The working notebook — everything Ploom is learning, building, testing and proving.
The actual account, the actual changes, the actual numbers. The reactivation email is now a template.
Every note ever filed. Searchable, sortable, and every one of them actually tested.
Three positioning books bounced off me. Chapter three reframed how I write every landing page.
A scoring model that runs on a spreadsheet and one agent. No warehouse, no analyst, no six-month setup.
The stripped-back version is ahead on replies, but it is close. The data so far, no conclusions yet.
The actual account, the actual changes, the actual numbers. The reactivation email is now a template.
Eight hours of padding around two genuinely useful ideas. Pulled out so you can skip the rest.
A tiny, almost rude re-engagement email to a list everyone wrote off. Opens up, conversions not. Yet.
My site converts badly, which is embarrassing for a conversion person. Fixing it where you can watch.
How to tell the numbers that matter from the ones that just look nice on a dashboard. In normal words.
The exact email, the segment, the send time, and why it worked on a list that looked completely dead.
Stripped the big header photo off the landing page to see what it was actually costing in conversions.
The old advertising books keep beating the new growth threads. Here is what still holds up in 2026.
It is too polite and over-explains, but it drafts client updates that I only lightly edit now.
Translating the acronym soup into the one question a founder actually cares about: will it pay rent.
Same content, two formats, four weeks. Reach and saves split in a way I did not expect.
The 90-day play, week by week, including the two weeks where nothing moved and I nearly bailed.
SPF, DKIM, DMARC and the boring infrastructure that decides whether any of the clever copy even lands.
“Everything is vanity unless it converts. The Desk prints what converts.”
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