Hold on to your lock boxes, this is one for the strong at heart! It was taught to me quite early on, that the best rarely have to announce that they are, in fact, the best. Their work usually speaks for itself without any need for back up. Possibly it is just me, more likely it is just me on an entire pot of coffee; but what on earth is going on in the real estate marketing realm? Is every single agent really THE absolute best?

I ran track in high school, not many cheerleaders do. There is a reason not many cheerleaders run track, a reason that alluded me until track season was over. Unlike real estate, at the end of track season the best actually get a ribbon, a trophy, and often a much needed new pair of shoes. Truth be told, I didn't get a ribbon, no trophy was presented, and there was simply no need to replace my shoes.  I wasn't the best. I wasn't even in the same time frame as the best.

There is a new phenomenon in the real estate industry that I find a bit odd. Perusing magazines, local papers, websites, fliers, and even name tags I see that each and every single Realtor is, in fact, the best. Maybe they should meet my track coach. He had no problem explaining to us that in order to be best, you had to beat the best and until that momentous occasion, you were just another track runner. Sound harsh? I think it is honest and I appreciate someone telling me that it was something to work towards, not just a word that looks good on paper. If you want to win, run faster. If you want to be the best, work harder. It isn't just a word or a tagline.

To add to my confusion, this odd new approach to marketing seems self indulgent at best. If you are marketing a home, shouldn't the home be mentioned? Shouldn't the strengths of the property, the area, and the lifestyle be somewhere in the advertising? Instead I see flashing photos of shiny happy Realtors exclaiming their transcendence to perfection! What on earth?

Our jobs are personal, they do require some amount of self promotion, but to be so self promoting as to forget the point of showcasing a property, a project, or a cause? Again, maybe it is the coffee.

If you are searching for a Realtor, weed through the clutter, rule out the ridiculous, and go with the one who understands their job is to market your property, not their seemingly true accolades. Finding a good Realtor is not difficult at all. Some of the most professional, most skilled, most knowledgeable Realtors are ready to take your call, and help you reach your goal.

Tips on weeding through the ridiculous:

1. Does the agent's marketing, revolve solely around the agent?

2. Will they market your home, or their head shot?

3. If they are the best, have them show facts! Where do they rank in their local MLS?

4. Ask for RECENT phone numbers/contact information. If they can't give you three sellers, or three buyers; give them a goodbye.

5. Ask for an example of their marketing plan? How will it get your home sold?

6. Do they advertise real estate on their PERSONAL Facebook page, where they also advertise their weekend debacles, beach photos, and overly emotional opinions? Do you want your home advertised directly above a photo of your highly intoxicated Realtor? Ouch.

Our industry is full of amazing, wonderful, and professional Realtors who work so hard everyday to fine tune their marketing, streamline their efforts, and produce real results. Make sure your Realtor is result driven, not recognition driven. Ask for facts, weed through the rubbish, and work with someone who will focus on you! After all the best agent is the one who just sold your home!

I guess by now it is pretty obvious to most that I am a wee bit protective and maybe even slightly neurotic of my precious (yep I said "my" so maybe even a little egocentristic) little town by the sea.

Beaufort has meant so much to me in so many ways. I first came to Beaufort solely based on a conversation I overheard in an emergency room. I vaguely recall the injury most likely one of my slip, trip, bump-n bruise days no doubt.

Emergency rooms are not the best places for private conversations or maybe I was just blatantly eaves dropping.

The nurse spoke of a place she had recently visited that she truly believed was "spiritually magical".

As a young gypsy minded woman, that sounded good to me! I packed up my prize position, Captain Jack (my cocker spaniel/counselor/ best friend/confidant/foot warmer), loaded up my seen-better-days mustang and headed to Beaufort.

Honestly, I could write a book (and someday I just might) about the details of the drive, the actual events surrounding my life at the time, and the little voice inside my head that screamed "What the hell are you doing?"

But....for now, I will give you the high points.

I was a school teacher so I quickly found a job. I spent my days driving around aimlessly enjoying the most amazing sights I had ever seen in a small town.

The sailboats cruising through the Intracoastal Waterway, crabbers and shrimpers pulling in their days catch, children playing without a care in the world; I was home.

Even after several years, the sights, smells, faces, and sounds are as fresh as the seafood I eat each day. Long (very long, I'm wordy) story short, Beaufort saved my life in many ways. I had time to stop and remember who I was and that happiness wasn't a luxury but a necessity.

So where am I going with all of this???? Told you I was wordy...

I had a couple in my car, nice couple very business minded and career driven. They were just a few years older than me.

They were trying to choose between my little paradise and a larger city north of here. I spent time educating them on the market, what was available in their range, etc... Then, I showed them around a bit so that they could get their bearings.

Then it happened...

"How do you live in such a small town?" Where is the mall?, "This place seems forgotten by society." And on and on they went, denting, and bruising my little town by the sea.

Oops.....did I just run off the road??????!?!?

It would have been a nice commission I suppose.

Maybe they would have learned to appreciate the true beauty of my little town by the sea.

Maybe, I shouldn't have dropped them back off at their hotel so quickly.

If you are looking for the hustle and bustle, or the hurry up and get out of my way life style. Don't come to our little town. You will not be happy and you will interfere with the happiness of others.

If you are looking for a life somewhat forgotten, an amazing place to raise a family, a place where your neighbors know you AND LIKE YOU, a place where you can spend a Sunday sitting by (or in) the river with your closest friend without feeling as though silence must be filled;come on down, over, across or up, we will save you a seat.

If you are lost and don't have time to find yourself, come to Beaufort. We are happy people.

No we don't have a mall and yes, we even may talk funny, but we will welcome you and help you find your piece of paradise.

Just over a year ago we opened our doors at Somerset Point in Beaufort South Carolina. Months and months of preparation, long hours, long debates, and long lists preceded opening day. Building a community is challenging; building a community in the current economic atmosphere is just plain crazy, right? Wrong.

When most of the industry was hibernating, we were innovating. When everyone was saying "It can't be done."; we were finding a way. As a Realtor, I knew buyers wanted something more. My builder new buyers demanded quality; our owner knew it would take all of us to make it happen.

What was once a question of where are you located? Is now, which lots are still available. What was once who is the builder? Is now, Manor House is the builder.

Not too long ago I drove through an area with only a few homes, now I drive through a community with laughing children, full front porches, lovingly maintained landscaping, and the evidence that if you provide quality homes and impeccable service at affordable prices; communities can thrive, even in our current economic atmosphere.

We are open Tuesday-Saturday 11am -5pm. We would love to show you how our community has grown!

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Seller,

I am sorry life has thrown you a curve. It isn't the absolute best time to sell your home. The next few months will likely be extremely stressful for everyone in your family. You will get advice from everyone from your mail person to the dry cleaner.

Watching the evening news will not only make you want to scream, but may cause nightmares. Turn it off. The reporter from Whatever City, Whatever State, isn't likely a local expert.

It is time to channel your inner Martha Stewart. Your home is now a product you MUST sell. Tell yourself that everyday. It isn't easy, but it is an absolute must. Your PRODUCT must appear better than all the others at a similar price.

Buyers from all sales industries are now comparison shoppers to the extreme. So you must take NOTHING for granted. Wash, iron, disinfect, organize, polish, REMOVE with a vengeance.

If you have children, involve them in the process. Give them specific duties, they will gain ownership rather than resentment.

If you have pets, good luck.

No seriously, if you are one of those pet owners that is POSITIVE your home has no pet odor, think again. I have a dog, I consider myself to be immaculate with him; however, I am not a fool. It is time for Sparky, Fuzzy, Spot, and Princess to go on vacation.

Call your parents, NOW.

You can and will survive. Will you sell your home? If you partner with an expert. If you join forces with a Realtor who is more of a listing agent than an inventory agent. Interview Realtors, you will be amazed at the level of professionalism.

Realtors are THE ONLY ONES that know your local market. They can give you advice and direction that will be invaluable to your transaction.

Play the theme from Rocky, sing along to Gloria Gaynor, get yourself psyched up, you can do this with the help of a REALTOR.

Sincerely,

Your Local Realtor!

Coach Bags, Manolo Blahnik shoes, Chanel Fragrance, the latest boots and the coolest jeans will NOT be found on every corner in Beaufort, SC. I know, I know, don't cry. I was once that girl.

Before living in Beaufort, I lived in downtown Atlanta.

Atlanta...ahhh, the nightlife, the endless shopping extravaganza, the latest gadgets and gifts, the aroma of Starbucks at every turn and did I mention the shopping???

Those were the days...

I thought

Now instead of Coach Bags, Ihave Seagrass Baskets.

Instead of Manolo Blahnik strappy heels, I have Palmetto Flip Flops.

Chanel Fragrance is replaced by the smell of Jamaica Joe sunscreen and tutti-frutty sno cones.

The latest fashion is almost always comfy cotton, sun kissed skin, and a read more than once southern novel.

The nightlife is a social gathering around an oyster roast, on the deck of a boat reeling in a big one, gathering on the porch at Paninis listening to live music under the stars, or meeting a friend for a long walk along the Atlantic at Hunting Island.

We are not a big city. No, we don't have a shopping mall.

We do have:

An abundance of fish, clams, oysters, and crabs

Dolphins that play..just because

Sunsets that inspire the Artist within

History at every turn

Oak Trees that have seen all that Mother Nature can serve

Architecture admired by generation after generation

A Historic Downtown never to be forgotten

Quaint boutiques, art galleries, and local flare

People, both born Beaufortonians, and those who came as fast as they could........

So no, We don't have a shopping mall.

Thank Goodness.

As a Mississippi girl, sharks were nothing more than a looming memory of the ominous music played before a massive creature attacked some unsuspecting characters dressed in a most unforgettable and somewhat unforgiving wardrobe from the late 70's.

So now I am in beautiful Beaufort and what do I catch while attempting to hook a trout or two.....Mr. Bonnethead himself. Now, please, before anyone fusses about our mistreatment of the wonderful marine life, you should know Mr. Bonnethead is swimming happily in the saltwater estuaries of the lowcountry.

This was my first experience with this type shark. He was quite the fighter...we had no idea what awaited us on the end of our shrimp baited "stopper" (now, let me explain....in Mississippi we refer to the so called cork as a stopper, understandably so because obviously...when the so called cork goes underwater..you STOP what you are doing and catch whatever it is that is interrupting your otherwise peaceful nap:) but out of respect for my new home..I will honor the term "cork".

Sorry..maybe that was too much information. I just wanted to clarify.

 Back to the story at hand....So Mr. Bonnethead decides to take off with my shrimp. Tyson would have been proud. This 3.5 foot Jaws Jr. made every minute count. Reed, the other smiling creature in the photo, had warned me that sharks would become somewhat apprehensive when nearing the boat. Now, I prefer to experience things first hand. I did. As I fought this Jaws Jr..I was able to get him within feet of the boat. And sure as he saw me, I saw him, the battle began. It really seemed as though he simply said, one of us has to go..

Thank goodness for sturdy feet, and a strong friend. Otherwise it is quite possible I would be writing this blog from a saltier environment. It was truly remarkable to witness the determination of this creature to NOT be caught.

I am female..I do have a heart. Once he came aboard, I sincerely wanted him free. Of course I wasn't really that excited about unhooking him. That is where my smiling friend comes in to play. He quickly unhooked this phenomenal specimen and returned him to fight another day, What a beautiful thing it was!

Now, not to frighten all of you..but keep in mind, Jaws Jr. was caught in only 4 feet of water in the bend of a small creek. Before you hear the theme song to Jaws...he was more afraid of me (or maybe my friend) than I was of him.

There is a place where man lives peacefully with these fascinating creatures..It is called Beaufort.

I realize the importance of listings. I work hard to attract realistic sellers, however; there is always that one home that makes me wonder......

I believe that in some way the listings we take reflect on us as professionals. Is that crazy? My listings are my inventory, my inventory is my business. My business is where I spend most of my time.

I have done the "We should really paint, you may want to declutter, speech"  to no avail. This particular property is priced well, yet it lacks the appeal needed to really draw in the buyers. Before signing the listing paperwork, we made a list of things that needed to be completed before introducing the home to the MLS. They agreed;however, once the date arrived (although understandably due to personal circumstances) the list was not finished. Not even close.

So what did I do?? I went ahead, at their request, and listed it. I know....I know...my fault. (banging head against wall)

Anyway, I am heading out AGAIN today to meet the photographer for more pictures with the hopes of making the home more appealing. Maybe I should take my own paint brush too.....After all...it is possible I did this one to myself!

Each morning begins with a balancing act that consists of basic necessity, socially accepted behavior, missing keys, matted make up and the attempt to make it out the front door with all necessary clothing. Certainly there is a long list of pro's of being a woman; many of which can be used at the drop of a hat when needed, conjured up to perfection when pushed into a corner, and delivered with a powerful punch in moments; however, it is without a doubt a power that comes with great responsibility and even greater challenges. 

Early training of these fine female faculties began with the simple understanding that my father could, in fact, be swayed. His firm stance on no pigs in the house was one deserving of debate. Porky was my friend, my pet and most times better behaved than my sibling. It was during this momentous stand I learned, as so many women do, that a smile combined with just the right head tilt topped with a bright eyed stare could be a most effective negotiation technique. Porky learned to sit and Daddy learned to compromise. I learned "no" means, find another way to present your case. 

It is a common misconception that tears are a cure all for our population. Most of us learn that tears can be misinterpreted, misconstrued, and for all practical purposes a waste of good mascara. It is not within a woman's tears where power is found. It is in adaptability, versatility, and compatibility with a slightly less complex gender. Men see blue; women see white, turquoise, muted navy, and a possible need for pink. Once understood this difference can be maximized for incredible return. 

Southern women have a way of mastering the head tilt, the bright eyed stare, and the astonishing ability to create a masterful argument for just about anything. Examples of this phenomenon are easily found in restaurants, shopping centers, and homes all over our great nation. Although I haven't served in the halls of congress, I am certain there is an ample amount of bright eyed stares driving legislation. This in no way suggests weakness or naivety instead it channels years and years of proper training to communicate a reservoir of strength and perseverance. Having learned that displays of aggression are appropriate coming only from the male masses, women have risen to the occasion of modification in the graceful way only women can. Throwing a fit, a plate, a shoe, even a golf club may have its time and place; however, throwing a devil-be-damned stare changes courses of action. Throwing a plate changes a dinner setting. 

Clearly it is socially, even southernly acceptable for a man to express aggression  often it is even poetically painted as passion. Women, on the other hand, have a one way ticket to the crazy couch when participating in bouts of aggression or passionate debate. It is a learned behavior to find more suitable methods of persuasion. A Southern woman can hush a crowd with a cut of her eyes, even disarm an army with a silent glare. Any skeptic is welcomed to join my grandmother during a Sunday worship service; with one look she can quiet even the most mischievous pew of participants. Still doubtful? Find a woman, any woman and try to take her chocolate. Immediately, you will be reduced to salt and oxygen with the blink of an eye. 

In an industry dominated by my male counterparts I have found my skill set to be as complimentary as it is confusing. Surrounded by testosterone I have learned to adapt, overcome, and even enjoy my female mystique. That which handicaps me in the eyes of many catapults me in the eyes of those that matter. A woman who knows her worth, manages her powers, multiplies her reach even allowing her to change a man's mind, and teach a pig to sit. 

Facebook has turned upside down with the new timeline feature. Our local MLS has changed so many templates my head is spinning. My coffee pot is now a manual-necessary Keurig and in keeping with the constant confusion Active Rain has gone all fancy. How can this be?

I do my best to keep up, truly I do. It seems that the good things scramble to make themselves better and the bad revolve to worse. My tennis shoes are even technical these days. I sound like my grandmother, I realize; however, does anything really stay the same?

I suppose I will enjoy a moment of vivacious venting then buckle up to take the learning curve. Such is our job, our industry and our lives; it is a fast paced fury we live in and learning to adapt is a requirement loved or not.

With a pout that could rival the Queen, I will shuffle my feet towards a complicated cup of coffee, peruse the ever changing MLS display, and try and find the blog button on my new Active Rain page.

To all my coworkers, colleagues and cohorts may you too survive the tulmultous tornado and find peace in the one constant; the simple fact it doesnt exist.