed. Azusa. Pasadena. North Hollywood. St. Paul. Mounds View. St. Paul again. Yonkers. Roswell. New Haven. Geneva. Minneapolis. London. Paris.We passed green foothills in white caps, threaded through S-curves wiggling between sheer cliffs, blasted out into great expanses of desert. And then we were riding on water. His taxi skipped across the Atlantic like a checkered yellow stone.The Lord never asked me whether I was comfortable."Thirsty?" the Lord did ask unto me. "Yes," I replied, upon which He handed me an Evian bottle full of brilliant ruby wine. I downed it. Yea, the Lord got me completely wasted. He pulled over. I fell out of the cab onto a cobbled street. The cab had turned black. "Nice trick.”London. West End. The Hammersmith Apollo loomed high above my head. The marquee read "BLAST!" Blast, I'm late for my entrance, I mumbled. "Don't worry," spake the Lord, "You're fired. Get in." I looked at Him, looked at the marquee, looked at the black cab and climbed in. Sigh.The Lord buried His sandaled foot in the floorboards and off we flew, still in reverse. "Paris, right?" I asked, fumbling with the seatbelt. I stood on the beach of Brittany at sunset. The blue swingset. The oyster bar. My friend Sanaphay, stoned and puking up oysters. Bliss.The Lord shoveled me into the cab again, took the wheel, and punched it back to Minneapolis. University of Minnesota. "I'm tired, Lord.” High school: Marching band, theater, English class, cross-country skiing, crushes, Live, Dave Matthews, lockers, cars and bicycles.Middle school: Shame, darting eyes, righteous indignation, the stench of skepticism wafting from Mead notebooks. Picking fights with giants. Elementary school: Mr. Galinsky, a class music video, the Bookworm program, a rosy girl of long black hair named Chastity. And Katie.Baseball cards. G.I. Joe. Transformers. Mr. Rogers. Barbara Mandrell on PBS. A wooden fence and a little blond boy named William in red shorts. Me.An Easter Basket of green plastic grass and chocolate eggs. The reassuring smell of cigarette smoke on Mom's pea coat.Everything goes black. "Lord, I can't follow You here.” "Then you aren't ready to go all the way, " spake the Lord. "I'll pick you up in 87 years. You owe Me six hundred large." Put it on my tab.The Lord sighed. "Thanks for riding with Us." I helped Him with His robes, slammed the door and gave the roof a pat. He threw it in reverse. The End.
I improvised this story today on Twitter, one tweet at a time. It comes from a place of need. All tweets appear here in chronological order from top to bottom and have been proofread for respectful capitalization only.
Lord, I need a lift. I need to get from here to there. You're the expert, but if I may suggest a route, hang a left and aim for the glowing."Hang on to your shit," spake the Lord, and floored it. In reverse. Pinned by velocity to the back of the passenger seat like a sixth-grade science project, I could just make out my past flying by.As Fall Branch receded into the future, I saw the places I've been. At this divine speed they appeared as wet Polaroids not fully developed. Azusa. Pasadena. North Hollywood. St. Paul. Mounds View. St. Paul again. Yonkers. Roswell. New Haven. Geneva. Minneapolis. London. Paris.We passed green foothills in white caps, threaded through S-curves wiggling between sheer cliffs, blasted out into great expanses of desert. And then we were riding on water. His taxi skipped across the Atlantic like a checkered yellow stone.The Lord never asked me whether I was comfortable."Thirsty?" the Lord did ask unto me. "Yes," I replied, upon which He handed me an Evian bottle full of brilliant ruby wine. I downed it. Yea, the Lord got me completely wasted. He pulled over. I fell out of the cab onto a cobbled street. The cab had turned black. "Nice trick.”London. West End. The Hammersmith Apollo loomed high above my head. The marquee read "BLAST!" Blast, I'm late for my entrance, I mumbled. "Don't worry," spake the Lord, "You're fired. Get in." I looked at Him, looked at the marquee, looked at the black cab and climbed in. Sigh.The Lord buried His sandaled foot in the floorboards and off we flew, still in reverse. "Paris, right?" I asked, fumbling with the seatbelt. I stood on the beach of Brittany at sunset. The blue swingset. The oyster bar. My friend Sanaphay, stoned and puking up oysters. Bliss.The Lord shoveled me into the cab again, took the wheel, and punched it back to Minneapolis. University of Minnesota. "I'm tired, Lord.” High school: Marching band, theater, English class, cross-country skiing, crushes, Live, Dave Matthews, lockers, cars and bicycles.Middle school: Shame, darting eyes, righteous indignation, the stench of skepticism wafting from Mead notebooks. Picking fights with giants. Elementary school: Mr. Galinsky, a class music video, the Bookworm program, a rosy girl of long black hair named Chastity. And Katie.Baseball cards. G.I. Joe. Transformers. Mr. Rogers. Barbara Mandrell on PBS. A wooden fence and a little blond boy named William in red shorts. Me.An Easter Basket of green plastic grass and chocolate eggs. The reassuring smell of cigarette smoke on Mom's pea coat.Everything goes black. "Lord, I can't follow You here.” "Then you aren't ready to go all the way, " spake the Lord. "I'll pick you up in 87 years. You owe Me six hundred large." Put it on my tab.The Lord sighed. "Thanks for riding with Us." I helped Him with His robes, slammed the door and gave the roof a pat. He threw it in reverse. The End.
The consignment shop in Fall Branch sells home schooling materials, nightcrawlers.
9:32 PM / Posted by
Will Conley/
0 comments
Labels:Fall Branch,images,Tennessee
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