1. Reach out → qualify: hand over one specific line they said about their current state, not "they seemed interested". Keep the exact words; every later stage uses them.
2. Qualify → discover: hand over which criterion of your ideal customer profile they meet, and on what evidence. If you can't write it, the deal got in on a feeling.
3. Discover → decision chain: hand over one pain they can repeat back themselves, already converted into money or hours. If they can't repeat it, it doesn't exist.
4. Decision chain → proposal: hand over a list — who pays, who uses, who will object — with one line each on what they care about.
5. Proposal → close: hand over a next step naming a person, an action and a date. "Let's stay in touch" is not a next step.
How to run it: keep those five lines in one place (a CRM note is fine) and read them before every move. Where a line is blank, go back and fill it rather than advancing — advancing only carries the gap into a more expensive stage.
Mechanism: each stage's input is the previous stage's output. Loss at the seam is the default state, not an accident — the brain holds only three or four chunks at once, so the customer detail you were sure you'd remember has been compressed into a vague impression two weeks later. Writing the handoff down as one sentence routes around the bottleneck. And the loss is lethal because it multiplies rather than adds: five factors of 0.8 leave 0.33.
Boundary: don't impose five handoffs on a small deal that closes in one call — that's manufacturing process for yourself. The value of this rises with cycle length and headcount; for a two-week deal with one decision-maker, one note is enough.
The stall above almost always comes down to the same thing: your contact offers to take it inside for you. Relaying always attenuates — they won't use your words, and they won't remember your three numbers. The answer isn't better material for them to carry. It's getting yourself into that room.
Say roughly this: "This has gone well, but I don't want you relaying it internally on my behalf — usually half gets lost, and it's the finance half. Could we get thirty minutes next week with whoever owns the budget? I'll bring one page covering three things: what the current setup costs per year, what switching saves, and how fast it shows. You don't have to present it. You just have to be there and say what you think."
Why it lands: it asks them to do less rather than more, and it names a duration and an agenda. To refuse, they have to give a reason — and that reason is the information you were missing: either they don't actually want to advance this, or the budget line runs through someone else.
Mechanism: a deal stalls between stages not usually because the buyer doesn't want to advance, but because nobody owns the next thing down to a named person and a named day. Fixing each stage's closing move as "who, what, which day" converts an intention that needs willpower to start into an action triggered by a situational cue — one of the most reliable interventions in behavioural science.
Boundary: seven stages are for deals measured in months with several people involved. For consumer purchases or a single decision-maker, compress to three — qualify, make the value clear, ask for a decision. Forcing seven stages onto a short cycle exhausts you and makes the buyer feel processed rather than helped.
"Hi — the contract's coming up for renewal. When can we get some time to talk about it?"
The problem: this frames the topic as "do you want to pay again", which invites them to re-evaluate you from zero. And they have no evidence to hand, only impressions — and the impression that surfaces most easily is the two ugly weeks during rollout.
"Two months to go, so I did a version of the year's accounts myself first. In week six you ran the whole process end to end for the first time, and you're currently saving roughly forty hours a month — that's exported from your own back end, not a number I invented; detail is attached. I'd like to hear two things from you: which stretch of this year was worst, and what you most want solved next year. Does Wednesday afternoon work?"
What changed: you replaced the peak with a checkable fact (week six), then put the worst stretch on the table yourself — pain that gets named out loud is far milder than the version they reconstruct alone. And the last line moves the topic from "renew or not" to "what are we solving next year".
1. Define first value as a checkable event. Not go-live — the first time they actually get a result. Put it on line one of the delivery plan and agree to look at the numbers together on that day.
2. Warn them about the ugly stretch in advance, and roughly how long it lasts — data migration, process change, internal training. An expectation flattened beforehand doesn't get charged to you; the same explanation afterwards reads as an excuse.
3. Replace project sign-off with twenty minutes of reading the results out loud. Three numbers plus one sentence they said themselves. Twenty minutes, and it's the twenty minutes of the year they'll remember most clearly.
4. At signing, say one thing less than you want to. The extra promise doesn't make them keener to sign; it just lifts the baseline that the next twelve months get measured against.
Mechanism: the brain doesn't integrate an experience, it samples it — the peak and the ending carry enormous weight, and how long it lasted barely counts at all ("duration neglect"). Meanwhile the reward system encodes prediction error rather than absolute value: better than expected fires, exactly as expected barely moves, worse is suppressed. Stack the two and the felt value of delivery is a difference, which is why over-promising costs twice — it sells nothing extra now, and pushes every later delivery toward zero or negative.
Boundary: don't read peak-end as licence to let the middle rot — a bad middle grows its own negative peak, which is exactly what memory grabs. And all of this only holds where you did deliver value; using experience design to paper over what the product didn't do buys you one renewal cycle at most.
Step one (no peeking at the result): for each of your stages write "exit condition met: yes / no / can't tell". "Can't tell" counts as no — you had no evidence at the time.
Step two: find the first "no" and date it. Most deals actually died a month earlier than you think.
Step three (now bring in the result): place the deal in one of the four boxes above and do what that box says.
Step four · three questions: (1) Next time, at that same stage, which single question could I ask earlier? (2) What in this deal was outside my control and shouldn't be booked to me? (3) If it was lost from the start, what's the earliest stage I could have seen that?
The part that makes it work: a debrief only means something if a prediction was written down first. When a deal enters the quote stage, write one line — "probability of closing within 30 days: __%, because ____" — and pull it out at debrief time. Without it you'll just read back a story you have already rewritten.
Mechanism: once you know the outcome, the brain automatically rewrites what you thought at the time and makes the result look as though it was obvious. So a debrief that starts from the outcome can only learn the contaminated version. Judging the process first locks in the judgement before the contamination gets in — and counting "can't tell" as "no" blocks the same flattering rewrite.
Boundary: debriefs cost real time, so don't run one per deal. Pick three kinds — the largest, the longest, and the ones that "just evaporated for no reason". The third yields the most information. And "without blame" isn't a pleasantry, it's a condition of the effect: once a debrief becomes an accountability hearing, people submit the version that protects them.
Ninety minutes to walk one real deal end to end.