I can be one of the most obsessive time-wasters imaginable. I once became so addicted to reading—and rereading—Jane Austen novels that I couldn’t walk through a room without feeling a powerful magnetic pull from her collected works. Seriously. I had to know where the book was at all times, and if I tried to pass through the room where it was sitting, its magnetic attraction would pull me off-balance until I was lying down on the couch with it, immersed in Jane’s world.

You think I’m joking. I’m not.

So how do I counteract my natural proclivity for creative sloth, and actually create and produce new shows, concertos, and collaborations? That’s what I want to share with you in this series of articles: my tricks, systems, and techniques for invention and reinvention.

The first step in the process of reinventing yourself or inventing something new is always to make it real. Dave Kolacny, president of the International Society of Folk Harpers and Craftsmen, once told me a story about going to Robert Bunker’s “workshop” before it was built. Bunker is a legendary harp maker and creator of the Loveland sharping lever. I met them both when I attended my first AHS Conference about 30 years ago, when I was still a dedicated pedal harpist.

Dave told me that Robert had invited him to tour his new workshop, which was not unusual but for the fact that his workshop was purely imaginary, except for outlines drawn on the floor. Robert walked Dave through every part of the workshop, describing exactly what was there, walking within the lines on the floor as if there were real walls, and interacting with the tools and equipment as if they were actually there. By the end of the tour, Dave saw the workshop.

When I first had the vision of wearing an electric lever harp, I could see it, but only in my mind.

I talked to every builder I knew and described it, drew pictures. Some, like my friend John Hoare of Pilgrim Harps, actually tried to create one for me. In one intense afternoon John built me what I described to him and I flew home with his invention in the overhead.

But the turning point for me was when I created my own prototype by taking a small lap harp, covering it with contact paper, attaching a pickup and a harness, and then jumping up and down in front of Joel Garnier of Camac Harps like Elvis on a Starbucks bender.

I played my little mock-up harp as if it were real and when I was done, Joel said, in his heart-rending French accent, “Ah, Deboràh, now I know exactly what you want!” The next time I saw him, he was holding the prototype of what became the DHC-Light harp. (See featured image, above.)

So here’s the thing: until I made it real nobody could see what I wanted, not me, not the builders, not the universe.

I could describe how marvelous the final result would be, and how it would become the “harp of the future,” but it amounted to nothing until I made that funny little prototype that allowed other people into my dream by creating a ‘thing’ they could interact with.

So how do you start? You start at the end.

There’s a very simple exercise you can do right now, and it doesn’t involve contact paper or lines on the floor.

Stop right now and imagine your dream project. Describe your program, what you dream of doing, your show, your concert, your instrument, whatever the picture in your head looks like.

Don’t worry about actually achieving this. Don’t worry about whether you know what you’re talking about or if you even have a dream. Don’t worry about whether it makes sense.

In fact, make it unrealistic. Just describe what you’d love to do, and write it as though it’s actually going to happen, or as if it already has.

Start with any little thing you know about it and let it expand from there. When I started a new project in 2008, I only knew three things: my character was a woman, the audience would be involved in some way, and there had to be a logical reason why the main character was wearing a harp. The project emerged from there: I’m standing in a black-box theater. The audience enters and takes their seats. They think they’ve come to see a show, but they’re wrong. In fact, they’ve just died and this is the waiting room for heaven.

Once you have the tiniest idea, dream it into life. Don’t decide the details, let them dream their way in based on how each feels, so that each makes it feel more and more wonderful. Look at it as though it already exists and you’re just discovering it. Often I describe how the audience feels, what they say to me afterwards, everything they loved, even how they dress and the notes they write me afterwards. I’ll even write it as a review—–not a critique, but a loving description of the show as if it existed perfectly. More than once, this kind of fantasy has become an actual project, simply because it became so real.

So give it a try. See how it feels and how it informs you. Yours may be a simple idea, it may be grandiose, but it is yours and it will be a first for you.

When I’m coaching, my clients and students share these dreams with me, and we work to bring them to life. When I’m working on a new show, I’ll share my grandiose ideas with my mastermind group, a small group of musical theater composers who get together to support and coach each other on our work.  Sometimes there’s power in keeping your dream project a secret, but if you want to share it with me or ask me questions you can do that directly via the form at www.powerharp.com. I’d love to read it! •