Tag Archives: writers

[Video] Must See For All Writers – Ray Bradbury on The Joy of Writing

I was totally blown away from this video of Ray Bradbury giving important tips of the joy and wonder of writing. You can see he had a total love of writing and is very inspiring to bringing out that love of writing in others, perhaps you too. Check it out and please let me know what you think in the comment box below. Wonderful advice from a truly amazing and gifted writer. Feel the love…


For more writing tips from another very gifted writer, Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Get a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE for writers,

Writers Secrets Package

From a rich, full and productive life, Dr. Lant now passes on his writing secrets giving you:

  • Volume One in his “Writers Secrets” series – “Writing About Famous People You Know”
  • Volume Two in his “Writers Secrets” series – “Writing About Famous People You Don’t Know”
  • Volume Three in his “Writers Secrets” series – “Writing About So Called ‘Ordinary People'”
  • 35 video sessions from his extra ordinary online “Writers Secrets” course.

Plus as an added bonus a copy of “Create an eBook today. Publish It On Amazon.com. Profit From It For The Rest Of Your Life.”

Go to: https://writerssecret.samcart.com/products/writers-secrets-package

From Inside Windsor Castle – Excepts From “Happy and Glorious. Encounters with the Windsors”

Proudly presented from www.writerssecrets.com E-Book Series

Dr. Lant is now writing his 31st book and he shares here some excerpts from his forth coming new book

“Happy and Glorious

Encounters with the Windsors”

Chapter 1

Everyone has the collywobbles their first day of work. I was no exception.

Consider where my new work had taken me: Windsor Castle.

You’ve seen this seat of kings on the television, in films, and as the ending
or beginning place for so many lavish pageants. Windsor Castle was
founded in 1070 and has over the centuries since become the reigning
monarch’s residence, their home sweet home.

Buckingham palace is the shop, Balmoral is a place for excessive exercise
and clean, clean air. But Windsor is home, as the Queen herself
acknowledged when the Waterloo Chamber caught fire (November 20th,
1992). There the Queen joined the bucket brigade, just like Charles II when
London was in flames (1666). The Queen did her bit; the nation admired the
Queen. Oh yes, Windsor was home.

Now I had my own room in the castle, specifically in the Round Tower,  and I
couldn’t have been happier, no doubt nauseously cheerful. I radiated good
cheer and high spirits on everyone, whether they liked it or not.

Once I had achieved the dignity of a Harvard PhD, I simply couldn’t wait to
escape from Cambridge, and to travel my own royal road to fame and glory.
Though it had never happened before, and I believe has not happened
since, I, a bona fide Yankee, was now to ascend the steps of the castle, an
ascension which could never have been imagined by my American
revolutionary antecedents, or perhaps by anyone in Britain.

To gain entry, I had to present my credentials to the powers that  be, namely
Sir Robin Mackworth-Young (1920-2000), GCVO, the Royal Librarian. He
was a man who had no doubt that I, indeed anyone, would be impressed by
him. For not even Toad of Toad’s Hall had greater majesty and  hauteur than
Sir Robin. It goes without saying, he hated me on sight. Equally it goes
without saying that I rendered irritating tit for supercilious tat. And this was
just the beginning.

I have always supposed that Mackworth-Young would have liked to have
trashed my unique application and passed on the opportunity of enjoying my
congenial company. Sadly for him, he could find no good reason for what
he so evidently desired.

After all, not only was I a Harvard PhD (admittedly of most recent vintage),
but I was also the select of His Excellency Walter Annenberg, the United
States Ambassador (1969-1974), a personal friend of Her Majesty.
Mackworth-Young may not have liked me, but those he needed to like him
most assuredly did.

Thus, one early morning, for I am of the early rising ilk, I took the train from
London to Slough, the only way to take the train from London to Windsor
and back again. Queen Victoria had a specially designed car for that bit of
track. It was feminine, stuffy, regal, and totally desirable. Alas, I only was in
that boudoir on wheels once, while it was stationary, and never was invited
for a more mobile journey.

Despite the fact that I was not travelling in the royal railway car, I exhibited
the most supreme happiness, for I, the prairie lad, was now en route to the
Queen’s residence and my destiny. Could someone please show me the

I walked up the slightly elevated pathway to the castle. I was about to show the
world what an ingenious Yankee could do when he had the chance.

Publish or Perish

All the great universities of the United States and beyond have an infallible
injunction: publish or perish. This meant that before academic advancement could
take place, you must present your peers with evidence of your dogged research
persistence, deft writing skills, and the ability to find and proclaim new truths.

I found a most remarkable way for altering the usual system to my decided
advantage. I created and perfected, and used to my utmost advantage, a new
way of doing business. Instead of writing one single refereed journal article, I
would use the same information in three different formats.

1) for my impending book

2) in a refereed journal, and

3) in what Sir Robin Mackworth-Young was pleased to call the ephemeral
press, that is to say newspapers and popular magazines.

For example, to give you but one illustration of many, namely the 1887 Golden
Jubilee coinage. You might suppose this was an unlikely place for an insight, but
you’d be wrong. I gathered all the information about this coinage from the
necessary information repositories, including the Mint, every British newspaper
of the period, the papers of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the designers
whose work would be vetted, including Boehm, Parliamentary debate minutes,
interdepartmental memoranda, etc., etc.

The result was impressive. Whereas my colleagues at Harvard and elsewhere
would work only on one article at a time, I, by contrast, would work on and benefit
from three.

Now imagine that every aspect of a great Royal Pageant could, upon research,
be divided into these three publication departments.

In short order, I produced dozens of articles which were first published in refereed
journals, second, in the popular press, and third, in my book which became
“Insubstantial Pageants”. As fast as you could say boiled asparagus, I was
publishing more such works of the highest quality than all my classmates at
Harvard put together. Honi soit qui mal y pense.

New Boy

This day, my first working day in the castle, I looked closely at Queen Victoria’s
1887 statue by Sir Joseph Edgar Boehm, Baronet, RA. Here’s the story.

Boehm was a favorite of Queen Victoria’s and she selected his effigy for the new
coinage to be released upon the occasion of her 1887 Golden Jubilee on the

Unfortunately, the whole business of sculpture and new coinage design
became a complete muddle, all played out in public. Only the Queen liked the
statue, no one cared for the new coinage design, which suffered from lack of
denomination. As a result, the coinage lasted only six years, the shortest period
for any coinage in the 19th Century. I know all this because I literally wrote the
book on the subject.

“The Jubilee Coinage of 1887” by Jeffrey L. Lant, published in “The British
Numismatic Journal”, 1972

I felt right at home at Windsor, and for good reason. I had already published the
definitive article on how this inelegant, overfed sculpture was developed. For I
had resolved I would not write a book of reverence, but absolute truth, liberally
sprinkled with my own sheer wit.

And so I enquired, “Where, sir, would a likely lad like me find entrance to the
castle?” And the guard smiled, for there was no dishonor in hoodwinking a
Yankee amongst the troops of Her Majesty’s brigades.

“So Her Majesty’s waiting for you?” I could only nod in satisfaction, though
even I felt the incongruity of the moment. But I was a dogged boy, from the
great Midwest, and I was here for a purpose I intended to achieve.

I was directed to the tradesmen’s entry, not precisely what I had in mind. If
the Windsor’s know one thing and know it well, it is keeping a person
squarely where they want that person to be. Thus, within my very first
moment, my status with the Queen and her courtiers was established. Her
Majesty top, Dr. Lant bottom. Bet the long odds.

In a moment, a footman in full powder, reminiscent of the high days of the
18th Century, popped his head out and said “Are you expected, Guvnah?”
I was forced to say of course I was. Then he said “What’s your purpose?” I
should have said “To take you down a step or two, you twit!” But I was a
polite boy from the great Midwest, and manners were my forte.

He then directed me to the great tradesmen’s book, into which he bade me
write my name with a quill pen he handed me. And so I did: Dr. Jeffrey Ladd
Lant. He then gathered a candelabrum, and a giant key that was right out of
Charles Dickens. Indeed, I felt the entire experience was crafted by Dickens
himself. It had his macabre touch.

My jolly footman escorted me to the massive door of the Round Tower, and with
the giant key, the largest I had ever seen, proceeded to unlock it. I felt sure
Merlin or some other wizard of consequence was there awaiting my arrival.

The powdered flunky then retreated, locking me in the Round Tower. Oh
mama, now I wondered if I had done the right thing after all, for the room
was dark, susceptible to dangerous consequences. Even my young eyes
could hardly make out the proper outlines of the chamber and its Poe-like
staircase, cold, massive, sunk in the darkest gloom, unpredictable.

I felt just then a tiny trembling of my untested pluck, and so I ascended the
great concrete stairs, leading to the very top of the castle with weariness
and timidity. Anything might happen…

Then, just as night gives way to day, the lurking darkness of the staircase gave
way to a door opened by Miss Jane Langton. “Hello, Dr. Lant,” she said with
aplomb and practiced friendliness. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Now I am a boy of the following description: my father, Donald Marshall Lant,
used to say, “If you drop Jeffrey on his head on the outskirts of Ulan Bator, by
dinner he would have the Prime Minister eating out of his hand.” I was a Harvard
man, and this was my right.

Thus for the first time in the history of the dynasty and the castle itself, an
American, born in the U.S. of A., had come to parlay and must needs be
given the limited hospitality for which the Windsors are famous. It was a
moment as significant, as important as Henry M. Stanley greeting Dr.
Livingstone in the depths of the Congo (1871). She might have said, “Dr.
Lant, I presume?”

She immediately gave me the conditions under which I was allowed to be in such
an exalted place, and woe if I did not attend to them precisely. No mistake allowed.

I must arrive upon the striking of the 10 o’clock hour. I must take tea with the
staff. I must inform the staff whenever I have found a document of importance,
for historians were allowed in, in part, to help identify and explicate hitherto
unpublished documents.

I must leave my little room in the castle tidy to go out for lunch; skipping any
meal not permitted. And so on, through a series of minute do’s and don’t’s,
above all else, I was to remember that every piece of paper I touched, every
manuscript, every hitherto lost letter found, was the property of Her Majesty
the Queen.

I must also understand and acknowledge that I could only work in the Round
Tower up to three particular days each week, that I must tell them what
documents I desired to see when I left for the evening to prepare for my next
visit, and that Sir Robin Mackworth-Young would expect periodic reports,
the more eagerly awaited, because I was the Yankee Doodle boy, as unwelcome
as the voracious hordes of Asia. And I must always remember, never forget,
I was there at H.M.’s distinct invitation. None of this fazed me.

I, however, had been a judicious breaker of such rules for a lifetime, mere Brits
would not deter me now. I have my own sacred conditions, after all

Tea, whether I liked it or not

Despite the fact we were two people speaking a common language, we managed
to jog along fairly well. But there are things I did not like, including one very
important matter that I found intolerant. Miss Langton and the staff, soft-footed,
highly curious, probably sent in by the MI5 staff, were interested in me to a degree,
for after all, they had never seen an American before, much less on who could
speak the Queen’s English with a semblance of wit and insight, as indeed I could.

I often had the distinct feeling that they were closely scrutinizing me. When, for instance,
they would bring me a new box of documents, they would often come in and ask
me what I had found, as if I were a scientist in a gilded cage. Sometimes, I even
told them.

The first problem came about because they made me take tea, everyday.
Everyday, to suffer through the chit chat, which perhaps all officers exhibit when
the mammals are munching. But I let it be known that I had not come thousands
of miles to drink tea at the 11 o’clock hour, no matter how fine it was. I had a purpose,
I meant to achieve it. Of course I got no cooperation whatsoever. “You will drink tea,
and you will like it!”, a sentiment which in Boston, my city, once led to the Boston
Tea Party, and the sundering of the first Great British Empire.  Alas it was a pity
they never saw the analogy.

I intensely disliked being thrown out of the castle at lunch time. I had come
thousands and thousands of miles to do the necessary research, to write up
the necessary research, to publish the necessary research, and wandering
the precincts of Windsor Castle for sixty minutes was not on my agenda.

In this case I learned to cope with crossing the little foot bridge to Eaton, where
the famous school is located. Doing so so often, I came to have a sympathetic
regard for the monument to Prince Christian Victor (1867-1900), who was killed
in the Boer War.

Making the best use as I could with what I regarded as purely
wasted time, I scoured the antique markets of Eaton and Windsor. In one particular
coup, I befriended a fellow in the hyper market who had a quantity of hand colored
historic prints of the monarchy, many relating to the Victorian monarchy. The
charge? Twenty five cents a piece. I scoffed the lot, and have them still. I was so
proud the day I saw at the royal academy a colored print identical to one I had.
It was deemed rare, and I felt smug as a Cheshire cat. Thus, even exile may have
its victories.

Things jogged along equitably and calm, but a storm was gathering. It concerned
Britain’s relationship to the United States in the period of the Second World War,
before Pearl Harbor. The accusation, whether implicit or advanced explicitly, was
simply this: that the United States had only joined the war when the British, exhausted,
distressed, disabled, had already finished the hard labor, and left us to reap the rewards.
We had said we were Britain’s friend, but treated her like a shabby relation we might
move about to whatever purpose we ordered.

This charge is not without merit. Reading Winston Churchill’s letters to Franklin
Roosevelt is often painful, Churchill so often looking like the impecunious relation
who would kiss any part of Roosevelt’s anatomy, say any cringing phrase, do any
humiliating deed to get what he needs for his tatty empire to sail on, oh ship of state.

Roosevelt so enjoyed this ruleless game, for Roosevelt played with kings and thrones as
if he were playing dice. Today he wants to reestablish the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
and dandles Archduke Otto, the imperial heir on his knee, until he decides what to
do with Poland, Greece, and Czechoslovakia, and a whole string of possibilities. Roosevelt was
destiny’s darling, and Roosevelt so loved the game of musical chairs that he
played it for its own sake, and didn’t care whose feelings he may have hurt,
or whose territory he may have given to someone else. It was all a part of the
great game, and Churchill had the name, the veneration, the respect of his great
nation, but he could not play the game of guns and butter like we could.


Annoyingly, everyday during tea time, some reference was made to this gnawing proposition. It was
America who left the British to die in their own blood, hardly a finger lifted. When the land of “Hope and
Glory” was on its knees, America waited just long enough to take everything it wanted.
In short, it made the Louisiana Purchase look puny and insignificant. I was vividly aware
that I, as the first American ever to work in the Queen’s private papers, had an acute
responsibility to build a bridge, and maintain it.

But I was that Yankee Doodle Dandy, I was that Yankee Doodle Boy. And one day,
upon hearing this commentary, meant as a sneer, and acute criticism, I exploded
with rage. It was primal, it was fiery, it was from deep within my heart. I heard them
as British, I responded as an American. I stood up in the Round Tower, and reeled
off the names of the menfolk of my clan who had all gone to France, to Iwo Jima,
to Normandy, to the Rhineland; uncle Bob, uncle Dwight, uncle Roy, uncle Will,
uncle Donny, any my own father, Donald Marshall Lant. I told them every male
relation I had had gone to war in defense of England, our Allies, and a better world.

But I chose to tell them just one story in detail, and that was the story of my uncle
Will, the handsomest man in Henderson County, Illinois, the swiftest player on the gridiron.

He was blinded by mustard gas when he served in the Great War as part of the
American Expeditionary Force, “Lafayette we are here.” Everyday that he lived
without sight was part of what he did for England, for France, and for peace. And if
politicians like Roosevelt and Churchill play games, why, that is what they do best.

As for me, while I spoke in anger, in rage, in long suppressed emotion now exhumed,
there was no sound in that room, but the sound of the first American to work in
this symbol of monarchy. Perhaps my auditors were anxious, perhaps they may have
even felt threatened by my ardor and fury, but there was no response then, and
as far as I knew, no further commentary on the matter thereafter, at least in my

But I learned this: that no one, absolutely no one, will be allowed to tread on my
nation or its flag. And while we may make mistakes, terrible, bruising, pernicious
mistakes, we still constitute the best and greatest chance of the survival of mankind.

You might have thought that such an incident would have sundered any professional
role, but in fact, it cleared the air and allowed us to work together more as equals than
as the prim and proper Brits and the bumptious prairie corn fed American. But then again,
this is where our Ambassador Annenberg so assisted me. For about this time, his excellency
granted me the unrivaled boon inviting me to accompany him to any of the
great orders of chivalry or other royal pageants, including the Most Honourable
Order of the Bath, The Most Distinguished Order of Saint Michael and Saint George,
The Most Excellent Order of the British Empire, the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, and
most importantly of all, the service in honor of the 25th wedding anniversary of
Her Majesty the Queen, held in St. Paul’s Cathedral. I sat literally just behind Prince
Phillip’s sister Sophie, Princess of Hanover, for all the world like a sprig of the house of Windsor.
The irony is that I descend from Hanover and Folk. What would they have thought of my proximity.

About the Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four college degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities, quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 30 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com


His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” available at: http://writerssecrets.co has garnered eight prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” I hope you enjoyed your read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now at www.writerssecrets.com

Get a FREE Copy of “Create An E-Book Today. Publish It On Amazon.com. Profit From It for the Rest Of Your Life!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

Jeffrey Lant Associates, Inc.

All Rights Reserved

31st Book Underway “Happy And Glorious. Encounter With The Windsors.”

Friends and deeply appreciated readers, good morrow.
I am delighted to report that my 31st book is now well
and truly launched. Here are its opening words…

Title: Happy and Glorious

Encounters with the Windsors

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant


I little thought, so many years ago, when I first encountered the Queen and the royal Windsors, that I should be, so many decades later, writing my own memoirs of my several encounters. But I am.

How did I begin my connection with the Windsor dynasty? In just this way: to get a doctoral degree at Harvard, you must write a work of intellectual distinction  that is closely evaluated and reviewed by an intimidating jury of high-ranking academics.

The drill goes like this… You present a list of possible doctoral dissertation topics  you feel yourself able to write about with new insights, new data, and the certainty  of a front page review in the New York Times, always our sure objective.

… In my usual way, I shall be using the creation of this book as a splendid opportunity to assist you with yours.

Visit www.writerssecrets.com now.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-tW0QqiT2LU And remember,
“Ich dien” is not the credo of the Prince of Wales alone…

Get a FREE Copy of “Create An E-Book Today. Publish It On Amazon.com. Profit From It for the Rest Of Your Life!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE

Photo Source: www.theguardian.com

Jeffrey Lant Associates, Inc. All Rights Reserved

You Have ALL the Advantages Today. Take Them!

Oh what advantages we have in this day and age to

Get our messages and stories out to the world!

Think how hard it was for Julius Caesar to produce his military memoirs, “Omnia Gallia est divisa in tres partes…” Capturing the slaves to take dictation was just the first problem. It was hard, hard, hard for Juli… on the Ides of March or any other ides.

Then think how difficult it was for brilliant Johannes Guttenberg despite his invention of movable type. Laying out just one page, one paragraph was hard, hard, hard. “Dummkopf, it’s ‘Deutschland uber alles’, ‘Ach du lieber’!”

Or what about William Randolph Hearst, the richest publisher on terra firma who had to pay for an empire of rent and salaries, thereby dramatically reducing his even still bloated profits. It was hard, hard, hard despite the fact Daddy gave him his first newspaper. . Or what about Doctor J, your faithful author and compatriot and how he started by typing his copy (aged 12 or so) on a Royal Standard upwrite and then printing it on a gelatin press, one page at a time. It was hard, hard, hard. “Mother, the gelatin has dried up, and I need 5 more pages.”

Why bother? Why did so many of the world’s most intelligent, shrewd and competitive people work so hard to write, to publish, and to persuade total strangers about their point of view, determined to succeed despite any, every obstacle?

The answer.

They did it to change minds, to influence, to motivate action, to enthuse, to gain adherents and followers, to make a resounding, eternal reputation for themselves… and to make MONEY as fast as they could. You see, whatever the difficulties of publishing might have been at any stage of human events, the benefits of publishing far, far outweighed them.

You, YOU, right now can do what not a single one of such great and notable worthies could do; your book going worldwide in just weeks, even days. Let’s celebrate for you are about to surpass all the writers and publishers ere now… and that is magnifique indeed.

ebook_cover ebook productGet your FREE Copy of  “Create an E-Book Today. Publish it on Amazon.com Profit from it the rest of your life!

Accept this unique resource from


America’s “Content King” and follow the steps

that made him a multi-millionaire!

Get Your FREE Copy at =>  http://writerssecrets.com

Jeffrey Lant Associates

All Rights Reserved

So You Want to Be A Writer? A Secret for When You Should Write

So many of us want to be a writer and we have to begin somewhere.

To be a good writer read good writing. Here’s an excellent article to get you started.

“I’ve Been Workin’ on My Rewrite, That’s Right”. An Open Letter to a Young Friend Who Wants to be a Scribbler. By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Go to: http://writerssecrets.com/ive-been-workin-on-my-rewrite-thats-right-an-open-letter-to-a-young-friend-who-wants-to-be-a-scribbler/

At first there will be a lot of garbage coming out. It’s better to get that garbage out so the good stuff can come in.

Here’s a wonderful recording to answer that question So you want to be a writer? by Charles Bukowski telling how to write like Charles Bukowski. It’s read by Tom O’Bedlam. check it out and let me know what you think in the comment box below.


ebook cover Writers Secrets newGet a FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr.Jeffrey Lant Get Your FREE Copy CLICK HERE


7 Reasons Why You As An Author Should Be Blogging

Many people see blogs as a great place to express their opinions.

Now let’s take that one step further and look at the many other benefits blogging has for authors or want to be authors.

7 Reasons For Authors to Blog

1. You develop a following. Your new content given on a regular basis gives your readers a reason to stay connected with you and your topic.

2. You create tentacles. Write content that engages people and brings them to your website. Make sure to include your share buttons to make it easy for people to spread your content around.

3. Earn better search engine results. Google and other search engines love fresh content to categorize. The more active and relevant your blogging is the higher ranking your search results.

4 Hone your craft. To become a good writer you need to be writing and what better way then to apply your craft with your weekly blogs.

5. Produce material for future books. At www.writerssecrets.com we have developed a 7 step processes for easily creating profitable eBook going from idea to blog posting to article, chapters, eBooks and on to profits.Get in Now and catch the prelaunch special. Go to http://writerssecrets.com

6. You will get to know your industry. You’ll want to position yourself as a resource for your topic which will make you always on the lookout for news, trends, and fresh ideas relatete to your subject matter. This makes you even more of an expert and a go to person!

7. You will create interaction and community with your readers. With blogging you can have a space for people to leave comments. Your blog posts are excellent for sharing on your Facebook page too to have people sharing it. ( you do have a Facebook page right! Follow Writers Secrets at http://www.facebook.com/Writerssecrets )

Thanks to Book Baby for these tips.

Get your FREE Copy of “How to Be a Writer Who Makes Money, Flies High and Dazzles the Folks Back Home. Oh Yeah!” by Dr. Jeffrey Lant. CLICK HERE TO GET YOUR FREE COPY




Do you know how to produce content that gets people worldwide to respond — FAST? Read this and you will! The Master reveals his secrets!

fairy_godmotherAuthor’s program note. I’m going to do something quite different in this article;  something unique, unprecedented, unheard of until now. I’m going to share — for  the first time ever — my trade secrets about how I produce the best and most  responsive content anywhere; the content that gets people like you to stop in your  tracks, whatever you’re doing, no matter how important, read what you’ve written…  and respond to it.

Once you learn how to do it, you’ll use this invaluable skill over and over again…  becoming more and more proficient each time, until you become a master too,  a brand name, a recognized authority, someone people want to know about, pay  attention to; quite simply the consummate master of your craft, constant deference,  increasing rewards, recognition and admiration your part, and rightly so. Of course,  we’ll need a little magic to make this happen; such magic is useful at any time. Now  repeat after me…

” Salagadoola mechicka boola bibbidi-bobbidi-boo/  Put ’em together and what have you got/ bibbidi-bobbidi-boo”.

These are of course the words of my colleague Fairy Godmother, from the 1950  Disney production. She was, you’ll recall, the kind-hearted, sympathetic darling  who, in record time, organized everything necessary to rush a radiant Cinderella to  the ball… and her prince.

You’ll find the song in any search engine. Play it to yourself two or three times…  sing it out loud. But don’t share it with anyone just yet.  After all, they may be a  certified scoffer, gruff, dismissive, unhelpful… and that will never do. Bibbidi-bobbidi-  boo. “It’ll do magic believe it or not.” Believe… it’s the first and crucial step to achieve.

Pick your subject.

Creating content that gets maximum response starts with your subject, what you’re  writing about. Here are some suggestions: It should be timely, of interest and importance  to the kinds of people you want to respond (future customers!), and most of all be a  subject you either know something about already or one you are prepared to research,  to add depth, resonance and layers of meaning.

The last article I wrote just yesterday (one of over 1000 I’ve penned in the last three years  or so; all available at writerssecrets.com/vault) was on… marigolds. Does this seem to you  to be an unlikely topic to knock out of the park? Dubious? Then think again! There are  millions of people worldwide who grow marigolds, use health and beauty products derived  from marigolds, and honor them in their obsequies and solemn rites of passage into eternity, particularly along the great river Ganges,1569 miles long, its muddy waters flecked by the  bright brilliance of golden marigolds, beloved of the Virgin, the gift of countless pilgrims along  the way.

Outline your content.

To write superior content, content that motivates response, you must create a superior  outline. Here’s how to do that. Brainstorm just what you want in your content; then do  a preliminary outline. Don’t worry too much now about whether the points you want to  make are in the right order. Worry instead that you have written them down. Never, ever  trust to imperfect memory.   .  Once you have all the points you wish to include, arrange them in the right order,  the order that builds your case. To see what I mean, go to writerssecrets.com/vault  and peruse several articles there. As you do, think on this. This teeming site,  content capital of the world, now gets over 1,000,000 hits a month and should be a  “must” destination for anyone who understands the importance of content and wishes  to master its every nuance, profiting accordingly. That would be you, right? Bibbidi-  Bobbidi-Boo.

The joy and necessity of careful research.

I am a trained researcher with a Ph.D. from Harvard University. It took me seven  meticulous and arduous years to achieve. I had to identify, travel to, work in and rely  upon the arcane resources of dozens of private and public document depositories  in several countries. My life was a demanding and insistent process composed of  passports, tickets, incomprehensible pre-Euro currencies, strange accommodations  with lumpy mattresses (and too often voracious bedbugs). As for food… I can even  now remember, and luridly recite if you like… the various collywobbles to which I gave  way en route to being elevated into the peerage of learning.

That was then; this is now.

These days my continuous researches are vast, detailed, up-to-date, best of all the  work of minutes, with nary a plane to (wait for) and catch… or odoriferous train, the  malfunctioning toilet making its noisome problem known to all and always over  shadowed by one frightening question, “Have you seen my typewriter and my notes!”  “I thought you had them when we changed trains.”

In our wired age research is easy, universal, distinguished by its celerity, thoroughness…  and a researcher who now never looks like he slept in his clothes in the Iruna station,  assaulted by fantastic mosquitoes and suspicious border guards, the jack booted minions  of Generalissimo Franco, a man whose sole idea about intellectual endeavors of every  kind (and the research on which they were based) was to crush, curb and curtail them.

The Internet has changed all that forever… and I, for one, am profoundly glad.

Now it’s time to write.

My mother, bless her soul,  had a million pet sayings, each one a little gem of pithy  insight. As for writing, she’d say, for she was a scribbler, too, “Having written is better.”  What she meant, of course, was that the business of writing was often hard, frustrating,  exasperating, not infrequently infuriating, and always something demanding full heart,  soul and brain. In short, writing is never a piece of cake you can do half asleep and  hung over from the night before.

Such writers, who take the demons of people like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jack Kerouak  as their inspiration and models, talk a good game about writing… but are more notable for  their volubility on the subject than their productive output. You need another point of view,  more practical, utilitarian, productive not to mention profitable.

Write every day, every single day… without fail or “reason” why you didn’t.

People who understand the power and potency of content are people who do the  necessary every single day to create it. That would be — me… and is why in the  past three years I have, remember, written and published over 1,000 articles, available  for you and the world to see and use at writerssecrets.com/vault. How did these articles  get written? Easy.

Yes, I wrote on days when it was blistering hot. I wrote on days when my nimble fingers  froze, sticking to my computer’s chilly keys. I wrote on days of national triumph…  and on the many days of national confusion.  In short, I wrote, no excuses, no special  pleadings, no reasons why I couldn’t, shouldn’t and mustn’t.

In short, I wrote on Mondays, Tuesdays,  Wednesdays… on all the days. Thus with  near military efficiency as I wrote words, so I wrote the superior content that got  better and better still, the more I wrote… silky, smooth, sleek, the champaign of  money-making language.

Will you do as much? You certainly won’t with the poor habits you now evince  in the high and important business of creating content that sells… for what you  produce is directly related to the habits you have and yours are nothing to write  home about.

“What me worry?”

Years ago “Mad Magazine” featured on its cover a lout named Alfred E. Newman.  Everything about him was obnoxious, irritating, an affront to good parents everywhere  and their goody goody rug rats. To these good people Alfred  E. posed the question  of the centuries, “What me worry?” It was impertinent, insolent, and wildly popular  with other louts. (It also made the copy writer who coined this golden phrase a  millionaire many times over.)

However YOU are not a lout… and you do worry and rightly so. Fortunately  you have not only a useful friend in me but you have a direct line now to Fairy  Godmother, who’s no mean shakes in the content department, just ask those  mice transformed into the most magnificent of coach horses. She has magic  for you and to spare.  I think I see her pointing her magic wand at…… you…  Oh, yes, she is.  Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!

About the Author

Now with near seven decades of a successful writing career, Dr. Lant is, he likes to say, in the prime of his prime. Thus does the “scribbling” life he commenced at age
5 continue. Sixty books. Thousands of articles. Untold radio and television programs;
worldwide recognition and enthusiasm, all of which culminated in the publication of
his autobiography, “A Connoisseur’s Journey, being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck and joy”. It was a book that screamed “classic!”, and he has
delighted in the several awards that followed.

To get your copy go to the store at www.drjeffreylant.com.


Christmas from another point of view. The Grinch has his day… astonishing revelations from his first-ever interview exclusive to me exclusively here.


www.writerssecrets.com Christmas Bonanza Series

Author’s program note. You just never know what impact the printed word is going to have, and this tale of The Grinch proves the point. Thanksgiving Day, The Grinch (he insists upon the use of the capital “T” ) was sitting at home having polished off last year’s holiday left-overs as his wont, when his eye happened to see a corner of an article used to wrap the garbage. It was my report on “Squawk”, the valiant leader of the “Young Turks” fighting for the freedom of turkeys everywhere.

The paper was greasy, ripped, noisome from the remainder of The Grinch’s favorite morsels which stank to high heaven…. in fact, he could only finish the article by searching online for it at www.writerssecrets.com. He liked what he read… and at that moment (as he later told me) he determined to break his lifetime of media silence. He wanted his story to be told, and he wanted me to tell it.

Within the hour, his invitation was en route to me, never mind that it was the middle of the night, 3:22 a.m. Eastern. The Grinch knew his man. You can sleep anytime; but such an interview comes but once in a lifetime.

The letter to me from The Grinch.

There was a sharp knock at the door, the kind of knock that summons you to Destiny. I couldn’t immediately tell if it were real or a dream but its insistence made the point. There was a note under the door. It said, “Open the door!”, nothing more. So more irritated than apprehensive, I did. There was a Christmas bouquet on the welcome mat, wilted, one half- eaten candy-cane alone amongst the dying foliage. And there was a message, too, on stationery engraved with this motto, “After me, you are the most important person on Earth.”

The message couldn’t have been clearer: “You have 10.5 minutes to get dressed and leave for your Exclusive Interview With The Grinch. Be sure to brush your teeth. Don’t keep your car and driver waiting!”

I’m proud to tell you, nearly 66 that I am, that I was ready with a minute to spare, though there was, I confess, stubble on my noble chin.

limo_doorA black limousine was waiting, sleek, important looking… and clearly in need of a good wash. The night was chill, the breeze off the snow piecing and unremitting. The door to my car was open, and I could hear rock music from within. It was Eric Clapton singing “After Midnight” where “we’re gonna let it all hang out”, where “we’re gonna find out what it’s all about.” It was astonishingly apt music….

Grinch's_eyesI slid into the back seat, where my full attention was immediately arrested by a pair of creme colored eyes looking directly into mine. At the same moment he merely brushed my hand by way of greeting. It was fur, not flesh, and it was a shade of green I had never seen before. Then right beside a dog, his dog Max, a half-breed rumored to be The Grinch’s only friend, faithful to his Master, his aspect anything but welcoming. Throughout our interview The Grinch idly stroked his hide. I liked him the better for it.

“Well, get in, Mack, it’s cold out there,” a directive swiftly followed by a short, sharp nudge to my rib cage. My encounter with The Grinch was well and truly underway.

“Ask me anything….”, and he grinned broadly, the kind of grin of ribald remarks, very dry martinis perfectly made, and bottoms pinched just so. Thus I learned that The Grinch liked the good life. “Cookie, Mack?” He offered a box of demolished Christmas cookies with the air of a prince. There were dog hairs in the mix. I declined the dainty. “Your loss, Mack. Now what do you want to know?”, and he told his driver to “get the lead out.”

The Grinch’s personal history.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Grinch,” I asked. “Nothing I’d rather do, Mack. For as you know, I am a most interesting fellow”. Max’s tail wagged as if in confirmation. And so in a voice that mixed insinuation, wisecracks, and sweet self satisfaction, he laid out the broad outlines of his unlikely life, the life that made him one of the handful of the immediately recognized. He laid back, lit a stoggie (whether I liked it or not) and readied himself for his favorite story… his, at which there came into his eyes a look of reverie, fond remembrance, and Olde Lang Syne. He smiled the smile of those who love themselves to distraction, not wisely but too well.

Yes, there he was, the creature of the hour, the creature the world loved to revile, sitting back, oozing self satisfaction, toodling through the darkness of the night, going nowhere in particular, loving the high life. It was all so wicked cool… and then he remembered this all had a purpose. “Now, Mack, what is it you wanted to know?”

The facts.

“What started it off, sir?”

And darned if The Grinch didn’t shake his tambourine and so begin his tale.

“Mack, it all happened a very long time ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was near Christmas. I was a shy kid and had only a small role in the school pageant. I played one of the extra shepherds who get put in the back because they have to be put somewhere. It was not my finest hour.”

“It so happened that from the time I was a nipper I had a beard, full, rich, patriarchal. The day of the pageant, my mother decided her shepherd needed a freshly shaved look. But she was terrible, absolutely awful at what she was doing and cut me to ribbons. I was in despair knowing what the other kids would say.”

“Mom, was horrified by what she had done. She took some ointment from the cabinet and applied it liberally. Then she kissed me and sent me on my way.”

At this point he closed his eyes, the better to recall his affecting story.

“I thought the matter was closed, but as I got closer to school, the kids started pointing at me, using some pretty strong words I can tell you. To a certain extent I was used to them; after all I was a kid with a beard. But these remarks were nothing compared to what they were calling me this day. It was the worst ever and every single one of them was pointing at my face.”

“As soon as I could I went to the boys’ room to see what I could see. And what I saw horrified me. My whole face was green, I mean every single inch. It had to be that ointment.”   “I wanted to run away.”

The hot words came thick and fast, every aspect of the incident at his fingertips. He decided to run home and hide. But he was grabbed by a teacher who thought he was trying to escape from the pageant, something boys did. He was deposited on stage… and then it happened.

The Grinch explodes.

“I couldn’t stay on that stage. I couldn’t face the teachers and all the kids who started to snigger and point the minute they saw me. I just had to get out of there.”

He turned. He tripped. He fell on a pile of boxes wrapped like Christmas presents under the tree. He crushed the boxes. The tree fell. The crowd roared. The kids jumped all over the place pointing at me and shouting. There was the pop, pop, pop as incriminating photos were snapped in their hundreds.

And then The Grinch heard himself shout in a voice not his own…

“I hate Christmas. I hate everything about it,” sing song like a chant. “I hate Christmas. I hate everything about it. I hate Christmas. I hate everything about it.” The crowd went bananas.

Dr. Seuss heard it all, too, because he was in the audience that fateful day. And he knew a great story when he heard one. He went home and started work on the book which after many drafts and edits became in 1957, “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”.

“Mack, I get a nice fat royalty check every Christmas, which enables me to live in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed.”

The car was just pulling up to my house. The dawn was just about to break. I had just one more question to ask, but when we arrived, the door opened as if by magic. The Grinch poked my rib cage again, Max glowered at me.

“It’s been real, Mack. Write me a good story.” He told the driver to “put pedal to the metal”. And he turned his head in my direction and seemed to say something. But Max was barking, while the car shot away and I couldn’t be sure. I thought I heard him say something like “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night”. But I can’t be sure…  it’s so unGrinch-like.

Grinch_merry_ChristmasAnd then I heard one more line from Clapton in The Grinch’s unmistable voice:

“We’re gonna cause talk and suspicion”…… and he was laughing, Mack, he was laughing….

About the Author

2016 is fast approaching and with it Dr. Jeffrey Lant’s 69 birthday. He is, he likes to

say, in the prime of his prime. Thus does the “scribbling” life he commenced at age

5 continue. Twenty books. Thousands of articles. Worldwide recognition and

enthusiasm, which culminated with the publication of his autobiography, “A Connoisseur’s Journey, being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck and joy”. It was a book that screamed “classic!”, and he delighted in the awards that followed.

To get your copy go to www.writerssecrets.com. You will also want to join his writing course and learn from this master communicator just how you can improve everything you ever write.

Writers Secrets, an extraordinary online writer’s course of exquisite quality.

Not just on writing but communicating, how to use words to move people, motivate, broaden horizons, build bridges and bring people together.

Go to: http://writerssecrets.com

Ex Libris. A new day dawns for books and we bibliophiles are sad, resigned.

Ex_LibrisAuthor’s program note. This is an article about books and the people who love them…. people who are seeing what they love so much undergoing the most profound changes, challenges right before their eyes. Books, in all their glories, were we were sure as much a verity for us as for our grandparents. The only thing that could take them away from us was the kind of thought control dictatorship so convincingly drawn in “Fahrenheit 451” by Ray Bradbury (1953).

But now, for us, it is not some menacing autocracy that threatens books… it is the very Internet you are using now. And so I went in search of a perfect sound for this article and while I was looking I remembered the superb musical theme when “Anne of Green Gables” and “Anne of Avonlea” made a most memorable television event. The touch- your-heart music was composed by Hugh Hagood Hardy, and you can find it in any search engine. Go find it now… and allow the music to create the perfect background for this article.

Anne was (as all bibliophiles, and some others, know) a reader of books, a collector of books, a writer of books. And now her theme garlands an article about the dwindling future of books. Anne would be distressed by this development and would wax eloquent, that “Something must be done.” Thus she would stand ready to mobilize her fellow kindred-spirits, but to what end, for what purpose: because we should do it, she’d say, because it is the right thing to do, because to go down fighting for a thing so important is just what bibliophiles should be doing.

From as early as I can remember…

I am the kind of person books were invented for. I love everything about them and always have. I love them in paper backs which can be spilled on and written in with impunity. I love them with tooled leather covers with seigneurial coats of arms and the mottos of kings and noble princes. I love textbooks… I love olde books… I love new books (but the pas goes to the olde).. I love the way they smell… I love the ways they pile up… and, so high, then fall down to litter the floor.

I love them when I can easily find them… and when, determined, I cannot.

I love the kinds of paper they’re printed on… I love the names of the companies which have published them… and most of all I not only love but venerate all the authors who have written them and, in their way, advanced and preserved knowledge (and ignorance) for future generations as yet unimagined.

As such whatever threatens books, threatens me, the life and pleasures I have known and wished to know forever, the purposes they were written for, and the utmost feeling of total satisfaction one gets on an early day in springtime sitting under a newly budded tree lost in a world conveyed between two covers and opening just for you.

Book stories…

When I was a boy in 1950s Illinois, mine was a house of books. All the denizens of 4906 Woodward Avenue (requisite two parents and three offspring) were book readers, book collectors, and (to a person) scribblers of profound thoughts and declarations running wildly in the margins. I know to this day, 60 years on, just what books they were; my mother fancied Carl Sandberg and Anne Morrow Lindbergh. My father liked Edgar Cayce, Napoleon Hill, and the Good Book. And the children had boxes full of books, each a “favorite” for a time, only to be replaced by the next, but never forgotten or (don’t even ask) loaned to anyone.

Our village was so small we did not have a good book store. That was a discovery yet to come. For us the annual school book fare took its place. Every year the teachers of the elementary school would arrange for a huge array of books to be shown and sold for the benefit of the school. We ended up “needing” a vast number of these books and had the wheedling of parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles et al down to a science any publisher would have envied. So important the event, I could tell you precisely how the display tables were set up and who came amidst the throng of eager readers. I always walked away with a grand selection of the newest Landmark titles, principally on American history. I read them so often and thoroughly I can quote them today.

“King Arthur and His Knights”.

My favorite book growing up was based on Sir Thomas Mallory’s celebrated tale. Every page spoke to me… and the mere fact one had one hundred times thoroughly and carefully read it did not mean one would forego a hundred and first reading, just in case some small detail had been, no disrespect intended, overlooked. Like my Landmark books I memorized pages and pages… and made a positive fetish of ensuring I knew the name of every noble knight, his pedigree, and the complete details of each of his adventures. Bibliophiles are like that.

It was this book that produced the first great book trouble. My mother, for all that she loved books, thought her eldest child should spend less time inside “nose in a book” in the dismissive parlance of the day and more outside in God’s green acre doing the usual things prairie children did. Thus, on one never-to-be-forgotten day she came to my room, saw me and Sir Thomas Mallory tete-a-tete again and raised a broom, urging me with the utmost clarity and vehemence to go outside… and now! As she pushed me out the door and locked it, she screamed, “Now play!”

She might have known bibliophiles, especially those destined to write as many books and articles as I have, would have had a superb memory. I told this tale at the Parker House in Boston, when my suave and gentlemanly publisher Louis Strick, gave a party in honor of the publication of my first book, “Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria’s Court”. She wasn’t pleased but she had to admit the story was true, not ben trovato.

The Childcraft books.

My grandmother was not a great reader, unless you except her unmatched collection of recipes; under other circumstances she might have massaged them into a book. But for all that she was not a great reader… she understood that one of the myriad roles grandmothers play is to foster a love of books. Here she gets full marks, particularly for giving me a complete set of Childcraft books.

In the volume dealing with Boston there was an evocative line drawing, not a photograph, of Beacon Hill. There was that in the picture that made me want to live, not just in a similar place, but in that place. When I was a student at Harvard years later, I set out to find that street and, in due course, resided on it… where in a room with Ivy covered bow window, I joined the company of authors… so proud, so honored, so determined to keep writing and so remain in the best possible standing amidst so many such.

The end of Border’s Books.

All these reflections came to mind the other day when I read in my fast shrinking newspaper The Boston Globe (also being undone by the ‘net) that once proud Borders Books, once a significant chain which often carried my books, was now bankrupt, going out of business, another e-casualty. Life is constant change, old truths and venerable institutions tumble, their places taken by the “cutting edge” which will in due course be demode’ as well. I know all this. But there will be a void in the world now dawning where there are fewer books every day and fewer to rue their passing. But I shall always be one of them. I hope you will, too.

* * * * *
About The Author

2016 is fast approaching and with it Dr. Jeffrey Lant’s 69th birthday. He is, he likes to
say, in the prime of his prime. Thus does the “scribbling” life he commenced at age
5 continue. Twenty books. Thousands of articles. Untold radio and television programs;
worldwide recognition and enthusiasm, all of which culminated in the publication of
his autobiography, “A Connoisseur’s Journey, being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck and joy”. It was a book that screamed “classic!”, and he has
delighted in the several awards that followed.

To get your copy go to www.writerssecrets.com. You will also want to join his writing
course and learn from this master communicator just how you can improve everything
you ever write.


A Commentator’s anniversary, three years, one thousand articles, more than two million words, one man’s work, his vocation, his bliss.

A commentator’s anniversary, three years, one thousand articles, more than two million words, one man’s work, his vocation, his bliss.

Dr.Lant's_pic_newerby Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. This is an article of joy and celebration, of luck and  commitment, of cold nights, nimble fingers on the key board, and of a wrestling  with words, from which God willing emerges a case clearly understood, clearly  argued, clear to all.

It is an article extolling hard work and the rightful pride that comes from  a job well done, that is to say a job that is based on unending, meticulous  research, on precise words precisely rendered, on fairness, on boldness,  audacity, and risk, for no commentator wishing to rise to reputation, eminence  and renown can tackle only the easy subjects, the light and airy subjects that  make readers chuckle over their morning toast, only to be forgotten at once and  forever.

This is an article about vision, about truth, about integrity and of tackling the  difficult subjects, the subjects that rightly concern and alarm people of intellect  and reason; people who rely on commentators to represent them and their desire  for a better world.

It is the commentator’s task to rouse, motivate, anger, chastise, warn, engage,  outrage, admonish and always to educate; it is his righteous task to point to where  injustice lurks and where there is a worthwhile difference to be made… then summon  the words in all their power, force, and majesty to make certain it will be.

It is an article that reminds readers that “retirement”  blights, eviscerates life  and leaves one discontented, de trop, the intellectual edge gone, the need no longer  apparent for getting out of bed to undertake something significant, noble, even  sublime;  saving a disconsolate child or a desolate nation the grand work which is our metier.

In the beginning there was the word… and it was no doubt published as an article.

I cannot recall a single day of my life when words and I were not in the closest  possible communion, producing my first published article when just 5, over 67 years  ago, then many thousands of articles (and many books, too). This is not to say, of course,  that there were days, and not rare, when the words and I were not on speaking terms,  each determined, before making up again, to cause infinite trouble and the kind of  acute irritation only one who knows you well can connive and render just so for acute  misery.

The music.

Before I go further into the arcane world of articles and commentators and my particular  niche, I recommend you visit any search engine and listen to the film score of Orson  Welles’ 1941 classic “Citizen Kane” so closely based on newspaper king William  Randolph Hearst, their spittle was deemed identical. Certainly the score by cinema  master Bernard Herrmann (1911-1975) caught the larger than life publisher, at once  mesmerizing, grandiloquent, sophisticated, grand as a white-tie evening at the opera;  his faults as magnificent as his carefully promoted merits… a commentator’s dream  come true… But then a seasoned commentator could take a grain of sand and using  it as the seed draw forth the rich lands of Egypt and the Nile and their mighty and  glorious caravans. That is what I learned to do day by day, word by word, article  by article; eager to learn; eager to share.

Scribbler, the early years.

>From the eminence of breaking into print at the hoary age of five, it was all up, up,  and away. A string of editorships in high school; the school’s paper, literary magazine,  and class book and… importantly… a weekly column. That column continued in  college… and it continued after I graduated from graduate school. Life for me was  an intricate game of dreaming up subjects of importance, researching and writing  them, then sitting pretty “having written”, as my mother said, the happiest state in  the cosmos.

When you add to this demanding agenda the fact that in those days I wrote a book a  year (the text to be finished, significantly, by July 4, Independence Day), had a  syndicated radio show, published the nation’s largest card deck each quarter AND  taught at a rotating roster of over 30 colleges, you may believe that life was hectic,  needing efficiency, energy, precise timing, and the legerdemain that all true wizards  possess, magic I had and to spare.

60, bone tired, art, and a man named Kosch.

One more thing must be added to the agenda of “things that must be accomplished”  and that was my burgeoning collection of European art and artifacts. This is important  for several reasons, including fulfilling a lifelong ambition. As my collection grew (rather  like how Hearst’s grew, with exuberance, frenzy, and a wide net) it soon became  obvious that I needed to remodel my home to accommodate my frequent acquisitions…  and so began over 5 years of discomfort, dislocation, and disarray, which is to say the  usual chaos, confusion and constant expense which are the true expertise of any  remodeler and what may loosely be called his “craft”.

During this exhausting period I exhibited all the signs of a distressed individual  enthralled by marauders, systematic fleecing being their goal and daily task,  the host to be kept alive and trapped until the parasites have eaten everything. My  blood sugar soared, my mood was as variable as New England’s famously  changeable weather, and when I had to move into a hotel for the last several weeks,  I knew things had reached a nadir…

Needless to say during this time of self-induced troubles, my writing suffered; there  was much to write about but my habits were injured along with everything else. The  man of words wondered whether the last one had been written. And then George  Kosch entered the picture.

George is a brilliant inventor of practical business and traffic generating software.  He has a knack for knowing where the ‘net is growing and therefore is able to  invent the next sapient application… and the one after that; in short, he is just  the fellow you want on your team if online profit is your goal, just as the third partner  and co-founder of Worldprofit.com, Sandi Hunter, has demonstrated the patience  of Job and the soothing touch of Mother Teresa in keeping customers worldwide  happy and promptly served.

One day George asked me if I would write a couple of articles for our promotions  and blogs. My reply speaks volumes for my emotional state: no, I said. But George  is a clever guy and he persevered… just write a couple, he said; you know you can  knock them out fast. Here’s where I shall be forever grateful to him… for he knew  that I would only be truly happy marshaling words to influence people. Then he  clinched the deal by saying I could write about anything… “Anything?” I asked with  a whiff of suspicion. “Yes, anything,” he responded… and the deal was struck  which in time gave members of Worldprofit.com over 1000 articles on a huge number  of subjects… 1000, I might say, and counting. In short, I was given at the precise  moment I needed it, an entirely new career at once challenging, exciting, worthwhile  and pace setting, inventive, developing new ways to use words and change history.

Item: Ample space for developing a line of reason, nothing hurried, rushed or given  the shortest of shrifts. As newspapers cut the amount of space dedicated to commentary,  my articles, at least 1500 words, revived the personal essay so much a part of our glorious  literature; supremely correct for the man who called himself The Master of the Lyric Words.

Item: Worldprofit personnel, called Monitors, were taught to read the articles  with meaning, eloquence, proper pacing and verve thereby reaching millions of people  through Worldprofit’s Live Business Center who heard therein the Master’s masterful  prose rendered by the most artful of instruments, the human voice.

Item: A  Writers Team was established, staffed by Monitors who assist me daily  find critical facts and details; a team every writer that sees it envies.

Item: Music was added to every article, thus enhancing the impact of each piece  as well as its instructional value.

Item: No punches were ever pulled. Where an article called for emotion, pain,  even anguish and profound humanity, these were summoned and used. The goal  at all times truth… the most difficult subject of all.

Item: Images were added to every article, again adding a new dimension.

Item: Flowers talked about their point of view; animals voiced their pleas for survival,  as important to the planet as humans and given far less attention. All were real,  not cartoons. Thus what they said was never sweet and superficial, but as vital  and genuine as necessary to make their case as planetary co-voyagers, their  sentiments as significant as ours. This, too, was new.    As the articles began to appear, so did the warm response of readers worldwide, a  response George Kosch monitored until he was ready to assist the process by  inventing software that enables folks to create e-books in three minutes, video articles  in less than a minute, and blog postings even faster. It was all Kosch, all Worldprofit.com,  all good; all the content freely produced  for and given to the members of our  unique community.

“The last of life for which the first was made.”

I am asked more often than most just when I shall retire. My answer comes from Edgar  Allan Poe’s raven, “Nevermore” and from the celebrated words above from Robert  Browning, always quoted with reverence and affection by my mother.

Under the circumstances to retire, having been handed just the task for which everything  in my fruitful life has prepared me would be deeply remiss and completely irresponsible.  Why unless held at gunpoint would one stop the benefits of a broad education at  several of the world’s most famous universities; worldwide travels; a practical affability that  makes human contact easier and more productive; words without stint and proven ability to  add more to the language…

…all this diminished upon traditional “retirement”, cast aside, along with great gifts and tools  to stay always and forever young in mind and out look, always grateful to learn, even more  grateful to share with readers who have given the emoluments of interest, intelligent response,  and praise sufficient and lavish. It is indeed all good, a garden worth tending for all the days of  my life, for the benefit of all, whether they know it yet or not.


About the Author

2016 is fast approaching and with it Dr. Jeffrey Lant’s 69th birthday. He is, he likes to say, in the prime of his prime. Thus does the “scribbling” life he commenced at age 5 continue. Twenty books. Thousands of articles. Untold radio and television programs; worldwide recognition and enthusiasm, all of which culminated in the publication of his autobiography, “A Connoisseur’s Journey, being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck and joy”. It was a book that screamed “classic!”, and he has delighted in the several awards that followed.

To get your copy go to www.writerssecrets.com. You will also want to join his writing
course and learn from this master communicator just how you can improve everything
you ever write.

At www.writerssecrets.com Dr. Lant will be sharing with you experiences, tactics, stratagems, secrets and insights it has taken him a full, rich and productive lifetime to accumulate.

The prime model and text for his Writers Secrets Online Course will be

A Connoisseur’s Journey: Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.

An awards winning, gloriously written and unique memoir by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Awarded FIRST in Class at Southern California Book Festival.

SECOND in Class at the Great Midwest Book Festival.

Dr. Lant also was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award with a focus on “A Connoisseur’s Journey” with this citation.

“Dr. Jeffrey Lant. On behalf of the citizens of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I congratulate you on the release of your Memoir, ‘A Connoisseur’s Journey’. Your work is a groundbreaking experiment into the use of musical citations in literature, adding depth and nuance to the reading experience.”

(signed) Charles D. Baker, Governor and Karyn E.Polito, Lieutenant Governor

Preface of “A Connoisseur’s Journey” by Dr. Jeffrey Lant –

This is my twentieth book, but only the first of my memoirs. Over the course of my long connection with books, the discovery, the reading, the writing, the rewriting and rereading I have come across many volumes of memoirs, some glorious and gloriously written, some so forgettable that you cannot remember the author even a moment after putting the dreary pages down, vowing to avoid him like the plague forever after. However I, dear reader, shall give you what you want in a memoir… humor, indiscretion, secrets, stories of the rich and famous, stories about places and situations you’ve longed to visit and enjoy. You will learn much in theleast demanding of ways… and feel more and more intelligent as you read.


You will be in the hands of a man of learning, privilege, and audacity, who has been there, done that, and lived to write the tale. There is nothing fair or objective in what you’re about to read. Nor should there be. For a memoir is all about you, your life, your point of view, your unique journey wherever on Earth and in whatever way you choose to make it. And if some — even you! — cavil or object to even a single word or sentiment, why then write your own memoirs, for the genre is open to all.

Snippets Caught of “A Connoisseur’s Journey – Being the Artful Memoirs of a Man of Wit, Discernment, Pluck and Joy” in the Making

“A Connoisseur’s Journey” masterfully written, in a totally unique style, was over a year in the creation. Written live on screen and caught in video snippets available now for you to see the unfolding of this fascinating memoir – “A Connoisseur’s Journey – Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck and joy” by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

  • Get over 40 video snippets of Dr. Lant live from the Worldprofit Live Business Center – the birthplace in the creation of “A Connoisseur’s Journey”
  • See the master at his craft developing his totally unique style of creating a memoir
  • Learn of his writer’s team, his choice of musical selections for each segment of his book, his thorough research using the power of the internet in a way never been done before
  • Follow the unfolding of this book chapter by chapter with readings by the author, Dr. Lant and some of his writing team, fresh after just having been written

Get your copies NOW at: http://writerssecrets.co