Every brand voice starts with a real one.

Mine began in a windowless conference room at 8:12 a.m., lukewarm coffee in a paper cup, the Slack sidebar flaring like a slot machine. We were supposed to be aligning on a product launch. Instead, we were workshopping last night’s episode of The Bachelor and whether “data-driven” meant “the loudest wins.” It didn’t feel like marketing; it felt like karaoke with spreadsheets.

On paper, I was tidy: a decade across technical writing, research, marketing, and strategy—the kind of résumé that makes LinkedIn throw confetti. I could turn copy that read like a refrigerator manual into something a CFO could skim without losing IQ points. But the signal kept slipping. Three-hour turnarounds ballooned into three-week pilgrimages with nothing to show but a color-coded Miro board and a migraine.

Then one Tuesday—after a meeting that could’ve been a sentence—I closed the laptop like a book I didn’t believe in and stood up. No grand speech. No “follow my Substack.” Just a quiet, stubborn sentence in my head: This isn’t how truth ships.

Narrative Ops was my answer. Rule of engagement: treat truth like an asset and shipping like a habit. We run newsroom standards through B2B pipelines so buyers don’t need a translator and compliance can actually sleep. No Slack soap operas in the background. No theater. Just work that stands up to scrutiny when procurement squints at it.

Vibes are fine for curiosity. They don’t close deals. Receipts do. And receipts without a story don’t land. So we pair them—proof with prose, logic with heat—until your message stops waving and starts working.

From your side of the table, here’s how it goes. You bring the brief, the experts, the constraints, the stakes. I sit with product, legal, and sales and listen like it’s paid work—because it is. We define “done” before a single sentence gets written. Then we write so a buyer can say yes without Googling your acronyms. When it ships, you don’t just get the asset—you get the routes: a thread your exec can post without wincing, an SDR intro that doesn’t need a preamble, a line your AE can drop on slide four without breaking cadence. It’s built to be borrowed across the org until the edges go soft.

What counts? Not pageviews. Outcomes. Assisted pipeline. Sales reuse. Fewer support tickets. Faster yeses from legal and security. If an asset can’t be cited, it shouldn’t ship. If your team can’t repurpose it, it’s noise. If compliance can’t clear it, it’s a stall. We’re allergic to stalls.

Along the way, I’ve ghostwritten for executives at Microsoft, Billtrust, AAOS, NYT Licensing, and Dealer Inspire (a Cars.com subsidiary), among others. I’ve built explainer libraries for startups where product, pricing, and UX all needed translation at the same time—because clarity shouldn’t wait on org charts.

We call our deliverables dossiers for a reason. They’re meant to be lifted—into decks, into pitches, into onboarding—until the staples complain. What pushed me out of corporate is what we take out of your content: delay, paralysis, and fluff.

Let’s tell the truth about the market while we’re at it. AI rewired how people search, skim, and decide. The old SEO hymnbook is missing pages. Your customers aren’t hungry for more content; they’re starved for signal. Sharp and credible wins—pieces a sales lead can quote in a call, an evaluation committee can circulate without edits, and compliance can clear without turning it to chalk dust.

I run Narrative Ops as a lean bureau between South Carolina and India. Reporter’s brain. Marketer’s heart. Operator’s instinct. My work: turn expert brain dumps into briefs, briefs into assets, assets into revenue—and build the editorial system so you can do it again without me in the room. We don’t chase trends. We build engines that make truth persuasive.

If you’re done funding pretty paragraphs that don’t move pipeline, bring me the mess and the mandate. I’ll bring the badge and the highlighters. Case open.

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