I plead guilty to enjoying a cold beer or two, and I’ve watched with amazement as the decade-long bull market in the craft beer industry shows no signs of abating.
This is an excerpt from "The Eureka! Enigma."<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <b>Selling America</b><br clear="none" /> In 1979, I decided to leave the UK. I had set my sights on America, and my vision was to take the largest market in the world by storm. People in the United States have always been interested in personal development, and after the success I'd enjoyed with "Debt Free with Financial Kung Fu," I figured my latest offering, "Talk & Grow Rich," would sell like hot cakes from Los Angeles to New York. In Britain, it was the start of the Thatcher era, when a lot of get-setters, creative people (and ex-motorcycle dealers!) became fired up with the general feeling that if you had ambition, the world was your oyster—you could dip in and scoop up a bucketful of success wherever you fancied. Many of us felt the States was where it was all at, and I, too, saw a bright green light beckoning from across the pond. My particular street sign was pointing to the Big Apple, publishing capital of the world: New York, New York.<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <b>I try to program for success. </b><br clear="none" /> Now, here's a confession. In 1979, not only had I never been to America, but I had never flown before. So boarding a plane was itself a big deal for me, let alone getting a publishing deal in the city that never sleeps. So I set about programming my mind. I would drive out to Heathrow every night, and imagine myself jetting off to the States, arriving in New York, and getting the offer of a major deal. The vision I held was always the same: I was taking the elevator to the 69th floor of a skyscraper in New York City, then I was being ushered into a sumptuous office overlooking Central Park, where the editor-in-chief made me a fabulous offer for my book. I saw this happen over and over again in my imagination. I was inputting biocomputer programs intuitively—and naively.<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <b>I get the offered the deal I visualized. </b><br clear="none" /> Before long, I had bought my Freddie Laker Sky Train ticket and, with an exchange rate of $2 to the pound, I felt I couldn't put a foot wrong. I landed in New York and quickly found my way to the publisher. I literally was living the dream. I took the elevator to the 69th floor and—just as he had in my visualization, the chief executive put money on the table. He offered me $125,000 on signing a contract, a $200,000 promotional budget, a four-week author tour, and a whole list of other perks. An incredibly good deal for 1979—so what happened next?<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <b>I blow the deal of a lifetime. </b><br clear="none" /> Perhaps you've guessed: The deal never came off. Why? It was all me; I wouldn't sign the contract. Whether it just seemed too good to be true, whether I thought I was being ripped off and should hold out for more, I just don't know. Maybe it was the old Groucho Marx gag: I didn't want to join a club that would have someone like me as a member. Whatever the reason, I blew it that day, and it took a long time to recover both in financial and psychological terms. But, hokey as it sounds, that fateful day on the 69th floor was a unique and—ultimately—profitable learning experience. Here's why: telling my story on the lecture circuit in the United States made me a fortune. Americans loved my British accent, and I was surprised how many people related to my story of self-destruction on the 69th floor.<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <b>I now do postmortems on failures and successes. </b><br clear="none" /> The reason for my meltdown in the Manhattan publisher's office in 1979 if you hadn't already guessed, was <i>incomplete</i> visualization. I only got as far as my biocomputer program would take me, and its source code not only had a missing link, it was missing a complete line: the one that <i>saw</i> me accepting the check. When my program reached that point, I came to a grinding halt. It was as though some tiny, unconscious fear had stopped me from programming that vital step. If my final program in BasicVisual InAdvance had been complete, I'd not only have <i>heard</i> the New York cabbies, <i>smelt</i> the plush carpet in the executive offices, and <i>felt</i> the welcoming grip of the chief executive's handshake—also, I would have <i>seen</i> that check in my hand, seen myself depositing the check in my bank…<i>and</i> spending the money—perhaps even investing a little of it! The moral of the story? A biocomputer program is only as strong as its weakest code.<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <b>Hot Tip</b> When the words and the pictures are pulling in the opposite direction it is always the pictures that win also without exception. The corollary: When the words and the pictures are pulling harmoniously in the <i>same</i> direction harmoniously the <i>irresistible</i> force of <i>Colossus Output</i> will result, and the biocomputer effect will start to manifest itself.<br clear="none" /> <br clear="none" /> <i>Ron G Holland is a seasoned entrepreneur, age 60, and has been written up as Britain's Leading Motivational Speaker, Top Biz Guru and the Entrepreneur’s Entrepreneur. He is the author of many business books, manuals and audio programs including "Talk & Grow Rich and Turbo Success" and "The Eureka! Enigma." His first book, "Debt Free with Financial Kung Fu" was published in 1977. His latest book, "The Eureka! Enigma — 7 Keys to Realizing Your Dreams" is available from: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eureka-Enigma-Keys-Realizing-Dreams/dp/1600375278/... target="_blank">www.amazon.com</a>. For more information, visit <a href=" http://www.rongholland.com/" target="_blank">www.rongholland.com</a>.</i>