I cook email systems to help businesses grow using emphatic persuasion and storytelling | Founder of The Analytical Wordsmith | Mad Men obsessed.

A buyer opens your climate SaaS site and mutters: "Wait…what?"

The page opens with acronyms, methodology, and caveats.

The product is brilliant, but the language greets them like they already took the course and passed the exam.

They scroll, pause, scroll again—looking for the one line that explains what you actually do.

Most don't find it.

They leave.

This is the moment your leads either get their footing or vanish.

And most climate SaaS companies rush past it.

They dive straight into how the data is calculated. Boundaries, frameworks, assumptions—stacked neatly, confident the reader will keep up.

What's missing is the part where someone can say, out loud, what changed and why it matters now.

It's like starting Stranger Things halfway through the season and being expected to explain the plot to someone else by Friday.

I work before that moment.

I build educational email courses that translate climate speak into plain language and pre-qualify your audience as they read.

The people who don't get it drop off early. The people who do come back already oriented, already fluent, already done pretending.

By the time they reach out, the conversation doesn't start with context.

It starts with intent.

I'm a Venezuelan immigrant based in Cali, Colombia.

I left because people didn't understand the crisis until it was too late.

Now I help climate SaaS founders explain their solutions before it's too late.

The irony isn't lost on me.

Neither is the fact that I'm solving billion-dollar communication problems from a city most people think is in California.

If your buyers are confused, your demos are stalling, or your homepage is losing people in 8 seconds—let's talk.

Send me a DM and I'll send you a Loom walking through how an email course would work for your specific product.

Fair warning: I'll probably use a Mad Men reference. It's a problem.

You know where to find me.

There’s a moment when a website snarls at your visitors

It happens when every sentence introduces a new 
concept, every diagram demands interpretation, 
and every acronym assumes prior training.

The page scrolls like a control panel mid-alarm, tabs inside tabs, 
frameworks stacked on frameworks, certainty everywhere 
except about what they are needing.

Even sustainability teams end up rereading the same paragraph 
twice, looking for the part that says what you actually sell.

That moment is where online visibility stops turning into understanding.

A buyer arrives on the page alone: 

-The headline names the category. 
-The subhead expands it. 
-A visual loads, layered with arrows, scopes, 
boundaries, and color-coded seriousness. 

Below it, acronyms appear without ceremony, each one 
hinting at expertise while refusing to anchor to a concrete outcome.

The scroll slows. The eye moves differently now. Back up. Down again. A diagram gets another look, this time searching for a result rather than a system.

The copy arrives in ceremonial nouns: lifecycle boundaries, materiality thresholds, verification pathways, or scope alignment.

Meaning feels the way sand offers footing near 
the tide, firm at first touch, then drowning you 
the longer you stand.

The prospect goes from evaluating to translating. 

What does this replace? 
Where does it fit? 
What would saying yes actually sound like inside the company? 

The page keeps explaining how things relate, connect, 
and interact, while the decision itself stays just out of frame.

The tab remains open longer than expected. 
Curiosity thins into effort. The page slams in their faces.

Nothing dramatic follows. No rejection or disagreement. 

The idea gets filed as serious, complex, probably 
important, and postponed. 

Traffic registers. Interest passes through. The visit ends the way it began, unresolved.

This is how leads thin out online.
________________________________
I’m Flor María, and I turn climate SaaS
speak into email courses that make
investors (and clients) say,
Wait… this is actually interesting.

Flor Maria Cruz Blaser

I help climate SaaS stop tripping over itself | Mad Men Obsessed

Most awkward LinkedIn moments aren’t aggressive.

They’re just slightly out of sync.

Nothing wrong with the ask, or with the person.

Just a missing chapter in between.

👇 This carousel unpacks that feeling.

LI is not a PR move

I turn “Not even my family gets what we do” into email courses that deliver sales-ready buyers| Mad Men Obsessed

Climate apps talk too much. Bower just works.

Most climate SaaS pages read like the Star Wars 
crawl: high drama, zero momentum.

A wall of context. Big stakes. Long wind-up before anything happens. 

You’re told what matters, why it matters, how serious it all is. 
By the time the product shows up, the reader’s already tired.

Bower opens in a completely different scene.

Instead of opening with explanations, it enters the scene with behaviour.
 
Scan this. Sort that. Get rewarded.
 
The system moves first, and understanding catches up 
through motion, like balance, before knowing the name of the exercise.

That’s a founder decision. Not just a UX detail. 

As Bower puts it:

“The real magic happens when we sort our waste into dedicated bins.”

Right there, the choice becomes visible: action takes the 
lead, and the question comes later. 

The hard part happens inside the system, not in the user’s head.

Friction relocates from the user to the system, where 
it can be absorbed early.

Climate action turns from  an abstract task into a legiible routine. 

Something you repeat on a Tuesday afternoon. 

Behavior becomes the interface and meaning attaches itself 
afterward, to something already done.

Climate moves out of agreement and into participation, and 
momentum builds because the next step feels familiar, not aspirational.

Some of you spend years polishing the story.

Suwar Mert makes the product do the talking.
________________________________________

I'm Flor Maria, and I turn climate saas speak into
email courses that make clients and investors say,

"Wait, this is actually interesting."

Your homepage is the place buyers go to get confused in peace.

They open it between meetings, Slack barking in one 
ear, and you greet them with “end-to-end 
decarbonization,” like it can fix their Monday.

They keep scrolling for one sentence they can repeat 
to their boss without blushing, the kind that 
survives a CFO stare and still 
sounds like a decision.

Instead, the page hands them polished nouns, soft promises, 
and a diagram that reads like airport signage 
when you’re already late.

Here’s the part most of you miss.

The buyer is not judging your tech.
The buyer is judging the energy bill; the cost, risk, 
and the effort they’ll have to justify internally.

Every extra explanation asks them to do work they can’t 
expense, and every new acronym adds a new risk.

Each unclear line turns into another internal meeting they have to host.

(Ugggh!)

So they conserve energy.

They close the tab and back at their company, the explanation 
gap gets dressed up as a demand problem.

“It’s the market.”
“No! It’s timing.”
“Timin? It’s price!”

Nope.

It’s comprehension.

-MRV.
-Insights.
-Platform.
-Solutions.
-Words with clean shoes.
-No footprints.

Explanation cost kills interest long before pricing, 
trials, pilots, and procurement ever get a fair read.

If you’re building climate software, your homepage is a translation layer.

Drop one line from your site that sounds professional but explains nothing.

I’ll rewrite it into a sentence a buyer can carry into a meeting.
_____________________________________
I’m Flor María, and I turn climate SaaS speak
into email courses that make
investors (and clients) say,
Wait… this is actually interesting.

taplio

Flor Cruz's Linkedin Analytics

Flor Maria Cruz

Performance ScoreFlor Maria Cruz's LinkedIn Performance

What is Flor talking about?

Flor Maria Cruz's Best Posts (last 30 days)

Ready to grow your LinkedIn presence?