One Word

We in our time, in our world, can master fate with one unchanging and unfaltering word.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them.

I recalled Tolkien’s incantation during a recent marketing workshop for startups. A facilitator had been lulling me to sleep with familiar bromides about 5 Cs and 5 Ps. Then suddenly she posed a striking question! A really good puzzler that I never before tried to answer and wasn’t sure I could.

“In this challenge,” she said, “you’ll choose one word that epitomizes the difference between Humaginarium and its competitors. One word you’ll coin that others can’t credibly use. One you’ll own that others can’t easily copy. Everything in Humaginarium will sum up to it. Customers will value and love its meaning, because it’s the generative organ of your brand.”

OMG! I expected to struggle for weeks or months and eventually give it up. After all, I’ve used tens of thousands of words to discover, explain, and promote Humaginarium. Distilling my sea of rhetoric into a single sparkling drop felt impossible. I squirmed, “This is ridiculous. Who cares about one word anyway? Why not two or ten or fifty? Why does one matter?”

The incantation reveals why it matters. Follow along here, I’m unpacking an analogy. I pondered: which one of my words can rule all the others and lead inevitably to them? Which corral my verbiage into a pattern or system or way? Which bind my jabberwocky to an elegant purpose that goes deeper and wider over time but never changes or falters? Which become a beacon that guides consumers to harbors they seek? I came to believe, reluctantly, that one word isn’t impossible. It’s crucial, and I need to know what it is.

The usual suspects were plainly wrong. For example, my word can’t be functional – concerned with how Humaginarium works or is made. Words like simulative, complicated, responsive, interactive, educational, streaming, informative, personalized, adaptive, entertaining, or immersive don’t cut it. Everybody has a version of those things. Functional is not experiential; it’s merely procedural. Neither can my word be conceptual – marshmallows like a brand name, an operating principle, a core belief, a price point or business model. Conceptual is not experiential; it’s spongy. And neither can my word be metaphorical – allusive like a symbol, a token, or an invocation. Metaphorical is not experiential; it’s tricky.

My one word had to connote the wondrous thing that happens when people experience Humaginarium that doesn’t happen when they experience my competitors. The word for that is uplifting.

Uplifting is the cumulative effect of improvement. It’s growth in strength and stature, grace and capability. Uplifting manifests in biology as homeostasis; in religion as zen; in behavior as flow; in learning as vision. To be uplifting is to concentrate rather than divert attention like so much entertainment does. To inspire, embolden, make resilient and curious. Uplifting is having less to fear and more to enjoy.

Every way I look it, this word seems appropriately generative. As video game entertainment, Humaginarium is uplifting: rather than facilitate escape or denial, it returns people to the real world with more understanding and appreciation of themselves. As health education, Humaginarium is uplifting: rather than bewilder and frighten people with medical jargon, it endows them with control of a human body that suddenly makes sense and is actually quite miraculous. As a diagnostic tool, Humaginarium is uplifting: rather than outrageously prescriptive and bureaucratic like 99% of health education, it nudges people to make excellent choices in their informed self-interest. Finally above all, as a work of art Humaginarium is uplifting: it’s gobsmacking cool to look at, play with, learn from, and build on.

Thus my one word, and this is where the magical incantation breaks down. In Middle Earth the One Ring belongs to the darkness. In Humaginarium, the one word belongs to the light. I suppose elves, men, and hobbits were unequal to the solemn power of the Ring, but we in our time, in our world, can master our fate with one unchanging and unfaltering word.

Unit

The unit isn’t complicated; it’s just unprecedented and seems hard.

We’re starting to research and build a commercialization model. The job is described in a link on our new website. Select the Resources menu in the upper right corner of any page, then pick Commercialization. A 24-step method opens in a new window. It’s a little challenging to execute, so your suggestions will be very welcome indeed.

The job is supported by an experiential learning cohort at the Northern Illinois University College of Business. Humaginarium is blessed to have these smart, ambitious and personable consultants at its side.

The first hurdle we face is our unit. For those who haven’t plumbed the depths of financial analysis, a unit is an average instance of what we make and sell. We define a unit in order to estimate its economic value over time at scale. A logical, evidence-based estimate is a prerequisite for engaging investors in 2019.

So what is our unit? It’s a “bundle” of products and services that fulfills a singular purpose for consumers. That purpose is also known as our brand promise and value proposition. Our unit has four integrated components:

  • Platform
  • Game
  • Diagnostic
  • Community

Our platform tempts customers with trailers and mini-games. It frames chronic illness as the non-intuitive subject of entertainment. It offers a menu of full-scale games that are now available or coming soon. It highlights post-game components of diagnostic and community. The call to action is an invitation to create a free account. Only account owners have access to other functional components of the unit.

A game is an immersive, interactive science fiction fantasy. On desktop or mobile screens, players contest with morbidity encroaching on the human body and spirit. They search out this enemy in order to interrogate, contain, or destroy it. Meantime the enemy sets traps to foil or vanquish players. Game mechanics are mediated by a dynamic, high-fidelity simulation of human physiology. This is real biology projected into fantasy. Players have to outsmart an ingenious enemy, the product of eons of evolution, in order to win. The emphasis on cognitive skills makes this experience a puzzling strategy adventure.

Customers keep playing a game until they achieve a satisfactory goal; or switch to a different game; or choose to leave the magic ring of fantasy and cross into real life. Just outside the ring is a diagnostic that processes personal data relevant to a disease faced in the game. The diagnostic identifies risk factors. It lets customers mitigate personal risks with lifestyle and medicinal choices. It also models purported outcomes of their choices until they’re ready to cement them in resolutions. Modeling is therapeutic in that it helps customers make informed choices in light of their own self-interest.

After a diagnostic customers can join a safe social network (moderated and closed) where they assemble or join communities of interest centered on chronic illness, or game play, or objective health science; or anything else they deem useful or meaningful. Like Quora, the purpose of community is peer-to-peer learning. What’s learned in a game is applied in a diagnostic and reinforced in a community. Community is a controlled environment for meaningful self-disclosure.

All customer experience of a unit is elective. Customers may use some components and ignore others though full value comes from using all of them.

Having said all of this I now wonder, is the unit too complicated? Using the methodology in our outline, I try to answer the question with analogies. Is our unit as complicated as the computer on my desk or phone in my pocket? No, far less complicated than that. Is it as complicated as surgery or marriage? Not even close. Is it as complicated as a building by Frank Lloyd Wright, a combine by Robert Rauschenberg, or a concerto by Philip Glass? Of course not. Is it as complicated as the novels of JRR Tolkien or video games of Sid Meier? Give me a break.

The unit isn’t complicated; it’s just unprecedented and therefore seems hard. The method we use to model commercialization may demonstrate that our components are really not unprecedented, but the bundling is.

Scientific entertainment. Variation on The Wave, by William-Adolphe Bouguereau