Websites and 24-hour phone answering for contractors across the Verde Valley, Prescott, Flagstaff and the Rim Country. Built by somebody who spent a decade making sure nothing got out that wasn't supposed to.
A path by which noise generated inside the boat reaches the water outside it. Usually a vibration isolator that's been painted over, corroded, or bridged by something nobody thought about — so a mount designed to absorb energy now transmits it straight through the hull.
Machinery noise stays inboard by design. A sound short breaks that design quietly, and the boat has no idea it's doing it.
Once it's in the water, you don't get it back.
On a submarine you hunt sound shorts obsessively, because the thing you're broadcasting is the one thing you can't take back and can't see yourself. The whole crew hears normal. The ocean hears you.
A business works the same way. Yours is transmitting something right now — a phone that rings out at eight on a Saturday night, a Google listing with the wrong hours, no website at all for a company that's been licensed twenty-eight years. You hear a good outfit doing good work. The market hears something else entirely, and it's already made up its mind.
That gap is the whole job. Find what you're putting in the water without meaning to, and shut it off.
She calls three plumbers. Two go to voicemail. The third one answers, and that's a $2,400 job that was never going to be yours.
Here's the part that stings: you didn't miss that call because you were sitting on the couch. You missed it because you were already elbow-deep in somebody else's emergency across the valley, and a man can only be in one place. But she doesn't know that. All she got was a beep — and she'd dialed the next number before your voicemail finished playing.
Being busy shouldn't cost you the next job.
Nothing about that is a marketing problem. It's a coverage problem, and it's fixable in an afternoon.
Five pages that work properly on a phone and full-size on a desktop, your ROC number displayed, and genuine pages for the towns you actually serve. Not a template with your name dropped into it.
It picks up when you can't, gets the problem and the address, and texts you the details. The caller gets a person-shaped answer instead of a beep.
Claimed, right hours, right service area, right categories — then every finished customer gets asked for a review. Together those are nearly half of what decides whether you show up on the map at all.
No discovery session. No three-tier proposal engineered to push you into the middle one. One call, about fifteen minutes, and you'll have a real price — and it will not change afterward.
The standard five-page build. Everything tested and live. Paid once — there is no build fee hiding in the monthly.
Keeps the site working and found.
Everything above, and your phone stops going to voicemail.
Everything above, and the follow-up happens without you touching it.
The standard package is a five-page business website — the pages listed above, built for a licensed contractor, with your Google listing sorted out and the phone answered. That covers most of the men I work with, and the price for it is the same for everybody.
Some jobs need more than five pages. If the site has to take bookings, build a quote, run a calculation, or talk to software you already use, that's custom work and it gets quoted on its own. You'll have that price up front, before anything starts. Tell me what you're trying to do and I'll tell you what it takes.
One price for the build, paid once. One price a month after that, and you pick which one. Both get agreed before anything starts, and neither one moves afterward.
No contract on the monthly. Thirty days' notice either direction and we're done — and you keep the website, the domain and the accounts, still running. There is nothing to move and nothing for me to hold. If I'm not worth the monthly, you shouldn't be paying it.
Almost half of what decides whether you show up in the local map results comes down to two things: your Google listing, and your reviews. Not your logo, not how often somebody posts a blog. That's where the monthly work goes.
Most contractors around here have four or five reviews from customers who happened to think of it on their own. You should have that many a month. That's not a trick — it's just asking every customer, every time, which nobody does because they're busy working. So I do it for you.
Every other month I write a piece on something you actually deal with — what a failing pressure tank sounds like, why a driveway washes out every August. You read it and tell me if it's right, and it goes up under your name. You don't write a word.
They live on their own page on your site, called Advice, and each one gets its own address. That matters — it's what lets somebody searching that exact question land on your site instead of somebody else's. Nothing ever comes down, so a year in you've got six of them with your name on, and three years in you've got eighteen. It won't rank you on its own and I won't pretend otherwise — but it is the part of the monthly you can actually look at.
One HVAC changeout or one well pump replacement covers most of a year of it on its own. Two, and the year is paid for with money left over. For smaller service calls it runs three or four jobs. Set that against what one lead costs you from the outfits that sell the same call to nine other contractors — and you own nothing when that's over.
So the real question isn't whether it's expensive. It's how many after-hours calls you didn't get to last year — and whether you think that number was under four.
Ten years in the Navy submarine service, where a missed step isn't a bad quarter, it's a casualty. After that: automated test systems for semiconductors and photonics at Motorola, and a $3M facility build I ran that came in early and under budget — with enough left over to outfit the labs.
Then five years as flight director on the Yuma tethered aerostat, running crews of five to seven through every launch, recovery and safety-critical maintenance evolution. After that, radar and FLIR — forward-looking infrared — systems integrated onto eighty-foot tower platforms for forward operating bases in Afghanistan.
That was rapid fielding. Fourteen systems built, shipped and standing watch on a schedule that didn't allow for a second attempt, because the people waiting on them were in harm's way. They worked. That mattered more than anything else about the job.
I've never had work where the work was just work. When what you build is what keeps people safe, you don't ship it half-finished, you don't sell a man something he doesn't need, and you don't go quiet once the invoice clears. Nobody's life is riding on your website. But that habit doesn't switch off, and you get the same version of me either way.
So if a website isn't going to make you money, I'll tell you that instead of selling you one.
I'm up in Clints Well. You can come look me in the eye.
Since you made it this far — I wrote a book.
Thirty years of running volunteers at desert races, mountain rescues and helicopter calls, and what actually works when you're leading people who can walk away any time they want. It has nothing to do with websites. It's here because it's the same thirty years I'd be bringing to your job.
Reads in about an hour. That was on purpose.
Find it on Amazon →I'll tell you straight whether this is worth your money. If it isn't, I'll say so and you've lost five minutes.
Pick up the phone if that's easier —
(480) 757-9067Or fill this out and I'll get back to you. No newsletter, no drip campaign, no handing your number to anybody. It comes straight to me.