*Typing*

I make sauces good enough for the rich man that the poor man can still afford. David Tran said that. If you’ve never heard of him, you’ve certainly heard of his product: Sriracha. Tran was a Chinese-Vietnamese refugee that fled Vietnam after the war. He and his family settled in Los Angeles where Tran soon noticed that while there was a plethora of hot sauces, there were non with the bold Asian flavors he was used to.

So, what did Tran do? He started making his own hot sauce packaged in recycled glass jars, which he sold mostly to other Asian immigrants. Before long, there was enough demand for Sriracha that Tran opened a little warehouse in Chinatown, where he made and packaged his Sriracha by hand. Investors began knocking on Tran’s door but kept turning them down. He had no interest in rapid growth nor giving up any control of his business. Anytime Tran needed to expand, he patiently saved up his money and only bought what he needed.

In the four decades that Sriracha has been in business, Tran has never raised his prices. He has never advertised. And, when he has experienced shortages on ingredients, he has simply made less Sriracha rather than deviated from his recipe. If you look closely at a bottle of Sriracha—just under the rooster’s feet—you will find the name of Tran’s company…Huy Fong Foods Inc. When Tran and his family immigrated to America, they traveled on a Taiwanese freighter named “Huy Fong”.

All creatives should spend a short stint working in an agency setting. This isn’t because agency creatives are any more talented than non-agency creatives. It’s because at an agency, creatives are expected to produce a lot of work in a fairly short amount of time. This benefits the burgeoning creative in the obvious ways. It fattens their portfolio and it allows for hundreds of repetitions that compound into mastery. However, there is another lesser-known benefit that’s often overlooked. With time, the creative realizes that extraordinary work is the byproduct of quantity. It’s not because of luck. It’s not because of God-given talent. It’s not because of some fleeting moment of inspiration. It’s because the creative makes the ongoing decision to produce a lot of good, bad and mediocre work so they can eventually land on something extraordinary. If taken seriously, this lesson will serve the creative for the rest of their life.

If you can—when you can—focus on the process rather than the outcome. Not so much where you’re going but how you’re getting there. Romanticize every aspect of the process: the silent struggle and later, the tremendous break through. If you learn to fall in love with the process, the outcome becomes secondary and eventually, unnecessary. I was listening to an interview just the other day of a Jai Alai player who has played the sport for decades. Today, he plays in front of crowds of just a dozen people. He says, “I play as if 15,000 people are watching.” This is a craftsman in the purest sense, an obsessive athelete mastering a dying sport somewhere in Miami. Professionals focus on the process. Amateurs focus on the outcome.

If you don’t have fun writing, the reader isn’t going to have fun reading. This same advice applies to marketers, graphic designers, product developers, videographers and anyone creating anything for a living. Your work carries an energy that is felt by the end consumer. If you are inspired by your work, your customer will be inspired too. If you are bored by your work, your customer will be bored too. Your customer feels what you feel. So, pay very close attention to what you feel.

Gathering inspiration is an integral part of the creative process. However, too much of it can weigh the creative down and even act as an excuse to avoid doing the work. Think of it like the accumulation of good, dry wood to make a fire. You fetch enough fuel to quench the thirst of the flames. But, eventually, you must kneel down on the cold, damp Earth and get your hands dirty birthing the fire. The creative process is the same way.