jan,

Two things stop good people from ever making an offer.

The first is, “I don’t know what I would sell.”

The second is, “I’m not technical enough to build anything.”

I want to take both away from you before Friday, because neither one is true anymore, and I can prove it in a sentence.

You will not build anything on Friday. You will watch it get built.

Here is how the morning actually runs. You answer a few plain questions about what you know and who you could help.

Then a system takes your answers and writes your offer: what you are selling, to whom, for how much, and what they get.

It writes the sample. It writes the messages you will send. It does this on your screen, in minutes, while Lanny explains what is happening and why each piece matters.

You make the decisions. The machine does the typing.

That is the whole trick, and it is why a seventy year old who has never opened a spreadsheet will leave Friday with the same thing a thirty year old software engineer leaves with: an offer that exists, and messages in real inboxes.

Now, the first objection. “I don’t know what I would sell.”

You do. You have thirty years of knowing something that other people would pay to be spared. A retired police officer who wrote policy for a major department does not have a business idea.

She has three decades of exactly what municipalities pay consultants for, and had never once thought of it as an asset until someone asked her the right questions. The right questions get asked on Friday morning.

If you have a business already, you arrive with an advantage: you know your customers and what they ask you. You leave with a new offer, or a better one, in front of them by Saturday.

If you have nothing yet, you arrive with your experience, and that turns out to be enough.

Reserve your free seat for Friday

Three days, nine to three Pacific, live with Lanny Morton. Your seat is worth $1,295 and it is free because you are on my list. Replays for seven days.

Friday you build. Saturday you sell. Sunday you deliver and sell again.

Brian Tracy

P.S. The only preparation that matters: one person you could help, and one problem you could help them with. Five minutes with a pen. Then reserve your seat.