Why I won’t write your ICO whitepaper

An open letter to my inbox

Move over X-Men, I’m W-Woman

I’m a whitepaper writer. It’s — generally speaking — a happy job to have.

First, it alliterates. Ok, I have to add ‘blockchain’ in there somewhere, which messes up Team W. But envisioning my business card monograph is a cinch. All elongated lines that cements the elegant expertise with which I navigate the hours spent behind my keyboard, siping a cup of masala chai as I wordsmith a blockchain startup’s way to a shiny new whitepaper sword.

Second, I’m a social kinda gal. Verbal diarrhea is one of my biggest genetic endowments (ten points if you figured I’d write embowelments — I definitely considered it), and I check my LinkedIn inbox the way your mother checks on her chicken soup: excitedly, and incessantly. Listing myself as said “whitepaper writer” gets me a whole lotta fan mail. And what better conversation than to connect with blockchain folks, especially those building the Next Big Thing in…

And third, I genuinely love writing whitepapers. There’s something about taking a concept from ideation (and an inbox full of supporting documents) all the way to a brand-spanking-new PDF file that lives in the eternal archives of the internet, that very closely resembles the miracle of the childbirth process. Having produced a little mini-me of my own, I’d know.

As a whitepaper writer, it’s a given that — especially since the blockchain space continues to explode on the daily, I’d be asked an average of once every 24 hours to, “Please write our whitepaper.”

Yet, my on-average answer is a big fat NO

The writing process, naturally, is a magical one. Writers dress up in full voodoo garb, make an offering to the alphabet gods (yes, it involves stirring a pot of foul-smelling soup — let’s not go there. NSFW and all.), then sit down in our meditation caves waiting for the ensuing divine download to descend into our fingertips. Since this can be tiring and resource-consuming af (those toads don’t catch themselves, you know), we writer folk hone our craftiness-level alongside our synonym skills.

When a piece is particularly encapsulating of a given topic, it’s a crying shame to have to rehash it again and again using new words. Think copy ‘n paste was invented to make Microsoft another few billion and your life easier? Think again. That was a writer’s doing.

So instead of finding new ways to say “no” to the onslaught of hungry whitepaper seekers making their pilgrimage into my inbox, I wrote you this Dear John letter. No box of Kleenex included, ‘cos darling — this time it’s you, not me.

I love you, I love you not

Let me say, upfront, that I love you. You’re in blockchain and, as far as I can tell, you’re not trying to scam your way through a penis-driven ICO (which we’ll christen PICO). I love the industry, I love the people in it, and I love how we’re changing the landscape of every single industry out there. We are the history makers. How could I not love you?

But I have to defend describe my role in this little kingdom we have going on.

See, in your world, you’re Zeus. God of whatever your local variant of Mount Olympus is. You’re the one on the (blockchain) platform hurling your thunderbolt around, and a good amount of maidens are feeding you and yours grapes and ambrosia. Go, you! They’ll be naming podcasts after you one day!

I, however, am Hermes. Not the Parisian high-end fashion company, so save that budget brow sweat for when you need to pay your Behance listing. I’m the trusted little messenger god floating around this divine realm that is blockchain. I have a scroll at the ready, scribing my way through what you tell me, then get to mixing it with a vial of secret sauce to take it from ground zero to ICO hero.

Now, as Hermes, I pledge alliance to no one. Except, perhaps, my bank manager. But he’s a nice guy, so it’s all good. Hermes is known to move between the worlds of gods and mortals, and in the same vein, I’m able to totally buy in to your groundbreaking new idea (which, I agree, can be pretty damn groundbreaking), yet simultaneously remove myself from being sold to the extent that I sell my soul alongside it. This, my dear whitepaper desirist, is the crux of where we end up not seeing eye to eye.

For us much as I love your idea, it’s not mine. Just as you’re building a product or service you intend to charge for, guess what? I’m in the exact same business. Namely the I-charge-for-my-services business.

Whitepapers and other magical creatures

Don’t you just love blockchain? Gone are the days of venture capital funding when the little guys had to contact the big guys, hope for the best and, after a certain amount of grovelling, would be welcomed into the inner feasting circle, where they use premium Himalayan rock salt to feast on your profit-producing pound of flesh. These days, thanks to the brilliance of blockchain (and hats off to the inventor of the ICO), startups get to earn their keep, and the average investor’s gone from dreaming about “Better luck next life” to “Dude, where’s my Lambo?”

Thus far, the key weapon in this investing-for-all turnaround, has been this snazzy document called a whitepaper.

• Yes, an ICO is about way more than just some nice-looking PDF on a nice-looking website.
• Yes, there are potential investors who never bother to open the damn thing (there’s a special place on Heaven for Telegram moderators who continue to find the utmost polite ways of saying, “Read the whitepaper, dammit!”).
• And yes, the best whitepaper in the world won’t get you the win if your idea and/or execution sucks.

But for the purpose of why I’m refusing to work-date you, let’s place a singular focus on the irrefutable truth that in order to launch your ICO, you’re going to need to tell the world who you are, what you’re doing, and why it should care enough to open wallets and throw dollar bills and crypto coins at you.

This is why you got hold of me, no? ‘Cos you know it’s a pretty crucial part of the process to get ya from rags to riches? (And, naturally, make the world a better place — no need mentioning that one, I’m with you.) Now that we’re all aye on this point, let’s get to the thorn collection in my bleeding side.

Why do I “No” you? Let me count the reasons

Correct me if I’m wrong. But the pot of gold at the end of your ICO rainbow, generally speaking, is a pot of gold. One many millions in the hoping. And, at last count, unless you’re said lingam-friendly ICO, you need sound business acumen to own and operate a company injected with millions and valuated at — potentially — billions. (And to be fair, the PICO scam team was better at crafting an ICO than many legit ones.) So it worries me — deeply so — when you contact me and the following flag-phrases trigger my warning systems:

“I have a very small budget for this.”

Dude, don’t buy a car until you’ve enough of a cash flow to fill it with fuel. When I want to buy a house, I — along with everyone else on the planet — wait till I’ve enough saved for a deposit before I put on some lipstick and make my way to the loan office. Similarly, we don’t launch ICOs until our budgets are big enough to pay our whitepaper writers. I promise you that every other service provider you approach will echo these exact sentiments. If you can’t pay us, it absolutely means you’re not ready yet.

“You’re too expensive.”

I’m so not. What gave you the idea that the one document that stands between you and your future empire was going to come at you at US$1.99? I think you might be confusing dimensions — like all other creatives, I’m not from some mythical realm where we live on free work and water. We work, just like you do. We pay bills, just like you do. Our work is valuable, just like yours. Hence we charge for it, just like you do. And coincidentally, writers — like teachers — earn way less than they’re worth. So we’re already underpaid. We don’t need you to steal the last slice of mouldy bread out of our hungry mouths.

“Can you do this for $300?”

Because every ounce of blood, sweat, tears, and time away from family, friends, and a life outside of work we sacrificed so that we could, one day, be considered an expert writer working in a highly specialised field in order to charge $300 for a minimum of 40 hours’ work. Why, of course I’ll do it for $300, why even ask?!

“I can get one written for $50 on Fiverr.”

And I wholeheartedly encourage you to do that. For you’ll be empowering those poor writers by giving them a portfolio with which to market their severely undercut and underpaid services. But they need the money even if it’s so little it puts peanuts to shame, so this is a great thing you’re doing. Be sure to provide detailed feedback so they can work to improve their writing skills and their value-added offerings, being as highly knowledgeable and closely involved in the space as they need to become in order to be actual blockchain whitepaper writers.

Thanks to you, they’ll be able to charge market-related prices one day. I just love how charitable you are. Good karma points for this one! You don’t really need your whitepaper to be written by an expert, do you? It’s not like you’re using it to raise millions or anything. Why take your car to an authorised dealer for a service when Mike Mechanic down the road can push the 14 used cars in questionable conditions decorating his yard aside to fit in working on yours.

“I’ll pay you in XYZ coins.”

Now, before I dig in, let me state that I’m no stranger to accepting XYZ-esque coins. Some of my clients pay me partly in fiat and partly with their in-house coin. A win-win: I get to invest without doing any hard work, and they have coins to spare. Some clients remunerate me exclusively in the coin they’re hard at work building out to be a Next Best Thing. But in terms of such payment for whitepaper writing, we have to get down ‘n dirty with reality for a second. In order to get those coins profitable and listed on exchanges where they’d be of any use to me, you’d need a whitepaper. See the catch-22? Plus, I’m not all that sure my local grocer has your soon-to-be-released wallet at the ready to let me pay for my carrots.

Goodbye, it isn’t me you’re looking for

Does the general tone of this letter seem conceited? I tried, but it couldn’t come anywhere close to “You’ll regret your decision in a few months.” I’ll just settle for the satisfaction of sending you this link instead of a LMAO emoji next time 😉

So, back to the drawing board ’tis. May I suggest, on your way over there, that you pick up a study guide on the basic fundamentals of doing business? Blockchain is no different. We’re not reinventing all the rules: Only those that are changing things for the better.

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When I’m not setting-the-record-straight ranting on Medium, I hang out in and around the vicinity of communications agency Wordarium.io, where my team and I make words pop in the blockchain and tech space. That, or catch me on Invest in Blockchain where I’m head news editor, or over at Investing.com, where I’m a contributing writer.