Praise for Will Work for Fun:

“Bechtold is the Pied Piper for the New Millennium. Follow him and you will learn to enjoy your life and your work; and you will quickly come to agree that fun really is the best thing to have!”
―TIM KNOX, bestselling author of Everything I Know About Business I Learned from My Mama, www.timknox.com

“Finally . . . the truth is revealed. Work is not a four-letter word when you love what you do. Alan delivers a rollicking good read that gives you a step-by-step blueprint for making money while having fun.”
―SHAWN CASEY, founder and CEO of eSpider Squad Franchises,www.shawncasey.com

“This book should be required reading for anyone who hates their job and wants to live a life of their biggest dreams . . . and still make huge sums of money! This is a rare gem your boss does not want you to read.”
―T.J. ROHLEDER, President and CEO of M.O.R.E. Inc.

“I’ve worked with hundreds of CEOs and I always tell them, if it isn’t fun―if it’s not rewarding and satisfying―don’t do it. Now I’m going to make Bechtold’s Will Work for Fun required reading, so they have the exact same road map to turn their passions into profits and, as Bechtold says, ‘make their play pay.’ Give this book to your children. It will help them get a head start on the only sane way to earn a living: doing what you love for money.”
―PAUL LEMBERG, CEO of Axcelus Advisors, and bestselling author of Be Unreasonable, www.paullemberg.com

Alan R. Bechtold is a veteran of more than twenty-three years of on-line publishing and mar-keting. A leading online marketer―known as “The Wise Old Man of the Internet”―he delivers live seminars on online marketing and publishes multiple newsletters read by more than 45,000 subscribers. Alan is also extremely accessible. He can be reached by simply visiting: www.AlanBechtold.com.

Will Work for Fun

Three Simple Steps for Turning Any Hobby or Interest Into CashBy Alan R. Bechtold

John Wiley & Sons

Copyright © 2008 Alan R. Bechtold
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-470-23179-1

Chapter One

THE SITCOM AS LIFE

Unless each day can be looked back upon by an individual as one in which he has had some fun, some joy, some real satisfaction, that day is a loss. -Anonymous

WHY YOUR LIFE NEVER MATCHES WHAT YOU SEE ON THE SCREEN-AND HOW EASY IT IS TO CREATE A LIFE THAT DOES

Close your eyes and imagine along with me.

Wait a minute. I just remembered. You’re reading this. You’d better keep your eyes open. It’s kind of hard reading with your eyes closed.

Back up. Rewind and edit.

Read along and imagine with me. Ask yourself as you read-does

the following scene sound familiar?

Fade in.

The office is humming with activity. Everywhere you look in the large, overly lit room, people sit in cubicles, industriously typing, talking on the phone, and examining computer screens.

Quickly, we swing into one cubicle for a close-up. The rest of the office blurs and fades away while the sound of office activity softens to a background hum.

In the cubicle that comes into view, a young, slender, cherry-blonde woman sits looking at eBay on her computer. She snaps her chewing gum while she does her nails. In her cubicle, every surface but the desk and two office chairs is covered with Barbie dolls, Barbie doll posters, Barbie doll books, and Barbie doll accessories.

As we watch, she tries without success to match the rhythm of her gum chewing to the strokes of her nail file. She tries alternating the beats, then tries to match the rhythm.

Suddenly, she takes the gum out of her mouth. Clearly frustrated, still holding her gum in one hand, she looks around on her desk for a place to put it. Her desk is covered with paperwork. Frowning, she starts to stick the gum first on one stack of papers, then on another.

Finally, she shoves several stacks of paper aside, places her gum firmly on the desk, then quickly shuffles some papers back over it.

She taps something on her computer keyboard. Then she clenches her fists, staring intently at the screen.

“Damn.”

She types quickly again. Then she sits, staring in anticipation.

“Damn.”

“Jenny?”

The voice catches her by surprise. Jenny jumps a good foot out of her chair, spins, and sees her friend, Tom, standing in the doorway to her cubicle. He’s smiling mischievously.

“Don’t you ever knock, Tom?” Jenny asks, wide-eyed. “You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“There’s no door on these cubicles, Jenny. C’mon. What good would knocking do?”

Tom steps into Jenny’s cubicle and plops down in one of the two empty chairs, swinging his feet up to rest on the seat of the unoccupied chair. “Are you still looking for that Barbie you’ve been blathering about for months?”

“Yeah,” Jenny says. “I’m still lookin’.” She stares intently at the screen again. Then, she taps a few keys and sits, watching the screen.

“Damn. I can’t believe it, Tom. This is the first time I’ve seen a genuine side-parted bubble-cut Barbie on eBay in months-and somebody out there keeps outbidding me the moment I bid it up. Crap. I’d gladly give a month’s salary for that Barbie.”

Tom laughs. “I’d give a full year’s salary to anyone who can explain why you’d want another Barbie at all.”

Another voice pipes up at the cubicle door. “Me, too.”

Jenny and Tom both jump nearly a foot, in unison, snapping their startled attention to the doorway. It’s Jenny and Tom’s mutual friend, Albert.

“Why don’t you just make your top bid a full month’s salary?” Albert asks. “Then the system will place the next highest bid for you automatically. That’ll make it tougher for anyone to outbid you so quickly.”

Wearing thick-rimmed glasses, a white shirt not all the way tucked in, and a black pencil-thin tie, Albert laughs nervously, ending with a loud snort.

“Albert,” Jenny says, composing herself. “I can’t afford to spend a month’s salary, no matter how badly I’d love to add that Barbie to my collection. That was just a figure of speech. Besides-it’s more fun actually bidding on them.”

“Either way, I’m with Tom,” Albert replies. “I can’t imagine why any adult would want one Barbie, let alone hundreds.”

Jenny looks perturbed. “I don’t have hundreds of Barbies. For cryin’ out loud. Everybody knows Barbie’s special. She was a part of my childhood. I grew up with her. She’s-like-my role model. And the side-parted bubble-cut Barbie is one of the only truly rare Barbies I still don’t have.”

As Albert enters the cubicle, Tom sits up, taking his feet off the only other chair in the cramped space. Albert slumps into the now-open chair, his posture slouched.

Smiling again, Tom says, “There, there, Jenny. We understand. I’m sure your life won’t be complete without her.”

Jenny stares solemnly at Tom for a minute. “You’re mocking me. You really don’t understand. After all the time we’ve worked together and known each other, you still don’t get it, do you?”

Both Tom and Albert speak in unison … deadpan serious. They shake their heads back and forth in unison. “Actually … we don’t.” Tom says, “I have to admit it, but Matchbox cars were my favorite toy when I was a kid. I’d even have to say they were important to me during that time. But, I still don’t feel the slightest pressure to have every Matchbox car ever manufactured during my childhood today.”

Albert chortles, pushing his glasses up, which slide back down on his nose with each shoulder-shaking snicker. “Hah. That’s the truth, Tom. Now you collect live Barbies instead.”

Tom smirks at Albert. “What’s your point, smart-ass? I’d much rather have a living, breathing Barbie in my room than something made out of plastic. And-no-it doesn’t count if she’s inflatable.”

Albert waves Tom away, blushing.

Jenny scowls at both of them. “You two are so clueless. Barbie means everything to me. I collect her. I care about her and think about her all the time. I can’t wait to clock out and spend time with my collection. I’m happiest when I’m trading online with other collectors, and looking for the few missing dolls that I still need.”

“You’re right-we’re clueless.” Tom and Albert speak in unison again. Laughing, they throw up their hands in mock exasperation.

Jenny snaps her attention around, back to the screen, then points at it. “Damn. See? You two pop in here, distract me, and I lost the auction.” She turns to look disapprovingly back at the two young men, still sitting in her cubicle. “You guys made me miss it. It’s your fault.”

Another voice breaks in from the cubicle doorway. “I understand completely, Jenny.”

This time, Jenny, Tom, and Albert all jump at the sound, snapping their heads in the direction of the doorway in unison. Their mutual friend, Gloria, a slightly pudgy brunette with long, flowing hair and a pretty face, stands there, leaning against the glass.

“It’s like my Corvette fetish, Jenny. I love Corvettes. I’d do anything to get one of my own.”

Tom gives an exaggerated nod. “I know, Gloria. You’ve been known to do anything just to ride in one.”

Albert and Tom laugh uproariously. Jenny suppresses a chuckle of her own behind a hand. Gloria frowns disapprovingly. “No-really,” Gloria says. “Jenny loves Barbies. I love Corvettes. Tom loves easy women. Albert loves … whatever it is Albert loves. So what? It gives us all something to work toward, something to look forward to. It gives us a reason to come in here, work nine-to-five, struggle to please a stupid boss, and put up with all the hassles of life. That’s good-right?” She nods, smiling, at each of the other three in unison. Jenny smiles back. Tom and Albert wave Gloria away, skeptical.

“You guys will never understand,” Gloria says.

“You got that right,” Jenny chimes in.

Gloria changes the subject. “So-what are you guys planning to do tonight?”

Another voice booms from behind Gloria, almost growling, “How about all four of you getting some work done before you worry about what you’re doing tonight?”

Jenny, Tom, Albert, and Gloria all jump in unison at the sound. Behind Gloria, a tall, balding, heavy-set fellow stands, hands on hips, a scowl planted on his face.

Tom and Albert jump up instinctively, then bustle around the cubicle, bumping into each other as they try to get through the door Gloria is still blocking. They stop moments before colliding with her.

“Sure, boss,” Jenny says, quickly closing the eBay window on her computer and typing furiously on the word processor that sat right behind eBay on the screen. “We were just … exchanging some facts.”

“Uh … thanks for helping straighten out that discrepancy, Jenny,” Tom says, nervously, jumping up from his chair to head toward the door.

He steps first to the left, then to the right, at the same time as Gloria steps to the left, then right, until it looks like he’ll never get past her. He’s obviously desperate to scurry back to his own cubicle.

Gloria finally turns to leave. Tom pops out the opening behind her, then sidesteps the boss, to slip away as Albert approaches the cubicle opening, still under the boss’ watchful eye.

“Hi, boss-see ya, Jenny.”

“See ya, Albert,” Jenny says. Still trying to look busy, she quickly grabs one of her misplaced stacks of papers and sets it directly on top of the other papers she’d laid over the wad of gum earlier. Now the gum is hopelessly stuck to her desk-but at least it’s hidden from sight.

As the boss enters her cubicle, Jenny absent-mindedly pats the papers down, cementing them and the gum to her desk even more.

Fade out.

Life Isn’t Really like This … Is It?

Does this sound like your life? It might sound slightly familiar, but different, too. You might lose your job if you were caught doing what Jenny, Tom, Albert, and Gloria were doing-wouldn’t you? At the very least, you’d probably catch a lot more flack from your boss than their boss gave to them.

The scene I just painted is eerily familiar because, at work, we’re constantly thinking about what we really enjoy doing-if our work isn’t the source of that joy in the first place. Unfortunately, far too few of us ever land the kind of job that’s truly fun and liberating. We can’t all work for Google, so most of our lives are burned up churning the hours necessary to pay the bills and trying to find time to enjoy some of the hours that remain when we clock out.

I’m going to change all of that for you through the simple system I’ll lay out in the chapters that lie ahead.

First, tell me-would you agree that the previous scene sounds more like a sitcom than your life? Could this be the source of any familiar feelings you might have had as you read that scene?

If that’s what you felt, you’re right on target. Just insert a laugh track and the scene we described could easily fit into a dozen different television sitcoms.

I’m sure you’ve seen at least a few. Come on-we’re friends now that you bought this book. Admit it. Most of us have seen more sitcoms than we care to admit. And, if we’re truly honest with ourselves, most of us would love to have a job like the ones we see on these shows, if such a job actually existed.

But-have you ever noticed how rarely it is that these shows resemble real life?

At work, sitcom characters spend virtually all their time working on personal matters. They discuss what happened at home last night. They gossip about the other employees. They pull pranks and joke with each other constantly.

On rare occasions, they might even get into competitions with some of the other employees. Usually, it’s about who can sell the most Girl Scout cookies or who can stick the most pencils into the ceiling fastest-nothing to do with the actual work they’re being paid to perform. But, at least there’s a sense of purpose and drive involved in the activity.

On these shows, the boss is also almost always a background character, scowling, unhappy with the productivity of his workers, but also never pushed to the point of firing anyone.

After all, firing someone, or even requiring people in the office to get something productive done, would kill the buzz on a sitcom. In these shows, the boss is usually either a bungling idiot, oblivious to the lack of productive work going on around him and part of the problem himself, or a scowling straight man trying desperately to keep his employees working, but without a clue when it comes to motivating them to actually accomplish anything.

Sitcoms are, after all, about comedy. They’re supposed to be funny and-let’s be honest-actual work isn’t usually perceived as being much fun.

… Or-is it?

I want to show you how much fun work-even hard work-can be. All you need to do is find the right work to do, then discover how to make it pay.

Ask yourself: does any sitcom you’ve ever seen match your life?

It’s Never Been like a Sitcom for Me

I’ve only held a few “real” jobs in my life, but I can safely say none of them were anything like the jobs I’ve seen on sitcoms.

One boss I had furiously smoked a pipe. All day. He would use his pipe to literally fume when you didn’t have the right answers to his questions. I swear I heard his pipe bit crack whenever he was seriously pissed, which generally worked out to be most of the time.

This guy must have spent a huge percentage of his inflated salary on new pipe bits.

Many times, this wretched soul was pissed at me. Most of the time, it didn’t matter whether he was angry or not. The guy not only ran the company-he was also out on the street, bringing in sales. If he had a bad day out selling, he’d storm into the office, throw things, and then stomp around yelling at everyone, regardless of how busy we were.

He was likeable enough when things were going perfectly. But, those times were extremely rare.

One day, after hitting the streets for several hours without making any sizeable sales, this guy (notice how I hesitate to call him “boss”) stormed through the building to his office and slammed the door. We all listened intently as he slammed and banged things around behind that closed door for a while. And-we looked at each other in silence, braced for the worst.

When his office door swung open again, we immediately dropped our eyes back to the work before us and focused on our tasks, praying we could somehow avoid his gaze as he stormed into our area.

I wasn’t so lucky.

Even though I was working diligently at the far end of the room, in spite of the fact that this man wasn’t actually mad at me, he asked another employee about the status of a job we were working on-and didn’t get the answer he wanted to hear at that moment.

In anger, he grabbed an X-Acto knife and hurled it across the room. I heard the knife whiz past my ear. It was that close. The blade stuck into the wall I was facing with a loud “thwang,” directly in front of me. Then, without a word, the guy turned around and stomped back into his office, slamming the door behind him.

All activity in the office froze. Nobody said a word. Nobody breathed. I kept waiting for the laugh track to kick in, but it never happened. Maybe I was too stunned to hear it. Maybe this was real life, instead.

Looking at that knife in the wall, I realized I’d just narrowly escaped being stabbed by this jerk-and I immediately walked out the door. I hopped in my car and drove directly to the unemployment office, where I made a claim, based on the fact that my boss had just thrown an X-Acto knife at me.

Luckily, the unemployment claim was granted. I didn’t feel like immediately going out looking for another job right then.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never worked in any job where three or more of us were allowed to gather for anything besides a general staff meeting without catching a bunch of guff from a supervisor or boss who would gleefully inform us all that we’re “just this close” to being fired.

The threat was usually so pronounced that no one would think for a minute of hanging out and chatting. My bosses routinely reminded me that I was easily replaceable and, if I didn’t want to work, I could quit right now.

Was I cursed? Did some bizarre permutation of the universe lead me to only apply and get hired for jobs in the worst possible places to work?

I don’t think so. I’ll bet at least some of you have had jobs that are more like the one I did. You might be working at one today.

(Continues…)

Excerpted from Will Work for Funby Alan R. Bechtold Copyright © 2008 by Alan R. Bechtold. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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