A few years ago, my speaking business was in trouble.
I'm neurodivergent. I'm a person of colour. I'm older than most people breaking into this industry. And I work in tech — a world that doesn't always make room for people like me. I'd look at the speakers getting booked, getting paid, getting seen, and I'd realise, slowly, that the system wasn't built for me. It was built for people already on the inside.
I had two choices. Give up and get a job. Or build my own way in.
So over the last three years, I built the tools I couldn't find anywhere else. Tools to get me found. Tools to write my content. Tools to price my work and bring in leads. Tools to turn every talk into something that kept working long after I'd left the stage. I built them for one person: me.
And building them taught me something I couldn't have learned any other way. By making these products — by working out how to use AI properly, in the real world, for a real business — I learned the advanced AI thinking I now teach.
The building was the education.
Without these tools, my speaking business would have gone under last year.
I'd have had to get a job. Instead, this year I'm earning more and working less than I ever have.
And that matters more than money. Because I'm the primary carer for my teenage daughter, who is neurodivergent and has special educational needs. She needs more of my time now, not less. The tools I built are the reason I can give her that time. This year, because the business runs without me chained to it, I took her on three holidays.
That's why this exists.
I'm not interested in helping people who are already winning win more. I built this for the speakers the industry overlooks — the ones who are good enough to be paid but not yet getting the opportunities they deserve. The ones building it part-time, around the rest of their lives. The ones the system wasn't built for.
I've handed you the exact system that saved mine.
Thanks to funding from Great Marketing Works, if you qualify, you can have it for a fraction of what it's worth.
You don't need to be famous. You do need to be serious.