Become a compositional pack rat. Save everything you write in any and all forms. Do not discard things you think are worthless at the time. They may increase in value and present themselves for use at a later date.

There are hour-long pieces that are too short and two-minute pieces that are too long.

If one demands originality at every turn, one may write nothing. Steal instead. What you steal, once it is filtered through your own unique sensibility and your own educational history (gaps and all), will come out anew.

Need a deadline to finish your work? Schedule a performance.

To understand the needs of performers, become one at some level. There is no substitute for the direct experience of performing your own work or the work of others.

Do not be afraid of solitude or isolation.

What does a piece of music HAVE to be? If you cannot answer this question, you are on the right track.

At some time in your life, write at least one entire piece by hand (using pencil and paper).

Boldly make mistakes. Just fix the ones that don’t work in the end.

Set limits. I think more successful strains have resulted from constraints than from the “anything is possible” syndrome.

“Composing” and “making pieces” are sometimes two entirely separate propositions.

Create your own “Art and Craft Movement” without the help of John Ruskin or William Morris.

[The movement advocated truth to materials and traditional craftsmanship using simple forms and often medieval, romantic or folk styles of decoration. It also proposed economic and social reform and has been seen as essentially anti-industrial.]

Who is rethinking music from the inside out?

Everything musical is personal.

Write for anyone who is interested in honoring your musical thoughts. Do not limit your compositional expectations to virtuosi.

Open your mind and keep it open, but close the gap between concept and realization through careful practice. Limit your resources.

Go ahead and write crap—it might be the best way to learn how not to.