Jennifer Cipri's Blog

Your biggest OBSTACLE to succeeding as a writer is not your relationships, not your IQ, your social status or the industry. IT IS YOUR FEAR. Tackle the beast first and watch how you begin to soar.

5 HABITS KEEPING YOU FROM YOUR BEST WRITING AND SMARTEST SELF

Did you know that your theta waves are still active in the early morning? And did you know that theta waves allow you a better understanding of reality, release you from the confines of doubt and worry, connect you with your deepest spiritual self, allow you access to a wealth of creativity that is not available to you at other times of the day?

To put it simply, you are smarter in the early morning. What is more, this state of heightened spirituality, intelligence, flexibility and creativity is best utilized when you wake up just before the sun rises. Our bodies are designed to work with the cosmos. Science has proven that what is internal and biological is connected to what is external or cosmic. (ie. Circadian rhythms.)

Not only are you still in that enlightened state and still benefiting from the remnants of theta waves, the dawning of light is a phenomenon in itself. Virgin light should be looked upon. Receive it and all the goodness it has to offer you. There is divinity there. Harness that divinity and see where it leads your mind and your pen. Don’t waste your best thinking on the pillow. Get up and meet the side of you that is divine and brilliant!

The next time you’re sitting around with nothing to do, no friends to talk to, nothing good on TV, or no inspiration to write, DO NOT REACH FOR YOUR SMART DEVICE.  Shut down all electronics and allow yourself to be bored.

Being bored isn’t fun but studies have shown that people who allow their brains to rest and go idle perform better on tests and intelligence activities than people who try to fill the void with surfing social media.

(Social media is 95% garbage for the mind. It does nothing to enlighten or help you as an artist. My advice it to allow yourself one day a week to check all your social media accounts. And be strict about this. Don’t worry; your virtual family can wait; and what you will find is that by placing this virtual life aside, REAL  living awaits you and it’s freaking awesome!!!)

But I digress. Let me get back to being bored.

Letting your mind wander is about letting go of control, releasing your consciousness to be totally free. Not trying to think of anything at all, but just letting your consciousness bob and weave through random thoughts, you will find that shortly after this state of blahness, vivid and exciting ideas will come popping in. And your mind will be energized from its momentary rest. How amazing is that??

When you’re bored, let it happen. Walk around, whistle, take a shower, stare at the wall, daydream. This is all part of being the genius you were born to be. STAY AWAY FROM THE BLACK MEANINGLESS PIT OF SOCIAL MEDIA. IT IS DISTRACTING YOU FROM EFFERVESCENCE. IT IS DEPLETING YOUR WELLSPRING OF GENIUS.

We’ve all been there: “But those are the popular ones. They go out and get seen and everybody wants to hang out with them.”

You wanna hang with them? That’s fine, if they’re really your friends. But if you go out with them and they’re more concerned with taking selfies and checking in to Foursquare than looking you in the eye and having a meaningful conversation, they are not your friends. What is more, if they are judgmental and gossipy and vain they are not healthy for you.

Find people who feed your soul. Find people who are compassionate, who have stories to tell and who have good advice to give you when you’re down. Find people who like to learn about others, who care. People who let you in, and allow you to care about them.

Writers must feel alot. They must love and be emotionally involved in the people around them. I have all kinds of friends, and I don’t care how popular they are to the rest of the world. As long as they challenge me to use my heart and my mind, I value them. The more you live on an emotional level, the better an artist you will become.

Remember that writing doesn’t just happen at the desk. It happens all day long. What you feed your soul with when you are not at the desk will come into play on that paper, whether you want it to or not. FIND GOODNESS AND LOVE. It’s out there in plenty.

I’ve been there before. I read an article written by a successful author and I say to myself, “He’s smarter than me. Maybe I’m not as good as I think. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a writer.”

Always remember that your story is one of a kind and God and His Universe is going to give you very specific insight into telling that story. You cannot be a genius at everything. Even Einstein stuck to what he knew and what inspired him. He was inspired by ENERGY.

Find your ENERGY and concern yourself with only that. Have you ever watched an Olympic race or an obstacle course challenge on a game show? The people who look right and left, worried about what the other guy is doing, rarely finish first. It’s the one who is inward, focused and concerned only with their own performance, who achieve their optimal potential, and many times win.

Yeah, that guy knows a thousand more historical facts than you, but he doesn’t know that girl living in your head with the broken heart. ONLY YOU DO!! Maybe that girl and her story have something profound to say. She’s waiting for you to stop worrying about what the next guy’s doing, and give your time to her.

Failure is a part of life. We all have to fail. So just get over it. People are going to wish you failure, too. It’s just a part of the human condition. Don’t worry what people think. Don’t worry if you write the worst novel in the world; the achievement is that YOU ARE WRITING!!! You are daring to achieve a great dream. That is awesome in itself. And if you keep moving forward with this attitude you will eventually write that great story waiting inside you.

As soon as you let go of fear and worry and allow yourself to be present in each moment, you will boost your creativity. Creativity is a very precious and sensitive thing; it does not allow itself to be in the same room with fear and doubt. Creativity knows its own worth and so should you!!!!

Shut the door on worry, and beckon creativity in.

I must get out of this town now that you are gone. I cannot bear the sight of this place, for everything about it reminds me of you.

It’s just after nightfall and as I walk the cobblestone streets of Bethlehem I wrap my cloak about me to keep the chill out. The huddled houses are lit from within. I can see people inside through the windows.  They are in the warmth of lit rooms, sitting at hearths, warming themselves at the fire; some are around tables eating. I can hear them from out here, although their noises are muffled. I hear their storytelling, their singing, their laughter. I hear children shouting in play. They are happy. Happy because they are with one another.

I want to weep when I hear their joy, but weeping will only make me more tired. So I hold back the tears and keep going. Where I go I know not. For there is no door that I can knock upon that would open and let me in.

But what is this I see, up at the end of the street?

It is a small caravan of strange people on horseback, moving along the cobblestone. A royal caravan. Soldiers in chainmail and golden helmets holding spears the length of two men. I cling to the shadows and pace my way closer to them. I want to see who or what they are guarding. When I am about ten paces away, still covered by the shadows, I see riding ahead of them a covered wagon with a treasure chest upon it. And ahead of that are three black horses. Upon those horses are not ordinary men, but magi! Yes magi! I see their ornate capes, their turbans as tall as beehives. I blink to see if it is a mirage. I pinch myself. I rub the weariness from my eyes. But no matter how I try to fight this vision, the great magi are still there!

When my mother was alive she used to read me stories about these men before bedtime. They are of the lands of the east and they are powerful indeed; they own libraries of books written from the time of Adam. They hold so much wisdom that they understand the very stars and the mysteries of the universe. They know secrets about heaven and how to get there and they are much greater than any average man. Why would they be here so far from their kingdom, with their rich capes and their statuesque bodies, in a town like mine? Why would such magnificent men be in this little town of Bethlehem?

Certainly there are no other magi here they can sit with, there are no vast libraries with books as old as time. No king resides here either, or any person of importance who might have invited them to dinner. Someone who could indulge them in choice foods and wines and send them to beds big enough for five men to sleep on. For I have heard that Herod himself hosts magi as often as he can. He begs them for their wisdoms and prophecies. Every king longs for the company of the magi.

Since I am an orphaned child and I have no plans this evening, I decide to follow them. I trail a good distance behind for I am not sure of their purpose and I don’t want to get in trouble this night. Yet, I must see where they are headed.

Of all places they stop at a stable, at a house near a shepherd’s field. Some shepherds are quietly gathered outside. Everyone is silent and peaking inside the stable. Is a stot being born? Is the mother fighting to give birth?

The shepherds make standing room for the royal visitors as the magi and soldiers dismount their blue-black stallions. The soldiers remove their golden helmets and place their spears to the ground. It is only now that I look up into the sky and see a star shining brighter than all the rest. The moment I look at it, it winks at me.

“Wow!” I exclaim unaware of myself.

The magi, the soldiers and the shepherds turn and find me. One of the shepherds shushes me. The tallest of the magi straightens his cape and steps in fine shoes over to where I stand. I fear he will strike me for disrupting the silence. But instead he reaches forward and puts his hand on my shoulder. His cape, the most glorious velvet I have ever seen, brushes against me. “Are you alone, young one?”

“Yes I am.”

“The ones you wish to be with on this night are gone.”

“Gone forever,” I say.

“There is nowhere for you to be on this chilly night.”

“There is nowhere for me. My family is gone.”

“You are lonely. And you, for some reason, are more lonely on this night than you have ever been.”

“How do you know all these things?”

“It is my business to know things. I know the things most others don’t.”

“Are you a holy prophet? A king in your land?”

“I am only a man. But fear not. The Great Ancient One has led you here. Come in. Look upon the one they call The King and see if you are lonely after meeting him.”

Stepping lightly toward the manger I am suddenly filled with peace. My feet are no longer tired, my bones no longer chilled. There is no hearth here, yet it feels as if there is one. A warmth consumes this place and I want to bask in it for as long as I can. The air is fragrant, as if we are not standing amongst animals and dirty hay, but amongst pristine lilies in an open field. The magi, the shepherds, the mother and father of the child are prostrate, bowing before the manger. I step to it and look down inside and see a babe, wrapped in swaddling with his arms free. At the sight of him I am no longer alone. My mother, my father, my siblings are standing by my side and we are all holding hands.

The babe’s innocent gaze searches the roof of the stable, his eyes seem to go far out beyond. There is silver in them and then I realize it is the reflection of that star. It somehow has penetrated the roof and is shining right on him. I fall to my knees just like the rest. A crushing joy has consumed me and I know I will never feel quite the same way again.            

Treasures are laid out on both sides of me. Golden urns containing what look like gold and precious oils. The oils add more perfume to the air. One is sour, one is sweet. I inhale their essences deeply and wonder what kind of exotic trees they came from.

I stay prostrate for quite a while. We all do. Just being there in the presence of this child is enough. Eventually I rise and bow to the mother and father and make my way out into the night. Before I go on my way, that same wise man comes outside, puts a hand on my shoulder again and says, “Where do you head to this night?”

“I do not know,” I tell him.

“Come with us,” he offers. “Would you like to live with my people?”

I look up at the star and I concentrate on its beauty and I say, “I am not afraid to be alone anymore.”

“Why is that?” he asks.

“If I had never been alone I would never have seen all that I have just seen. I would have never met you, felt the brush of your fine velvet upon my arm. I would have never peeked into the manger. Felt the warmth of the mother’s eyes on me as I lingered watching her son. I would have never seen the light of that star in his eyes. Me. Little nobody and lonely me. I am one of the first to have witnessed the King.  I must be blessed then. I must be bigger than I thought I am. And they. Who have left me. They must still be here somehow. Somehow I just know I will always have them. So I will stay here in Bethlehem.”

He smiles. “Peace be with you, my child.”

“And also with you.”

There is nothing left to do now but turn and make my way back into the darkness of night.

As you begin to develop your PROTAGONIST you are going to have to give him a quest or story goal. He must WANT something. And he must WANT it very very bad.

Charles Dickens’ “Great Expectations” starts out with the Protagonist, Pip. He is young and alone in a church graveyard, trying to read his parents’ headstones, overcome by a feeling of fear and alienation.

Chapter 1

My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the black-smith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout dark man with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, “Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,” I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly……

When searching a story for a protagonist’s WANT always take note of what the protagonist is doing physically (through his five senses.) Pip is doing two things: he is speaking his name and he is reading. Thus his WANT is for identity through literacy. The protagonist’s WANT can be derived from what he is physically doing at the outset of the story. I call this the WORLD’S QUEST.

But Dickens doesn’t stop there. And neither should you when you are creating your character. It is not enough to give your protagonist a WORLD’S QUEST: something he can attain through the five senses. For there is a second, even more powerful and important quest that must be present from the outset.  Dickens goes deeper, creating this second quest:

…Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things, seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain, that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and the low leaden line beyond, was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing, was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

That second quest is THE SOUL’S DESIRE. For Pip, the soul’s desire is to acquire a name for himself or identity that will free him from the agony of his orphaned state. He’s scared, alone and small as he gazes upon the tombstones of his parents. His soul seeks deliverance from the curse of death and abandonment. My GOD! If that doesn’t draw the reader in than I don’t know what will!

The SOUL’S DESIRE is the most important element in your entire story, so take lots of time in discovering the interior life of your Protagonist. The deeper that desire–the deeper it is carved into your protagonist and his surrounding world–the better satisfied the soul of your reader will be.

Something infinitely vulnerable has to live inside your protagonist. He must have a longing that aches—some kind of ailment or curse that makes living nearly impossible and needs healing.  That vulnerable place cannot be healed through the visceral senses. It must be attained through the satisfaction of the soul.

Give your main character a SOUL’S DESIRE that is ENORMOUS, TRAGIC & HEARTRENDINGLY SAD.

Go ahead. You can do it. You can go deep. Make him the most broken person you have ever met. (A dish on a banquet table gets less attention than a fly on the wall, but smash that dish to the floor, and watch how the room is now rapt by those broken pieces.)

Once you access the SOUL’S DESIRE, plot, motivation, nuance, detail, arch, etc. will come to you organically and with little effort. But you have to do the hard work before you can get the reward.

If you’re not sure what the SOUL’S DESIRE is just yet, read the classics again. Read Dickens’ “Great Expectations.” If you’ve already read it, reread it; but this time, look for Pip’s SOUL’S DESIRE at every turn. What you will find is that Dickens did not fail in allowing that cavern of want, that “shivering bundle” of a broken boy to remain present on almost every page.

(Above is a picture of Pip with Estella. No longer longing for parents, he places all that longing upon her. He is always looking outward, searching for his Identity and SELF in the physical world. Never looking within. The pain in which he gazes upon Estella is a result of the SOUL’S DESIRE to belong to something, have access to knowledge and feel important.)

I would recommend reading several of the Classics, for they are the masters of the SOUL’S DESIRE and created characters that will live on forever.

Becoming a writer is about becoming a deep thinker. (Retraining yourself to become the scholar you once were.) We were all born deep thinkers. Sadly, though, in our present society we are trained to become visual, visceral and limited to the five physical senses. But we are not encouraged to be thinkers. Do not allow yourself to lose the biggest and best part of you!

You were born to tell a story and to change lives with that story—Never stop believing in that. Never stop searching for the SOUL’S DESIRE in your characters.

You will be amazed at what you learn from that quest and what can issue from your hand.

Have you ever felt like you weren’t smart enough to be a writer? That in order to be a writer you have to be educated, well versed in literature. That you have to know all the big words and have intelligent things to say and ideas that verge on genius?

Maybe you came from meager beginnings, and education wasn’t prioritized because you and your family were burdened by the reality of staying fed and alive. Maybe you have a learning disorder that makes it hard for you to memorize, engage, focus. Or maybe every test you’ve ever taken you’ve failed.

Sarah Lawrence College is known to be a very competitive school, and having been a student there myself I can only be honest in saying that its student are really damn smart. You might be under the assumption then, that I am smart too. But what if I was to tell you you were wrong? Here’s my story on how I got accepted into Sarah Lawrence College:

High school sucked for me. I got kicked out of two of them before I landed into something called “The Alternative High School”, which was a very nice way of saying, “The Fallen Through the Cracks Holding Cell” The school was an amalgamation of students who had been kicked out of the main district schools–they had either failed out, were truant, delinquent; some were expecting mothers, some were felons awaiting jail time, and some were suffering from emotional and/or mental disorders.

We were misfit toys if ever there were any. We met five days a week for two hours a day, and although our teachers were dedicated to our education and personal growth, most of us were already too far gone. I scored miserably low on my SATs and when the time came to receive my diploma I never walked with my class. I didn’t really feel like I had earned a diploma.

Basically I felt like a failure.

Some years later, when I was about twenty years old, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Having already lost my father at a very young age I understood that if I lost her I would be in very dire circumstances. When I was twenty two she passed.

I lost the home I grew up in, the luxury to call myself someone’s child, and above all, I lost the love of my life.

So one day, while I was sitting at the check out desk at the library where I worked, I was overcome by the sensation of exile. (Think Sandra Bullock in “Gravity”) Far out in space, far far from home and the woman I loved. In response to that sensation I was then consumed by a desire to write of that love, that home I longed to go back to.

And so I did.

It was about two scrap-pages long, it was grammatically incorrect, syntactically awkward–but damnit, it was my heart. So I took the two scraps of paper I wrote this on and I brought them back to the alternative program and I gave them to my favorite teacher there, Mrs. Thanhauser (a woman who was like a mother to me.) I told her, “I wrote this thing and it feels like I just ripped a piece of my own flesh off, so I don’t want to just throw it in the trash, you know. I feel like I have to give it to someone else to read. And since you always told me I was a good writer, you were the only person I could think of to give it to.” She took it graciosuly, thankfully and with great love.

Shorty after, Mrs. Thanhauser passed it on to my highschool guidance couselor, Marian Bauer, and Marian said “Damit. This kid can write. I’m sending it out.”

One of the places she sent it to was Sarah Lawrence College and not long after they received it I received a phone call from them. They had liked my story very much. It didn’t matter to them that I wasn’t educated, that I had a miserable SAT score. They didn’t care that I wasn’t the queen of grammar, that my vocabulary was weak. They just wanted to know more about that woman in the kitchen jotted on those scraps of paper. They wanted to know more about that love. They invited me to their college and asked me if I would like to try out a non-credit class or two, to see if I might write some more.

Yes, was my answer. And without knowledge of the mountains of blood, sweat and tears that lay before me, I jumped right in. I would cross a million mountains and never stop if it meant getting to the heart of that story I had begun.

I was going to have to work harder than I had ever worked before to learn the craft and mature as an intellect and thinker. But the main ingredient was there.

So this is my advise to you if you, who are reading this, don’t think you’re smart enough but want to write. LOCATE YOUR UNCONDITIONAL LOVE. You have to think really hard about what it is in this life that you love. Wether it be a person, or an animal, or a sunny sky on a lonely day. That if you lost that thing, everything around you would go spinning out of control and the only way you knew how to stop the dizziness was through telling the world how much it was precious to you…

For me it was my mother.

Love is the greatest tool any writer can have. Just think about all of the literary greats who are placed on the shelves of the Classics. Go back into the canon and look at who those writers were. All of those people loved someone or something like you would never beleive. They would die for that love. They knew its value.

You need to locate that love, and always harness the power that lives in that love, when you write.

If you can do this, there will be no limit on what you can create. The other stuff can be taught in time. But the essense of the writing and the power can only come from that one place. This is why I say anyone can write the next great novel. No matter our social or economic standing–love is the great equalizer. We were all born with it, and although we live in a world that does not seem to allow us the time or space to harness and experience that love, it is there all the same.

Go get it honey. It’s waiting for you. It’s the tool of kings and queens. It is what frees us from the fear of death.

Take some time now to write a love letter to that person, place or thing. Try to picture yourself like Sandra Bullock, far out in space kept away from that thing. Tell it what you need to tell it from way far out there. Imagine you might never get back. Imagine you might never see it again.

Be brave when you write. Put yourself-full hearted into it. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Write until your wrist gets tired. And if you come out with something that makes you feel completely naked and almost embarrassed–like a piece of your flesh was just left on the page–why then, I think you might just have something–I think you might have touched upon your genius.

There are many self help books out there on how to better your circumstances. Not one person who has access to literature can honestly say they haven’t sought out such books, or at least felt tempted to.

“How to Win Friends and Influence People” & “The Secret” are to name just a few. These books were written by helpful, intelligent, good-spirited people and their advise is valuable indeed. And they speak to a universal propensity for happiness.

We are all looking for the same things: Freedom, health, happiness and truth. We know instinctively that these are good things without anyone ever having to instruct us so.

What is good has always been good from the beginning of time and always will be.

I’d like to ask you to take a moment to imagine the wisdoms in these books as coming together as one to form a precious gem. This rare stone is being placed into your hand as a gift.

Now that you are holding that gemstone I’d like you to envision a locket. This locket has belonged to you since birth. It is a family heirloom and one of a kind. It cannot be bought or sold because its value is not of the realm of the monetary.

Envision yourself placing that gem inside of the locket; the locket resting peacefully over your heart. Once fitted into the piece nice and snug, without any worries about it ever falling out, the gemstone suddenly emanates light. You are encompassed by a warm, soft, pulsing glow. Goodness and an overwhelming sentiment of love of all things becomes your very being. You are no longer a person of doubt or fear. There is not a single regret or grudge in your heart.

You are the gem now, wholly sanctified. You and the gem are one.

That locket is your story–the truth and wisdom that lives deep inside of you. You were born with it and there can not be a price placed upon it. It’s something that can never be taken from you and something you would never sell. Because it is the very thing that makes you different and special and glorious. It makes you who you are.

If you can shift your gaze inward and find that wisdom, that truth, and match it with all of the things you have learned from others in your life (your outward gazing), then you will not only have powers to win and influence people and live a healthy affluent life–you will have the power to move mountains. You will have the power to lead, to change lives, minds, and help those around you who are suffering without ever having to answer to anyone but yourself.

You will own yourself. Hence you will own your happiness. You will be free.

I have only come to this realization recently and I am aware of my own shortcomings. Yet I just know–because I have had the honor of brushing upon my own truths and have since then set out on my own path to translate them into storytelling–I just know that I can help you to attain a sustainable peace, which will bleed into all other aspects of your life–most importantly your writing.

Believe me when I tell you this: learning how to write and learning who you truly are and what you were put on this earth for go hand in hand. There can’t be one without the other. The journey of the writer is not only an academic pursuit, it is a pursuit of the self. KNOW THYSELF.

So where should you start?

Go to a mirror and look into it. Don’t look at your features, because they are only an insignificant distraction from the real you. Look deep into your eyes and keep staring and tell yourself that you are loved. Then ask yourself this question. “Do you have a secret to tell? I’m ready know, to quiet down all the noise in my life–I’m ready to  hear  it.” Understand that everything you have ever searched for in the outside world is right there in front of you. You are the greatest gift you will ever find and the wisdom inside you will far surpass any teachings you can find on a shelf.

Just give it time and I promise you, that person you spoke to inside of your eyes will answer. In the meantime follow my blogs–cause I’ve got alot of stuff to tell you to help you on your way!

The beginning of your journey to writing your Magnum Opus will usually start with a story idea. A story idea can come to you in many ways. It might happen in a dream.  It might hit you in the middle of the checkout aisle at the grocery store. It’s possible the idea has been swimming around inside your head for several years, waiting for the moment when you will allow it your undivided attention.

The idea might be a vision of a place–a beautiful yet broken world that needs mentioning and mending. Or it might be a mere word spoken–one that already makes you want to shout out for joy, or run for shelter, or cover your face and cry. It might get inspired from a newspaper article–something going on in our current times that sparks the desire for you to write a kind of commentary.  Often times the story idea is a person. A stranger you have never met before but oddly gives you the feeling that you’ve known them your whole life.

Don’t be surprised if this initial idea is shrouded in darkness and the daunting unknown. So many questions will be firing off the walls of your mind. Who, how, where, why? You might find yourself doubting the idea: “Is it just a meaningless fantasy that will amount to nothing?” Or “How the heck could a story ever come out of THAT!?”

If you find yourself in this situation, guess what? You’ve just been called by an unknown entity into one of the greatest arenas you will ever enter in your life. You have been called to the task of a writer.

DO NOT walk away from that idea. This is the beginning of the greatest story you can possibly tell.

Now, you might have other story ideas brewing that will conflict with the inspired one: ones with the possibility of epic proportion, cool sexy ones that speak to the latest trends, ones that could get you the attention of that agent you’d just die to get a phone call from. But please remember that if those ideas were born of a desire to be recognized by the market, but didn’t come from that deep dark mysterious place mentioned above, then think twice about giving them your precious time and attention.

The closer the story is to you–when it has a touch that makes you shiver, a song that gets you dancing–the more power you will have in telling it. The more knowledge you will possess, the more canvass, the more color, the more pen.

What you love, you KNOW. What you wish to love, you will only guess at knowing.

Write from your instinct. Draw that idea out of your subconscious. Out of your heart. It is the only place your Magnum Opus can live.

If it hasn’t arrived yet, don’t worry. It’s gonna come when it’s gonna come. But the quicker you surrender yourself to living life with an open heart (which will be discussed in my coming blogs) the faster that baby is going to find you.

Doesn’t this just sound like so much fun?!

P.S. If it doesn’t come right away and you need something to do in the meantime, read articles like the one below:

***Morrison starts to speak at about 14 minutes in.***

Have you ever wondered what it takes to create a character that will live on in the reader’s heart after they turn the last page, after the book is placed back upon the shelf?

Toni Morrison knows the answer to that. There’s a reason why she won the Nobel Peace Prize. If we as writers aspire to such greatness–and we always should–we need to investigate what great literature is.

I believe a new generation of writers is rising up. Ready to be brave and bold, and meet the challenge of writing characters who truly LOVE.