Like so many other young students in the 90′s, I got into web development during the first internet boom. I was a bit bored with my university degree, so I found work at a small startup company during my summer holidays. Before I knew it, and because I was the only person that had even heard of the internet within 10 miles of my company’s office, I soon became not only the developer, but also help-desk manager, sales consultant, and management adviser. It was a bit too much, so I left.
During that time though, all kinds of people called me with ideas for how they could make a million bucks on the web. A few of them actually put their money where their mouth was too: one guy invested a few thousand pounds creating an art gallery online; a couple of kids invested their savings in a quiz site; and a local trucker who had never even used the net started a website to help truckers plan their trips more efficiently (which I still believe is one of the best ideas I ever heard).
I liked the attention I got at the time; people would immediately see me as a way to their personal fortune as soon as they realized I knew how to program a web-site. What I found funny though, was how some people would value their idea over my ability to actually do something with it. I don’t mean that in an arrogant way. It’s just that I question the value of an idea by itself, even those of my own.
I’ll tell you what I mean. One day my own uncle called me up at work. I was really busy, and didn’t have much time for a chat about the family fortunes. I thought it would be impolite to ignore him though, so I took the call. It was important – he’d had an idea. He wanted to make a website to display art online. (I’m sure nobody had thought of that particular idea before.) I told him it was quite possible for us to do that, and that it could be good. However, when I asked him how he would make money from it, he replied, “I was hoping you could tell me that”. Here he was, disturbing me in the middle of my already-rushed peak triple-job working time, just so he could graciously inform me that if I was only willing to put in the hours of hard-slog programming, design a great site, and just think of a way for it to actually work, he might find it in his heart to let me earn a little extra while he sat back and watched. And all because he’d “had an idea”.
So I’ve been thinking, is an idea on its own worth its salt? More specifically, is my (yet unpublished and very secretive) idea for Tudutu worth anything?
For the answer to this question, you should read “Founders at Work”, by Jessica Livingston. (You really should. It’s a marvelous book.) One of the stories in it is the story of Hotmail. The most interesting thing about it is how they came up with the idea. At first the founders wanted to create a database thingy, but they soon discovered that while they were trying to work on it, they couldn’t access their private e-mail accounts on the sly from work. So, even after they’d got funding for the database thingy, they kindly informed their investors that they weren’t doing that any more; they were going to build an online e-mail client instead.
At first everyone thought that the idea of accessing e-mail inside a browser was ridiculous. Even Yahoo turned them down. But, in typical Silicon Valley fairy-tale style, it turned out to be an idea worth a few hundred millions dollars. However, what I found really funny was what came later. There seems to have been some argument over the question as to who actually came up with the idea to change strategy to e-mail. As if it was of extreme importance to the history of the world, one of the founders stated in the book that although the initial investor once claimed it was he who had come up with the e-mail idea, it was definitely the founders who had thought of it. (So yah, boo and sucks to him!)
I’ve heard loads of stories like that recently. “Founders at Work” is full of stories just about ideas, and there are currently loads of shows about entrepreneurs and their ideas on TV too. It must be a trend. In fact, one of my favourite TV shows at the moment is BBC’s Dragon’s Den. It’s a show full of crazy people who think that their new idea is worth a million bucks on its own and try to present it to a panel of potential billionaire investors in order to exchange cash for stock. More often than not, the investors on the show inform the nervous candidates, with typical British politeness, that their idea is most definitely not a business, and is not worth a penny of their (cough) hard-earned (cough) cash without any business actually going on behind it. My wife and I find it really entertaining to watch people sweat over a 2-minute presentation of a wacky idea, while we wonder how these people managed to escape the asylum and get on TV in the first place.
The fact is, humans can be really creative. Anybody can have an idea. It’s not the idea itself which is great though – it’s the patience, endurance, and just hard graft which make the idea worth something. But don’t you just hate it when you have an idea, forget about it for a while, then are reminded about it when someone turns up having carried it out, usually accompanied by a small fortune? I do. But the reality is, unless I actually have done something about it, I don’t actually deserve it, whereas the other guy does.
Idea, good. Doing, better.
I’m scared of even sharing my idea, because, as yet, I’ve not found anyone who has come close to it anywhere. I think it’s going to change the world.
Of course, I’m probably wrong. I’ll call the asylum later, and ask them to take me back.
Note: Another thing I’ve picked up from the “founders” book – don’t be married to an idea. Let yourself change it, because even if you’re a real genius, you’re probably going to be wrong. And I am, and I am. (Think about it.)