dee VANAD

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TEACHING EXPERIENCE

dee VANAD is a world published author of the best selling book, You2Preneur. Visit You2Preneur.com to learn more about the author and the book. VANAD is an accomplished rock musician and attorney at law, skilled at public speaking and writing. Married and the father of three, he lives in Columbus, Ohio and travels the nation, addressing entrepreneurs and You2Preneurs from every walk of life.

MY TEACHING STYLE

Storytelling and life/business/career/sales experience. The following is your FREE SAMPLE taken directly from You2Preneur (the beginning of the book): You2Preneur© Twelve Nuts Torqued for Maximum Life Momentum dee VANAD, esq. AuthorHouse™ 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.authorhouse.com Phone: 1-800-839-8640 You2Preneur© is a work of historical fiction. Apart from mention of a celebrity or nationally known public figure and/or events and locales that figure into the narrative—all names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current or past events and locales, or to living or deceased persons, is entirely coincidental. The author has no disdain for midgets, and in fact… loves short people. © 2012 by dee VANAD. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Published by AuthorHouse 06/06/2012 ISBN: 978-1-4772-0338-5 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4772-0340-8 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-4772-0339-2 (e) Library of Congress Control Number: 2012908693 Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. Book design by dee VANAD Contents Foreword Prologue Preamble You2Preneur© My Baby, She Wrote Me A Letter Break Dumb Rules Share What You Know This Is Your Show Open Door Policy The Thing That Loves You Looking For Angels No Flipping & Quid Pro Quo The Case For An Altered State Remember It All Jogged Parting Thoughts “There’s a place for ‘loose’ . . . and it ain’t lug nuts.” dee VANAD Foreword Courage to stand up and strike out on one’s own, beats from the heart of every entrepreneur. But the older we get and the longer a person has walked the path of a conventional career working for an employer—the less it seems that we are willing to take a chance on ourselves. Even for those fresh out of the gate, the gauntlet thrown down by all of the uncertainties and doubts that clothe a solo attempt can quickly stamp out the burning flame of self-branding and the much-desired resultant business launch. You2Preneur© coins a brand new word into our lexicon, and welcomes entrepreneurial Internet surfers from around the globe. A driving desire to launch yourself as a national and international brand is the engine that You2Preneur© was created to fuel. Yet this book does such a delightful and entertaining job of storytelling, that the author has attracted readers from all age brackets and walks of life. Slink onto the back lot of a peanuts and dung-scented carnival circus to acquire life-shaping master-revelations from a mid-way barker. Prance, then scurry and duck through the bowels of a law school, where clandestine trading and bartering of a surreptitious torts outline became de rigueur at the hands of the world’s first You2Preneur©. Whether you end up flying with his angels or decide to plunge into the abyss of self-deprivation he lays forth, do not for a moment attempt to subjugate the author’s decades of experience cutting through the puppet strings that control the flammable worlds of business and industry; courtrooms and the law. You2Preneur© is not a traditional business tips or self-help manual. Plenty of those tools and formulas are already at our fingertips. Rather, You2Preneur© is premised from the realization that successful outcomes for yourself will always require involving others. That fact alone ensures the necessity of dealing with the sometimes unexpected and always indeterminable permutations that people unfailingly will bring your way. Still, when we embrace another person and move on to a whole world filled with people to partner with, we stand to gain big-time… from a bold and exciting set of truths. These truths include the fact that Nielson Net Ratings reports that currently 57% of Americans already belong to a social network. Is it any wonder then, that direct selling is a $110 billion dollar industry… and growing? Regardless of your background and with no change to your current schedule, it’s time for every You2Preneur© to address pressing needs. First and foremost, there can be no better time than now to start making your health a priority. Leading economist Paul Zane Pilzer wisely advises that health and wellness is the next trillion dollar industry. Whether you know it yet or not—you are a You2Preneur©. You can wait for the good times to hopefully find you. Hang in there until the economy fixes itself, and hope or pray that healthcare solutions magically appear. Or you can take control now. There will never be a more perfect financial opportunity at a more perfect time. Don’t wait! The idea is to brand and launch yourself right this very moment. You2Preneur© is the necessary start to your own individual brand launch. It is your new beginning. There is no retail store front. No boring advertising from a traditional company and formula. It’s time for you to be paid to grow the products and company in your own business. Extend your hand, introduce yourself as a You2Preneur©. Tell that person exactly what you’re about. Then tell them: “You2.” “How come you guys aren’t taking it all the way up?” I faced the hill and capped my question by jerking my thumb skyward. I’d been hiking deep woods for the better part of an hour since parking my car. Pleasantly cold, today featured almost a foot of fresh snow down already. A continual heavy blanket cascaded. I came prepared. Every now and then, I spiced my impromptu nature walk with a short pull off my pocket flask. That in itself was a production involving the process of removing my glove and then molesting my layered clothing enough to locate and withdraw, uncork and sip, repack and glove-up again. Five ounces of rum stretched over the course of a whole afternoon for me, would barely provide a peach-fuzz buzz. No problem, though. The whole idea was that a sip every once in a while made me think for a moment that I felt a couple degrees warmer than I was. Fourteen eyes now scrutinized me from a handful of locations. “No way!”, was the emphatic reply. The spokesman seemed to be the oldest one. He stood closest to the toboggan. “You guys don’t mind me giving it a shot?” I was amused. Seven young men, none older than eleven or twelve, were scattered in front of me. Several drew in close enough to hear the conversation. Midgets. All of them dressed for bad weather and streaked with snowball shrapnel and ice crystals. My eyes directed our attention to the top of what would be a long steep climb. Just a few minutes before, I’d broken through heavily wooded growth and pine forest timbers and decided to enter the glacial clearing to enjoy watching the fun. It was that, or slip away and continue my solitary frosty journey. At first, I just stood and observed. The boy inside was awake and I felt him grab my reins. A ravine cut through the middle of this place and a large natural ledge ran high up and along the length of the far side of this low flat. The snow kept coming like the dickens. I was on college-class break. Earlier, this morning—I’d given up trying to call this buddy or that for a sledding hookup. Settling for a solo drive and enjoying that, sledding remained enough on my mind to draw me to the place we always favored for downhill speed and thrills. A Saturday snow cruise-around had matured into a spur-of-the-moment hiking decision. This was a spot I’d never seen before. The concordance of soundless severe weather and the natural beauty it painted was all that accompanied the sounds of my breathing. Until now. Maybe I would get a downhill run in today after all. Guided by my ears, the work to make my way toward the noise that started out as far-off drifty sort of breaking shouts and squeals, had paid off. “Nice one.” I was drooling over the toboggan. It was a beauty with room for four or five seats for these prepubertal warriors. The bunch of us were agaze at the top as we contemplated my announcement of a full hillside run. Their expressions told me they knew my question had been a mere formality. I was sure that for these guys, my implied promise of a climb clear past the mini mid-line shelf they’d been launching from… my intention to produce a full toboggan monte… was like suddenly finding free front row tickets to a death-stunt performance. “Whose going with me?” I really thought there might be a risk-taker or two in the group. Dead silence prevailed. Admittedly, all the way up looked way higher than what could be guaranteed as safe for a ride that long and steep. Best if I went alone. It was a straight run, but a little too narrow through a heavily-sloped pine tree forest that from the top, would probably be three times as fast as these boys had been running. I would soon confirm that toboggans are fast as lightning on fresh snow, and they don’t control nearly as well as a sled with rudders and a steering arm. Was it a couple ounces of rum talking? Was this raw, naked alcohol-fueled adventurism? Without the nips, would I have chosen to avoid getting involved and just smiled and continued to keep on taking in the wonderland-post-card beauty of a pack of kids having a blast in the middle of the forest? My college photography class meant that quite often, I was packing a 35mm camera for opportunities like this. Not today. Maybe it was partly the freedom from the usual responsibility of carrying equipment, contemplating f-stops and focusing a lens. I was having fun, and… there was a small crowd to perform for, besides. You could feel a little sparkling element going on where in this case, middle-school-kids were not only transfixed by the unexpected appearance of a big kid with physical power and prowess. These guys definitely appreciated my bravado at taking what they were having a blast doing—to a whole new level. You could see that in those smiling faces. Sizing it up, a ride launched from halfway up looked marvelous. Certainly, these junior speed demons were having a ton of fun. But, I was a grown dude. A man-kid has his personal pride to maintain. Besides… ‘grand’ and ‘wild’ needed to be hunted down like big game. The force of the present moment overcame me. Bottom line, I’ve always been puerile at heart, an addicted coaster fanatic… and I was an experienced and omnipotent snow sledder to boot. A life-long abstraction with roller coasters was what fed my need to cold-weather chase the same caliber of thrills. In summertime the craze itself began at a tender age, the very first time I measured tall enough to ride a roller coaster they called the Jack Rabbit. Tagging along with my parents a couple times every summer, Idora Park was local and to a tyke it was like vacationing in paradise. Built by the Youngstown Park System and the Falls Street Railway Company, Idora began as Terminal Park in the spring of 1899, on the town’s Southside. After taking on the Rabbit a couple times, all I ever dreamed about was a ride on The Wild Cat. Both were ‘woodies’ but the Cat, constructed and finished in 1929, was a nationally-ranked amusement park ride. It was a three-minute plague to the mind and body, hailed by roller coaster connoisseurs across the country. When it burned beyond repair in 1984, it was still ranked among the top ten roller coasters in the world. The Cat was pure muscle. Once your coaster (five linked double-row bench-seated rail cars) chain-clanked up the chain lift and over the crest that fed speed and centrifugal force to the rest of the ride, you’d better tighten your fists onto the grab bar. You were in for plenty of airtime and a good beating. This was the lumber and banked-steel-rail bullet coaster upon which I cut my teeth and earned my downhill pedigree. A Cat rider was weaned on a cocktail that combined neck-jarring speed, heavy G-forces that plastered the two or three people in your row into one spot, heart-pumping veneration and the dreaded feeling that you might be courting an intimate encounter with the grim reaper. The attraction’s name fit. Although a true wildcat carries the appearance of a large house pet, they are feral, menacing and extremely skittish. This striking similarity with a coaster that carried the same name, ran right alongside the complete solidarity shared by these two different species. They would both face the possibility of an eventual demise due to loss of habitat. Idora’s resident main attraction would lose that battle to a spark from a welder’s torch. Those of us so deliciously scarred by hundreds of Cat rides, forever have our aged and sacred moments of sonic trauma and blinding memories of unbounded hyena-laughs from the front seats clear through to the back ones, courtesy of—the Wild Cat. As high school sophomores, winter meant that we’d put together a small crew of sledders. Sometimes it ballooned up to a dozen or fifteen or more. Tag-along girlfriends happened every now and then, too. Females made outings a lot more fun, but the focus the girls stole from the concentration demanded by the fast and tightly-wound downhill runs made the sledding even more dangerous than it already was. We’d pile our sleds into the trunks of our winter-beater-schkutlas, because there wasn’t one of us had a pick-up truck. Exactly who discovered the hills we loved best, I really don’t think I ever knew. Thankfully, it wasn’t an immoderate drive to enjoy the frozen cliffs of risk and peril. The best one, the king-daddy sled run of them all—was extremely fast and featured a ton of turns through tight tree-lined slopes. This thing was long, twisty and treacherous. Speed came immediately, and pretty quick into it you hit a natural ramp feature that spit you off a ledge and launched your sled into the air. Absolutely nobody sat up. Velocity, acceleration and a cannonball effect demanded low position only. Chest down on your sled and head first with your knees bent slightly back, that was the only humanly possible way to take this ride. From the air shoot, you hit the ground hard and immediately flushed into a concaved depression that looked and felt like you were racing through an eight-yard-long spoon-shaped saucer. A split second later the far-end lip of the spoon shot you back out into the air and landed you in another snowy hard-packed set of snaky-tight turns. Amazing! Miss any turn before the finale and you bought a concussion, at least. People did get hurt. All the time. We ramped up the fun by launching multiple sleds machine gun style, snow-belting each other in wicked tight-pack formation. Of course this lead to side-scrapes, edging (pinballing a competitor’s sled so it careened off course; bonus for the edger if this caused involuntary collateral edgings) and high-speed pile-ups (usually the result of a lead sled missing a critical technical maneuver inside a hairpin ‘s’ curve). This was calamitous serious sledding! If you weren’t on top of your game every second of the entire run (and you were because you knew your futurity depended on it), you’d surely eat a tree trunk. Very dangerous. One of the guys religiously wore a football helmet, straps snapped tight on this particular run. We all laughed and joked that he was a pansy, while we wished we had skull protection. I had plumbed the rank depths of sled exploitation. An abject sledploitationist. I’d never been on a toboggan. The boys looked on as I nodded up at the top. I was enticing them, now. Offering them what was going to be a pretty spectacular ride and a good show too. They knew it, because they knew what a gas half of what I was about to do, was like. I bent down and picked the lead rope up off the fresh snow as the collective chatter of happy anticipation rang out from the death-wish-event witnesses. “Who wants to go?”, I offered a last time. The quiet of a Holy Communion church service at Catholic Mass, descended. I would have preferred a giggle or peep, a send-off fart… anything . . . but ominous silence. I briefly noted this audible contrast to the shrill party I’d interrupted only two minutes before. Thick snowflakes continued to pound down. Large pairs of round eyes glared at me as if to say: “Are you really gonna?” Trudging toward the foot of my run, I felt like Evel Knievel used to look before a big jump. Nervous. Hopeful. Committed. Wondering how crazy-wild the ride would be. Happy for this chance to have some big fun. Still, no matter what happened, there’d be no big Las Vegas payday for me. I prayed without praying, that nothing would go wrong. The hill felt more like a mountain as I climbed. Moments before, a bunch of kids had scaled this thing to mid-point, like it was a lark. Once I was on it, it was as close as you can get to straight up climbing without using ropes and wearing ice spikes and toe-diggers. I didn’t hear any more of the laughing and goofing around going on down below. I had to concentrate. Focus. “I’m holding my little captive admirers in awe!”, I joked to myself. More than likely, at least a couple of these guys probably figured I was a nut who was about to commit suicide. Nothing spellbinds a crowd like an impending maiming at someone else’s huge personal risk and under circumstances of high-speed dare-deviltry. When I reached the mid-line shelf the midgets had been using as a launch pad, I was a little huffed and very tempted to just jump on right there and have a nice safe zip on their Cadillac-quality toboggan. I briefly stopped to breathe full breaths and scope the run down the hill. All the midgets were stopped and standing with arms folded across chests, or hands on hips. Watching me. Apparently, the show had already started. Pressure to perform was on. I’m a man of my word—and besides… I kept telling myself that an experienced sled man slathers for an opportunity like this. I reached the top and needed a rest. The flask came out and I thanked the Lord for the foresight to have paced my ‘warmer’ to last most of the afternoon. I was not at the utmost crest. The trees were too thick up there. I stood at the very top of what was clear enough to work as a toboggan run. Since there was no shelf here to scope the view from, drink rum and set up my launch—I braced myself in the deep snow and leaned against the rise of the ground. I muscled the cumbersome sleigh around with authority, and pointed it to target itself past all trees. Pine scent and clean-frosted air, mixed with the sweet taste of Jamaica’s finest spirit, complemented the lofty span before me. I thought, “This is going to be freaking fast; so much speed . . .” I wondered if, once I hit the bottom—would there be enough flat field for me to travel and come to a stop before I hit a small creek that at the moment had a good flow of trickling water sifting through. It might not sound like a long time, but I remember taking about ten minutes up there. My minions waited and watched. The toboggan was gorgeous. Solid slatted wood pieces displayed painted stripes and a manufacturer’s logo. This luge was shellacked to a fine finish. It had a huge flipped front piece that came from underneath, curled back at the seat positions and mimicked the front of a Santa sleigh. This baby looked to be brand spanking new. Never gave much thought to who actually owned it or how all the midgets ended up in such a remote spot with it. I stared at my glimmering coach and right then named it ‘Trigger’ and hoped it didn’t buck like Roy Rogers’ show horse by the same name. It was time to get this show on the road. The way I straddled it, I knew that taking a final seated position would pretty much send me cascading down like a canon shot. It did! The only thing I remember is lifting my feet and flipping them inside—as I hurled forward, feet-to-the-front. All my anticipation about the physical and especially visual exhilaration of this first-time-on-a-toboggan epic ride turned instantly upside down, into a hellish, terrified, suspended animation of pure-speed blur. Never a damn thing did I see! I forced my frost-blasted slits open for a tenth of a second by sheer will. My entire world right now was a tremendous rushing curtain of white snow as it hurled over my head and past me on both sides. Fancy lying flat on your back inside a rushing opaque cocoon of solid white. I was a neutron in a particle collider, looking to break the speed of light and couple with antimatter. Close your eyes and feel the absolute zero visibility and my paramount horror of knowing that surely—I’d trespassed what might as well be the event horizon of some massive black hole in outer space. My death was imminent. Huge tree trunks flew past me and thank God I couldn’t see them. When I hit the mid-shelf the midgets used for a launch site, I felt the whole toboggan leave what hitherto had the feeling of jet flight… and boot into warp drive! I swear I heard Scotty shouting from the Enterprise engine room: “Captain, she won’t take much more! I’m giving her ev reh thing we’ve got!!!” One of the midgets later tried to describe my impact at the mid-line shelf. From his apprisal, I can accurately retell what must have looked like a super nova of dense white powder, punctuated at the rim with fifty or so green pine-tree spear tips. Quite a starburst. From the center of this nuclear eye exploded my casket-like body, laid back flat on the toboggan, which never touched a grounded snowflake again until a couple feet from the bottom of the precipice. The seven dwarfs may have never before chanced to attend ‘Toboggans Gone Wild’; they came today without warning or parental permission and saw the real thing—raw and uncut, courtesy of yours truly. I remember the bottom. Thankfully, it probably came in a matter of seven or eight seconds after I flipped my feet into the vessel. It pounded me from underneath like I’d free-base-jumped from a high cliff—and my chute failed to open. This knocked the wind out of me… more accurately—it tire-iron smacked the snow and ice pack from my lungs and mouth. My rocket taxi wasn’t quite done with me yet. Within a split second of spewing ice chunks and choking for the air my crash landing denied me—the whole carriage high-speed hit a very solid object with a deafening CRACK!!! Due to the instant blunt-force knifing pain that exploded in my left foot and ankle, I wasn’t sure if the CRACK was toboggan boards breaking—or splintering tibia. Unbelievably, whatever I hit must’ve also suffered major impact trauma and gave way… because speed, although somewhat jilted now, was still an issue. While I winced in pain, I was finally able to open my eyes and brace for a cold crash into the creek. My fractured wooden missile still seemed to carry more forward momentum than Hans Solo and Chewbacca fleeing the Death Star. How I was still on it, I’ll never know. But I do believe it would take Stephen Hawking to work out the math. I couldn’t believe it. That toboggan, with a major crack in the fuselage, took me all the way across the flat to the creek. Just barely far enough that my cranked left foot or leg, whatever was stoved… got a little ice water dip right at the very end. This last three or four seconds across the flat, was the only section of my ride where I actually got to see anything. I was still wiping my eyes with the backs of my ice-encrusted gloves while I made a straight beeline across the flat. Relief set in as I groaned, rolled over, stood up on one leg at a time and got my bearings. I started breathing again and found that my left foot, ankle and leg were fairly supportive; and really sore. Nothing I owned felt broken. The bummer was that the midgets all came running to fawn over the splintered cracks and cockeyed pieces that jutted from the front left and bottom of that devil missile I just rode into Ice Crystal Hell. No screams of admiration for the brave human crash dummy. No second-by-second verbal replays from the ranks of the vertically challenged. And of course, nothing so keepsake as a cell-phone movie clip to show me. It was 30 years too early. All I had was no visual memories of the ride and a bunch of worried little dwarfs. Dopey… or whomever… informed me it was somebody’s Dad’s toboggan. “You wrecked it!” was all I heard. I know when an adventure is over. This one was in the bag. My rum was about empty. Most of my clothes were cold and wet. My left foot was drenched. My left ankle cried for a hot Epsom salts bath. I had close to an hour’s hike back to my car, if I could find it. I was a broke college student with no desire to meet the ‘Dads’ part of a contingency of what I was now being told was a Cub Scout camping expedition. I graciously thanked my little toboggan hosts and waived off the begging. They insisted I trudge back to their campsite with them. It was clear to them that I would be most capable of relating to potentially angry elders, certain events of the day. I understood their point. Necessary damage control included the avoidance of an angry tongue lashing and other potential negative consequences that wrecking expensive stuff normally elicits. I apologized more than once, alluded to the nature of accidents being non-intentional and stressed that I was limping and needed to seek medical attention. In spite of spirited protests, I split for the forest. Well, so did the munchkins. In my direction. It was clear that these little Indians had rallied and decided to track the wounded loan wolf. I was in no condition to outpace them and they knew it. They were NOT going to let me go without involving me with people older than I was. People that owned expensive stuff that I had treated like James Bond would treat any get-away bobsled. It was trashed. So I turned and let them draw up to me. “Would it help if I gave you my name?”, I queried. “I’m in the phone book and I’m good for repairs. Just tell your Dads to call me. It was an accident. Whatever!” Actually, I was pretty relieved when they accepted the name I made up. The toboggan looked expensive. I was concerned it was totaled. Maybe, who knew. I needed to go. So… guys, if by chance someday—the former midget- sized toboggan owner reads this and recognizes the story… our story, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll buy your kid or your grandkid a nice toboggan. You? You write your story from that day. Especially include a detailed breakdown of every descriptive particular you witnessed concerning my epic toboggan run. I missed seeing it and would really like to know what you saw happen! What you felt. Deal?!! Life has its moments. We all do our best hopefully, to grab a few good ones and hold on to those. Right now, there’s a blizzard of activity going on… and some folks are making hay. There’s a speeding toboggan that is racing to and through the tapestry that is your life. Stop for a few moments to enjoy the spectacle. Your timing is perfect. This could be one of the most rewarding—if not ‘the most lucrative’ ride of your life. Inspiration for this book came initially, from the world of Network Marketing. I find that serious exposure to many talented people heavily involved in this genre, comes easily and non-stop if you wish… via the Internet. As the final chapters were being penned, the dawning realization was that the book’s ideas fit and flourish nicely in many different places. There are a wide variety of gardens for You2Preneur© to fertilize besides the one I believe holds such promise and so many rewarding possibilities for so many people. My encouragement to you the reader… is simple. Let your eye quickly run down the table of contents. As you read the book, hopefully you will discover plenty to drive a picture hanger into, and then mount a little framed photo of your own face onto. My stories appear here… with purpose. We’re sharing information and knowledge. It’s a two-way deal and I’m pumped too, to hear what you have to say. There will be times and places for you to teach me. I’m sure of that because part of my plans include continuing with lots of travel, speaking engagements and discovering what lug nuts you are working on tightening down. Until then, we have our virtual ‘hood’—so, see you on the Net. In the meantime—no matter how you are currently arranging your business affairs and making your money, there is something here for everyone to ‘take away’. Think of You2Preneur© as a workshop of ideas. You come into my place with an open mind. Notice the crafty smells of stained and re-worked leather; is that the afterburn smoke of high-speed-machined polishing in the air? Half-swept metal filings lay at the feet of an old table. Hints and the flavor of chopped wood, lumber and sawdust, pine needles and blown-glass, baked pottery, canvas, paint and old cigars float around. Over next to the window lies an old G. Gordon Liddy ‘Stacked & Packed’ calendar from ’03, that’s no longer excusable as something to mark the days by. Tools and brushes hang from the walls while casually-mounted posters and strewn-about objects de’ art busy your eyeballs. Over in the corner near a bench with an open toolbox, we catch a whiff reminiscent of fine ladies’ parfumé. Groups of visitors come and go. All are welcome here. It’s your turn right now, so come take this glass and follow; allow me to uncork a bottle of my favorite red. Stay awhile. I’ll show you what’s cookin’ and we’ll watch where we step. Notice that there seems to be an uncountable number of works in various stages of progress. Plenty of meaningful clutter about; you even find a thing or two in the shop that I hadn’t noticed in ages. Together, we have some fun. Me… and You2. When you leave, you’re different. You don’t even realize it but somehow—You2Preneur© is stuck on you. There’s an imprint of ‘something changed’ and you feel it. I get that because the book has changed me as well. It’s given me the chance to revisit many important pieces of knowledge and reality; it’s mostly stuff a person can literally ‘fly’ with. You read and start to feel the levels of health, wellness, wealth and freedom in your life percolating. We’re turning the burners up to build some heat. There’s something you’re sure you will try now because of a twist in the way you think. This initial turn is not quite one of events. Not yet. Rather, this ‘beginning’ is your plans gelling. You’re going to take a wobbly lug nut or two in your own life and bear down on them with the proper wrench. I say: “Do it!” Truly there has never been more opportunity for another new business launch… YOURS… than right now. Cyberspace is all around us and we get to ride it for a relative pittance. There were seven Cub Scouts that set out on a snowy day knowing their own limits and respecting the limitations of the space and their ride. They enjoyed the thrills from seats inside a fast, cool, comfortable and exotic speed machine. I got caught up in the excitement, but had little thought for the consequences of skipping some good prep on a flight plan. I had the desire and the nerve. I just hadn’t tightened up some loose ideas about controlling this particular vehicle and accommodating a set of circumstances that were brand new to me at the time. This is a great time for you to decide you want to be in control of your own thrilling run. The Internet is our ride into the future. There is no steep hill to climb. Jump up and flip your feet on in. Maybe your turn is right now. I hope so and I wish you all the best. My hope is that before either of us crosses the final finish line, we each realize our dreams and actualize our fullest potentials. Having a ton of fun along the way sounds good to me, too. It’s time. Prologue In what has been described by a then-young NASCAR driver as the most utterly frustrating and disappointing major race in his rocketing career, he tells of how he was suddenly and massively rushed by reporters and film crews from all the major networks covering the track on this particular day. The world was watching. NASCAR is the number one spectator sport in the U.S. and televised NASCAR races are broadcast in more than 150 countries and thirty languages worldwide. The race had been grueling so far, but our protagonist had maintained the lead. Until now. It was just moments since he’d suddenly jerked his car out of his long-held first place position and decidedly nosed it into the buffer lane, oddly and severely angling the 1.2 million dollar rig into a haphazard jerk and abrupt stop. Actually, it’s hard to pin an exact price on a sport racer like this, because it’s a well-known fact that today’s top racing teams command budgets of well over $20 million a year. Restraints disengaged, he threw his straps off and mad-climbed out from behind the grip of what moments before appeared to have been a top-performing machine, out in front of the pack. As he yanked his helmet off in disgust and wiped his dusty sweaty brow—TV reporters jostled in with their camera crews to ask him the big questions: “What happened?” “You just came outta pit! The car looks fine! Did you hit something? Are you sick? What forced you out of first place in the race of your life!?” All the reporters leaned in with their microphones while film crews shot close-ups. They all suffered dead silence from the pro racer. Anger glared from his eyes. Those squinty orbs seemed to crackle like water tossed into a hot-oiled frying pan. The obvious pain for him—of this moment—bled out from his pores and assaulted all who were watching and waiting. Stunned silence now hung in the air. The questions had all spewed forth in a tsunami of shouts. Only a fraction of a tension-laced second had passed but it was a moment that seemed like it begged for a 7-minute cigarette. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- End of this sample Kindle book. Enjoyed the preview? Buy Now or See details for this book in the Kindle Store --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HONORS/AWARDS/SHINING TEACHER MOMENT

Currently, You2Preneur is competing in the 17th Annual Independent Publisher Book Awards in the category of independently published Self Help books, as well as Business/Career/Sales books. Additionally, the book You2Preneur is being considered as a potential award winner for Outstanding Book of the Year in the categories of Independent Spirit Award, Independent Voice Award and Most Original Concept.

MY OWN EDUCATIONAL HISTORY

Bachelor of Science Degree in Business Administration with Major in Advertising and Minors in Marketing & Public Relations from Youngstown State University, Youngstown, OH - 1977 Doctorate of Law J.D. from Capital Law School, Columbus, OH - 1991 Admitted to the Practice of Law by the Ohio Bar - 1995 Admitted to the United States Supreme Court Bar - 2004 Also Admitted to Federal District Court in both the Northern & Southern Districts in Ohio, since admission to the Ohio Bar

ADDITIONAL BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

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