Wild Lore, Atlanta, GA (2026)

08/10/2026

I bet you didn't know that when someone asks AI about your industry, LinkedIn is the #1 source it pulls from.

We're all racing to optimize for GEO right now, and most of us are aiming it at our websites. Meanwhile, the answers are coming from LinkedIn.

I went digging through the research, and the numbers genuinely surprised me. LinkedIn is now the most-cited source for business questions across ChatGPT, Perplexity, and Google's search AI, ahead of every major news outlet. Let that sink in.

Not bad for a place people still think is just for job hunting.

So when a decision-maker asks AI about a problem you solve, the answer is getting stitched together from LinkedIn posts written by regular people who showed up and published first. A little frightening, accuracy-wise. Also a wide-open door.

I broke the whole thing down in my newest piece: the data, why LinkedIn works even as a closed platform, and the eight things that get you quoted.

First, a confession: I've absolutely used hook-baiting and broetry. 🤣 Which of these are you guilty of?

Read the full breakdown → link in bio

08/09/2026

We’re kicking off the Storytelling Archetype deep dive: eight archetypes, eight ways to sound like yourself. First up, the Epic.

The Epic is the one who thinks in scale. Stakes always high, vision always wide, and somehow the work is never really about the work. When an Epic announces a product, they’re telling you what the whole industry is becoming. When they hire one person, they’re telling you what kind of company is worth building.

You’ve read an Epic before. It sounds like this:

“We didn’t set out to fix invoicing. We set out to make it possible for someone to start a business from their kitchen table without a finance degree. Invoicing was just where we started.”

Same announcement. Totally different altitude.

But every strength has a shadow. Without specifics, the Epic turns to fog, and if every post is a grand movement, none of them are. The best Epics ground the vision in one tiny, real detail, so people have something to hold onto while they point at the horizon.

Swipe through for the full Epic blueprint: the motto, the Wild Words, the story strategy, and the one permission slip every Epic needs to hear.

Not sure the Epic is you? Take the quiz → wildlore.co/quiz

08/08/2026

Think of the algorithm as an editor with opinions. It has taste, it has priorities, and it's reading every single post you publish against them.

Right now it cares about three things: whether people stay, whether they share, and whether your post lands against how many saw it. Everything else is downstream of those three.

So the question that matters isn't "what should I post this week." It's "what would somebody text a friend at 11pm?" That one filters out almost everything, and whatever survives it tends to do the work for you.

Save this for your next content planning session.

08/07/2026

Most content advice says the same thing: find what's trending, jump in, and pray you said it better than the four hundred people who beat you to it.

Hard pass. I run 70/30.

Seventy percent of what I publish goes after problems my audience hasn't put words to yet. The thing they keep working around without calling it a problem. The question they ask three slightly different ways because they can't quite name it.

The other thirty percent joins the conversations already happening, because living entirely in the future is a great way to get found by nobody.

Why does the split work? Look at what each side buys you. Reactive content buys relevance, and relevance expires. Predictive content buys association, and association compounds. So when the thing you called six months ago finally shows up in everyone's feed, you're not scrambling for a take. You're the person they already think of.

Being early feels like being wrong for a while. That's the price. It's also the entire point.

I wrote the whole predictive playbook out, "Stop Reacting, Start Predicting." It's on the blog, link in bio.

08/01/2026

Wild Lore used to be called Lore Careers Co.

I started this business in 2018. Back then it was resume writing. People would come to me between jobs, anxious, sometimes a little desperate, and I'd charge them a couple hundred dollars to make their resume sound like someone worth hiring. I was good at it. And it started to sit wrong with me.

Because the people paying me were often the ones who could least afford to. They needed a job, and I was charging them for the hope of one. Something about taking money from someone at the lowest point of their career, for a document that might not even work, stopped feeling like a business I wanted to run.

So I rebuilt the whole thing. New name, new person on the other side of the work.

Now I work with executives who already have the job.

The title, the track record, the security. What they don't have is a voice that's doing anything for them online. They want to win business and build real community on LinkedIn, and they're sitting on years of expertise that never makes it into a post. That's a completely different thing to sell. I'm not charging someone for the hope of stability.

I'm helping someone who already has it turn what they know into influence.

The skill is the same one I've always had. The person on the other side of it finally has the leverage to use it. I don't think I could have built Wild Lore until I understood that difference.

Follow for more behind the scenes.

07/31/2026

The people who win at content are the ones still posting on day 47, when nobody's commented in two weeks and it feels like shouting into a drawer. Stubbornness beats talent here, every time.

Visibility is cumulative. It doesn't feel like it, right up until the day it suddenly does.

So if you're in the quiet stretch, the part where the numbers haven't caught up to the effort, this is your reminder that showing up is the whole game right now.

Keep going.

Save this for when you need it.

07/30/2026

Your brain is already trying to find a pattern in this sentence. That reflex has a name.

APOPHENIA (n.): the tendency to find meaning where other people see noise. Wild Words No. 02, filed under Found.

Your audience is running it on you every time they scroll. They're not reading your posts one at a time. They're scanning for a thread, a signal, a reason to believe the next thing you publish is worth the tap. The pattern is the product.

Which changes what consistency is even for. Posting often does nothing if the posts don't add up to a shape someone can recognize from across the feed. The thread is the thing they're saving you for.

Give them a pattern worth finding.

Save this one for your next content planning session.

07/29/2026

Your posts aren't landing, and by now you've probably blamed the algorithm, the hour you posted, the strength of your hook. None of those is the culprit.

Look at who you're picturing when you write. Most people are writing to a composite: "the executive," "the decision-maker," a blurry professional in a quarter-zip who has never once existed. Nobody feels spoken to by a post aimed at a category.

The ones that land are written for one real person with one specific problem, the one they keep circling but haven't put into words yet. Say it before they can, and you stop being another voice in the feed. You become the person who finally named the thing they'd been feeling all along. (I broke down how one first line can do all of this over on the blog, it's linked in my bio.)

That move, from imaginary audience to the one person actually worth writing for, is what the Predictive Positioning Planner walks you through.

Go find your one person. Planner's in my bio.

07/25/2026

None of us look alike. Yet somehow we all sound alike on here.

We've let AI win in the voice category, and we aren't better off for it.

Same "in today's landscape" openers.
Same "here's the thing" bridges.
Same polished, careful, forgettable copy.

LinkedIn has become one long post written by an overly agreeable AI, and people are tuning out. Which means the leaders who sound like THEMSELVES just became the most valuable voices here.

But most people can't describe their own voice. So I studied storytelling styles for years and organized the strongest eight archetypes into book genres... because... storytelling:

🏔️ 𝗘𝗽𝗶𝗰. You turn ideas into movements. Your voice sounds like legacy in motion.
🪄 𝗙𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗲. You bring magic into the everyday and remind people the world is worth wondering at.
⚡ 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿. You build tension on purpose. Your words move rooms toward decisions.
📖 𝗠𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗿. You turn lived experience into connection and make people feel seen.
🕯️ 𝗙𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲. You distill complexity into stories people carry home and repeat.
🔮 𝗠𝘆𝘁𝗵. You speak to what endures, connecting the personal to the universal.
🃏 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲. You disarm with humor, then land the truth while the room's still laughing.
🚀 𝗦𝗰𝗶-𝗙𝗶. You see what nobody's noticed yet and invite people into what could be.

You already speak in one of these. It shows up in how you run a meeting or tell a story at dinner. Then you open LinkedIn and write like everyone else. The quiz catches the voice you keep leaving out of your posts.

It takes two minutes, and the full explainer goes deep: your superpower, your muses, your best formats, a playlist, even a bedtime story.

AI can write your posts, but it cannot be you.

Take the quiz at wildlore.co/quiz. Then tell me your archetype in the comments. I'm Satire mixed with Fairytale. Can you tell? 🃏🪄

07/24/2026

New series. We're calling it Wild Words.

Wild Words are words that do a job no existing word was doing. Some are found, borrowed from somewhere else, and put to better use. Some are field, the language people already say out loud but never write down. Some are forged, made here because nothing said it right.

First one up: Predictive Positioning. A forged one.

Everyone tells you to find the conversation and join it. Nobody tells you the conversation is already full by the time you find it.

Predictive Positioning is the other move. You publish the problem statement before the market has language for the problem. Then you sit with the discomfort of having said something slightly too early.

Then it surfaces. Everyone goes looking for answers, and you're already sitting there, having been right for a month.

Timing is a strategy. Most people treat it like weather.

The quiz that tells you which story you're already telling is in the bio.

Wild Lore

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