to “invent a disease” because “then we can sell the hell out of its cure.”
3. Other people’s heads. Like radio waves that fly around in the atmosphere, other people’s thoughts constantly bombard you. You unconsciously pick up the thoughts of your family, your culture, and your religion, even if you don’t actively practice it.
I once met a guy who had invented dozens of products, including many that you and I use on a daily basis. He was regularly dubbed a “genius.” But if you gave him the “No Child Left Behind” test, he’d have been sent back to first grade. The guy never learned to read. And he said that was intentional.
“If I had learned to read,” he said, “I’d pick up other people’s ideas and cement those in my head. I choose not to bother with the interference.”
This is probably the place where I should mention I’m not advocating illiteracy, just making a point that the less interference from a crazy, thought-filled world, the better your access to the FP. In fact, the reason all the spiritual bigwigs meditate is because it helps them avoid the interference.
4. Your own head. Despite what you may think you’re thinking, it’s quite likely there’s an even bigger thought getting in the way. Unfortunately, all of us have an underlying sound track that goes something like this:
There’s something wrong with me .
I’m not good enough.
I have no talent.
I don’t deserve it .
I can’t do it .
It’s too hard.
Sweeping negative statements like these are what we call false prayers, the default beliefs to which you march in obedience. The good news is they’re not true. The bad news is they operate as if they were true. They’re your own personal amulet that you unwittingly carry everywhere you go. You wouldn’t dream of plowing through life without them because, well, they’re just so … familiar.
When I first began writing for magazines, I had an inferiority complex that wouldn’t have fit in Shea Stadium. Because I was from a small town in the Midwest, I couldn’t imagine I had anything to say to a fancy editor from New York. Although I sent query after query pitching my ideas, I didn’t really expect to sell too many. After all, I just “knew” there weren’t enough assignments to go around. At best, I figured I might be able to sneak a few under the radar.
Needless to say, I got a lot of rejection letters, so many that I probably could have wallpapered the city of Cincinnati, should it have needed wallpaper. The editors didn’t exactly tell me to drop dead, but they didn’t encourage me to keep writing, either.
Then I read a book called Write for Your Life, by Lawrence Block. In the early ‘80s, when Block’s column for Writer’s Digest was at the height of its popularity, he and his wife, Lynn, decided to throw a series of seminars for writer wannabes.
Unlike most writing seminars where you learn to write plot treatments or compose strategies to get an agent, Block’s seminar dealt with the only thing that really matters when it comes to being a writer: getting out of your own way, and getting rid of the countless negative thoughts that tell you what a hopelessly uninteresting specimen of humanity you are.
At the seminar, participants meditated, grabbed partners, and confessed their greatest fears. They did all kinds of things that helped them get to the bottom of why they wanted to write, but didn’t.
The seminars were hugely successful, but Block, who was a writer, not a seminar-giver, eventually got tired of trotting around the country staging events. Instead, he self-published the book I came across about the same time.
I took the book to heart. I did all of the exercises. I wrote affirmations. I consulted my inner child to find out what I was so afraid of. I even sent myself postcards for 30 days straight. On these postcards, I’d write such affirming reminders as:
“You, Pam, are a great writer.”
“You, Pam, have what it
3. Other people’s heads. Like radio waves that fly around in the atmosphere, other people’s thoughts constantly bombard you. You unconsciously pick up the thoughts of your family, your culture, and your religion, even if you don’t actively practice it.
I once met a guy who had invented dozens of products, including many that you and I use on a daily basis. He was regularly dubbed a “genius.” But if you gave him the “No Child Left Behind” test, he’d have been sent back to first grade. The guy never learned to read. And he said that was intentional.
“If I had learned to read,” he said, “I’d pick up other people’s ideas and cement those in my head. I choose not to bother with the interference.”
This is probably the place where I should mention I’m not advocating illiteracy, just making a point that the less interference from a crazy, thought-filled world, the better your access to the FP. In fact, the reason all the spiritual bigwigs meditate is because it helps them avoid the interference.
4. Your own head. Despite what you may think you’re thinking, it’s quite likely there’s an even bigger thought getting in the way. Unfortunately, all of us have an underlying sound track that goes something like this:
There’s something wrong with me .
I’m not good enough.
I have no talent.
I don’t deserve it .
I can’t do it .
It’s too hard.
Sweeping negative statements like these are what we call false prayers, the default beliefs to which you march in obedience. The good news is they’re not true. The bad news is they operate as if they were true. They’re your own personal amulet that you unwittingly carry everywhere you go. You wouldn’t dream of plowing through life without them because, well, they’re just so … familiar.
When I first began writing for magazines, I had an inferiority complex that wouldn’t have fit in Shea Stadium. Because I was from a small town in the Midwest, I couldn’t imagine I had anything to say to a fancy editor from New York. Although I sent query after query pitching my ideas, I didn’t really expect to sell too many. After all, I just “knew” there weren’t enough assignments to go around. At best, I figured I might be able to sneak a few under the radar.
Needless to say, I got a lot of rejection letters, so many that I probably could have wallpapered the city of Cincinnati, should it have needed wallpaper. The editors didn’t exactly tell me to drop dead, but they didn’t encourage me to keep writing, either.
Then I read a book called Write for Your Life, by Lawrence Block. In the early ‘80s, when Block’s column for Writer’s Digest was at the height of its popularity, he and his wife, Lynn, decided to throw a series of seminars for writer wannabes.
Unlike most writing seminars where you learn to write plot treatments or compose strategies to get an agent, Block’s seminar dealt with the only thing that really matters when it comes to being a writer: getting out of your own way, and getting rid of the countless negative thoughts that tell you what a hopelessly uninteresting specimen of humanity you are.
At the seminar, participants meditated, grabbed partners, and confessed their greatest fears. They did all kinds of things that helped them get to the bottom of why they wanted to write, but didn’t.
The seminars were hugely successful, but Block, who was a writer, not a seminar-giver, eventually got tired of trotting around the country staging events. Instead, he self-published the book I came across about the same time.
I took the book to heart. I did all of the exercises. I wrote affirmations. I consulted my inner child to find out what I was so afraid of. I even sent myself postcards for 30 days straight. On these postcards, I’d write such affirming reminders as:
“You, Pam, are a great writer.”
“You, Pam, have what it
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