Six pages I added this week, and what each one is for

Me, in Madrid. This is the portrait I use everywhere, so it is the one on the photographs page too.

I spent this week filling in the parts of my own site that were missing, and it turned out most of what was missing was not writing. It was the boring apparatus: where the pictures are, what the dates were, who to ask. Six pages went up. Here is what each one is for, in case any of it saves somebody a question.

A timeline where every entry carries the place you can go and check it — the register entry, the DOI, the review count. Anyone can type a year into a CV, so I put the record that fixes each one next to it and left it at that.

A press kit. Three bios at three lengths, ready to paste, with the facts and their sources underneath. No email to send, no form to fill in. If somebody is writing about the company at eleven at night, the answer should already be sitting on a page rather than waiting in my inbox until morning.

The photographs, captioned with what each one actually is, free to reuse with attribution. Without a caption a photograph taken in a restaurant and one taken at a conference are hard to tell apart, so each one says where it was taken and what it shows.

Your company already has rules. Nobody ever wrote them down. This is the first week of any automation project, described honestly: you ask two competent people the same question and get two different answers, and you find out the company has been running on that gap for years without anybody minding.

What selling taught me that building never did. Three hundred commissions in, the pattern underneath all of them turned out to be simple, and it was not about charts.

How I work on a product. Data, then media, then product — why that order and not another one, and why most of the work is deciding where to stop.

None of it is new work. It is work I had already done, written down somewhere a stranger can find it, which took me longer to get round to than it should have.