Sisters and Friends
Chapter 17
Getting it Together
"I've arranged my interview at Raft for the end of this term," Annie said absently, flipping thought the enormous spiral bound copy of Arcosanti: the City in the Image of Man. "My God, Paolo Soleri was either a visionary, or crazy."
"Aren't they still working on Arcosanti?" Quinn had seen a documentary on the remarkable Italian –American architect, having stumbled on it as she channel surfed.
"Since 1970. I think they're working on the greenhouse apron now." She turned back to the central illustration in the book and traced her finger over the paper. "This part of the structure. Generations of architecture students; Soleri's dream continues on even after he died. One day, I want to go there."
"Summer road trip?"
"It's in the freaking Arizona desert. Besides, we're in summer classes. But someday soon, let's go."
Quinn got up and stood, looking at the sketches in the huge book over Annie's shoulder. Genius. Excellence. Inspiration. How does one get to this level?
She looked around Annie's room. Her sketches were pinned to the wall. Compared to Soleri's they were timid and halting, yet the talent behind them was clear. Annie knew what she wanted to do, and she had already begun her journey.
"So how are you planning your entrance?" Annie murmured, picking up the extra thick copy of FP Magazine that Quinn had discovered in the art museum bookstore. The cutting edge Japanese design journal had collected a hundred wearable tech designs in a special edition. Annie stared at a particularly disquieting page of active biometric piercings that started at the ear and ended somewhat further down the body.
Quinn smirked, noticing what had caught Annie's attention. "Damn, there goes my original concept."
"Eeeew."
"Kidding," Quinn laughed. "Daria and Jane want to see me create a portfolio, and I know I need one to make an impression with the Raft ID faculty. The competition is fierce, but I'm going to get in. A lot of people are going to have a strong portfolio, even if it's not required for the intro series."
"Probably right. So what do you have in mind?"
"I want to design and manufacture my own product," Quinn sighed. "I want to walk into my Raft interview with a solid portfolio, and then lay a real product on the table. Not a model or a "proof of concept" but a product that's being sold."
"That's kind of ambitious. You don't have that much time. If you want to get in for the fall, you have to have been approved for the intro series by the end of this spring semester, on top of having an okay from Raft to transfer."
"I know. So whatever I come up with, it has to be simple, and clearly useful. I've been talking to my family about it, and they all think that it should be something I have personal experience with. My sister thinks that I need to find a problem that needs to be fixed, something that everyone is so used to that we all think that it's just the way things are; if I can suddenly make that problem go away, it'll make people sit up and notice."
"Bet they think you'll come up with a beauty product, or something to do with fashion."
"Sure, but that sort of makes sense for someone like me. And that's just what the Raft people will be thinking, a Swiss Army hairbrush concept or something equally lame from some chick who doesn't know the difference between fashion and industrial design. It's got to be something that addresses a real, serious problem."
"And something that can be put into production in only a few months, and with a marketing and distribution plan if you actually want it on the market by interview time."
"Dad, do you have a minute?" Quinn stood in the doorway of the small office that was Jake Morgendorffer Consulting. The room was dominated by a large conference table, a huge whiteboard, and neat partitions that protected visitors from actually seeing the hideous mess that Jake called his desk.
"Sure, Princess," Jake smiled at his younger daughter. "Can I help with something?"
"Just need to learn about the real world, Dad," Quinn smiled as she handed him a decaf latte. "You get people in here pitching a bunch of weird business ideas, right? How do you know a good idea from a dumb one?"
Jake smiled. "Yeah, I hear a lot of them. You can pretty much tell if they know their rear end from a hole in the ground in the first twenty to thirty seconds. Some people call it an elevator pitch; you have to be able to make someone understand what you're doing in the first few sentences. If they can't make you understand quickly, then the concept's usually pretty stupid or not really thought out. I usually have to stop them from pulling up a Powerpoint presentation on a laptop; if they can't make sense without that crutch it's a pretty good indicator that it's a bunch of BS."
"That's good," laughed Quinn. "The interview rules at Raft specifically bar the use of Powerpoint." She sat, regarding the businessman on the other side of the table. Jake was her dad, and she usually saw the informal side of him, or when he would hunker down when Hurricane Helen was in full force. She rarely saw him as clients did, someone with a sharp mind when it came to business development and marketing. He came up with the strategies, the direction, the view from thirty thousand feet.
That, he was good at. He wasn't good at organization or handling pressure, and that's what kept him operating at a relatively modest scale. He could be volatile, and it probably put some potential clients off.
"Dad, what's all this stuff on the table?"
"Aw, just a bunch of receipts and bills, you know, paperwork. Gotta get stuff together so I can file my taxes."
"At least you're starting early. It's still December."
"My CPA Millie made me agree to start doing this early, after the first year of doing my stuff. I guess I get kinda stressed out as April 15 approaches."
Quinn surveyed the mess in front of her. "How do you make sense of this?"
Jake smiled ruefully. "This is the worst part. I hate doing this, so I put it off and it winds up being a real pile of crap. Millie gave me a checklist and a set of worksheets. I have to sort this stuff by date and type, you know, by client, entertainment, office supplies, travel expenses, blah blah blah. I get all stressed out, but it's something you just do if you run your own business. I have to organize it all so Mille can make sense out of it. You can't just make up numbers, you gotta have documentation if you get audited. If the IRS wants to see a certain receipt, you have to be able to produce it."
"So you have to total things up, enter it into some kind of spreadsheet, and organize the paperwork to back it all up?"
"Yeah, a real pain in the ass. I have to be really careful to make sure I don't transpose any numbers or stuff like that. Millie makes sure I start on this early so it actually gets done in time. The first year she worked on my stuff I walked into her office with a big shoebox and a paper bag full of receipts. She almost threw me out."
Quinn sat back. This is a real problem, isn't it? This stress can't be good for Dad's heart.