The heaviest burden a soul can carry isn’t physical; it’s the weight of unwritten stories. Not just in literal manuscripts, but in lives lived halfway, voices silenced, dreams left like seeds unplowed in fertile soil. I learned this not metaphorically, but in the sterile quiet of hospital wards a decade ago. There, surrounded by those whose breaths grew shallow, I heard voices thick with regret: unwritten books, businesses unstarted, truths unsaid, talents buried under “what ifs.” They carried entire universes within them, only to dissolve into silence. That wasn’t just tragedy but it was a mirror held up to my own hesitation. I saw the cost of being a “sheep follower,” consuming endlessly while creating only in fragments. The call became urgent: Empty the vessel before life does it for you.

Die empty takes on new meaning here. It’s not morbid, but a fierce refusal to let your essence become fertilizer for nothing. Those hospital voices proved: calling yourself creative means nothing without what you’ve birthed into the world. Finishing became my practice of a sacred act of defiance against the “unwritten.” The difference between consumer and creator? One collects stories; the other risks writing them, however imperfectly. Make finishing your top priority. The graveyard of “unwritten stories” is vast; your work is the tombstone that says, “I was here. I tried.”

Don’t wait for inspiration. She’s a fickle guest, like monsoon clouds. The dying taught me she only visits where work is already happening. Suspend all judgment in the first draft and just get to the end. It’s better to create something bad than nothing at all. Bad has bones; nothing has only dust. Most of what you make will be fertilizer for the rare seed that blooms but only if you keep planting. Creativity is a magic coin: spend it freely, and it multiplies.

Embrace what’s weird about you - your unique essence. The dying often confessed they traded authenticity for acceptance, suppressing their spark to fit in. Flawless beings don’t need art; they are the art. Picasso’s wisdom echoes: creation is discovery, not execution. Create questions, not answers like ancient storytellers who sought truth through inquiry. Imitate your heroes; not to copy, but to let your lens refract their light into your own hue. Originality is hiding your sources; creation is joining the eternal gathering of ideas across time.

Creating is telepathy; a vision shared across lifetimes. When your creation is ready, let it go like a parent releasing a child into the world. Separate creation from release; wait before sharing so criticism doesn’t wound your core. Consider a pseudonym reminding you: the work is separate from you. If you are proud of it, it was a success. True success isn’t the crowd’s roar; it’s the absence of “I wish I’d…” at the end.

Live in a crowed; a place where ideas collide like fireflies. Collect ideas in the crowd, create in silence as if your workspace is your private sanctuary, where dreams shed their armor. Distribute widely as art breathes only with an audience. There are no unknown geniuses, only stories left unread. Charge money to respect the energy you’ve channeled; value isn’t free. Incorporate a company and let it guard your creations like an old mansion’s treasure. Keep a counterweight job; a small shop that funds your art, freeing your soul. Let the deadline of life drive you to create until your last breath. Let your final spark ignite your work.

When the journey ends, what remains? Not your intentions, not what you consumed but only what you poured out. Your stories are the offering you leave at the river of existence. The weight of “unwritten” holds no power over those who emptied themselves into the world. Empty the vessel while you can. Let your legacy be not silence, but the echo of a life fully lived. For the greatest tragedy isn’t death but it’s being born with a universe inside you, and dying with it unwritten.