Year One — Tim “Santiago” Converse
All The Things I Wish I Knew When I Got Started 30 Years Ago
When I first started magic I had a brief case I carried around with all my magic tricks in it. That battered case has now sat unused in my office for three decades. Its leather is worn, and its brass latches have long lost their shine, but the memories it holds are as vivid as ever. The journey from that fumbling enthusiast to the seasoned performer I am today was not a straight line. It was a winding path filled with triumphs, failures, and countless lessons.
Looking back, I see a young magician so eager to fool his audience that he often forgot the most important person to be honest with: himself. Over the years of associations I have with a wide variety of professional entertainers I have learned much. Recently I started thinking about how to distill that information into some basic checklist of ideas, a kind of starting point that I wish I had when I first began my journey.
If I could send a letter back in time, to that younger man with shaky hands and a heart full of dreams, this is what I would tell him. And if I could sit down with my peers—the ones who, like me, have seen decades of stages—this is the conversation I would want to have.
1 – Find a Mentor
For the Beginner: In the solitary pride of your first year, you will believe that your secrets are your power. This is a mistake. The most profound accelerator for your growth will be finding a mentor. This is more than a teacher; a mentor transmits wisdom. They are a living link in a chain that stretches back through generations.
A true mentor will not just show you how a trick is done, but will ask you why you want to do it. Finding a mentor is an act of humility; it is the acknowledgment that you are part of a tradition larger than yourself and that the fastest way to stand tall is to stand, for a time, on the shoulders of a giant.
For the Veteran: You may believe your time for having a mentor is long past. Now, you are the mentor. This is a dangerous plateau. The nature of mentorship must evolve. Your new mentors will not be magicians who can teach you a better pass; they will be experts in other fields. Hire a professional theater director for a month to critique your show with an outsider’s brutal honesty. Retain a business coach to analyze the enterprise you’ve built. Seek out a professional storyteller to help you find the deeper narrative arcs in your work.
The veteran’s mentor is not a guide for the path, but a challenger of the destination. Furthermore, the act of becoming a mentor is itself a profound tool for self-discovery. Being forced to articulate your philosophy to a student will clarify it for yourself in ways that decades of performance never could. It will force you to question the habits you’ve mistaken for principles and reignite the foundational passions you’ve forgotten.
2 – Find Who You Are
For the Beginner: Your first year will be a whirlwind of imitation. You will be a Frankenstein’s monster of your heroes—a gesture from one, a line of patter from another. This is necessary, but it is not sufficient.
The real work is an inward journey, an archaeological dig into your own soul to find the authentic performer within. This is the quest for what artists call finding your “voice,” a unique point of view that is an unmistakable signature in everything you create.
This journey of self-discovery involves asking some difficult questions:
- Are you an act or are you a magician? An “act” is a curated list of tricks, a demonstration of skill. A “magician” is a character with a soul, a persona who performs magic as a natural extension of who they are. The tricks should serve the character, not the other way around. Is your magic a tool for comedy? A medium for storytelling? A demonstration of intellectual puzzles? Philosophically, this is the difference between presentation and representation. An act presents illusions; a magician represents a worldview where the impossible is made manifest. To find this, you must look outside of magic. What are your passions? What do you fear? What makes you laugh? Your true magical persona lies at the intersection of your craft and your humanity.
- Are you a magician or a mentalist? While they share a common ancestor, their philosophical contracts with the audience are vastly different. The magician says, “I am going to deceive your senses for the purpose of entertainment. We will share a moment of wonder.” The mentalist says, “I am going to challenge your understanding of the mind and perception. We will share a moment of mystery.” The former is a dance with fantasy, the latter a flirtation with the unnervingly possible. To blend them carelessly is to create a confusing and diluted experience. Choose the path that aligns with your authentic self. Are you here to create impossible objects or to demonstrate impossible insights?
- Create a physical Image. Your appearance is the first chapter of the story you are about to tell. It is non-verbal communication that sets the stage and manages expectations. A sharp suit implies a world of corporate sophistication and high finance. Worn leather and antique brass might suggest a mysterious traveler from a bygone era. This goes beyond costume. It is your posture, your gait, the props you carry. Your image is a promise to the audience. The philosophy here is one of congruence: every element of your physical presence should be in harmony with the character you are portraying and the emotions you wish to evoke. When your image, your words, and your magic are all telling the same story, you have achieved authenticity.
For the Veteran: You found your persona decades ago. It has served you well. But are you still that person? The twenty-five-year-old “rebel” magician can look foolish in the body of a fifty-year-old. The persona you created can become a comfortable prison, preventing your personal growth from being reflected in your art. The veteran’s task is not to find who they are, but to re-evaluate who they have become. Does your material still reflect your current beliefs, your sense of humor, your life experience?
This is the time for a brand audit of the soul. It may not require a radical reinvention, but an evolution—a maturing of the character that allows for more depth, more vulnerability, and a wisdom that only comes with age. Your magic should not be a nostalgic look at who you were; it must be a vibrant expression of who you are now.
3 – Find Your Community
For the Beginner: The myth of the lone artist is a damaging one. Art is nurtured in the community. Join magic clubs and organizations. These circles provide a network of support, inspiration, and accountability. A community is the antidote to the ego that can poison a solo performer. It keeps you grounded, provides diverse feedback, and reminds you that you are not alone in your strange and wonderful obsession.
But you must find the right community for you! Far too often magic communities can become too competitive instead of constructive. Find the people who are right for you.
For the Veteran: It is easy to become isolated at the top of your local scene. You may have outgrown the local magic club, and your peers are now your competitors. This is when you must redefine “community.” Stop seeing it as just a group of other magicians. Your community should now be a “mastermind” group: a small, trusted circle of other seasoned professionals, perhaps including a theater artist, a business owner, and a public speaker.
This group’s purpose is not to discuss the latest trick, but to tackle the high-level challenges of career longevity, creative burnout, and legacy. Furthermore, it is your responsibility to give back. Re-engage with the local club not as a star, but as an elder. Your presence and willingness to share can inspire the next generation and, in turn, their raw, unfiltered creativity can be a surprising source of rejuvenation for you.
4 – Don’t Buy Everything
For the Beginner: The magic industry is a master of marketing, promising that the next purchase is the shortcut to success. Resist this. The pursuit of the new is a distraction from the mastery of the good. Your value is not in what you own, but in what you can do. Adopt a philosophy of artistic minimalism.
This goes beyond props to the more ephemeral poison of hype. The pursuit of the new is a distraction from the mastery of the good. True power comes not from the breadth of your repertoire, but from the depth. Instead of buying a dozen new tricks you will barely practice, invest that money and, more importantly, that time into a single, powerful effect. The goal is to curate, not to collect.
Psychology shows that the thrill of acquisition provides a temporary dopamine hit, a fleeting sense of progress. Resisting this requires a shift in mindset: your value is not in what you own, but in what you can do. A library of unread books does not make one wise, and a drawer of unused props does not make one a magician.
For the Veteran: Your problem is not the temptation of the new, but the comfort of the old. Your “drawer of miracles” has become a “museum of past hits.” The real challenge is not resisting the urge to buy, but cultivating the courage to prune. You have routines that have reliably paid your mortgage for twenty years. They are your golden handcuffs. The discipline now is to put these routines on trial. Are they still the most powerful expression of your character? Or are they just familiar? The veteran must actively fight creative entropy by being willing to retire a beloved, surefire routine to make space for something new, untested, and potentially more meaningful. This isn’t about chasing hype; it’s about a commitment to your own evolution.
5 – Real Magic is in Books for a Reason
For the Beginner: A video can show you the “how” with seductive ease, but a book is where you will discover the “why.” The works of the masters contain the architecture of the art. Reading forces you to become an active participant, to engage your own creativity, and to understand magic as a scholarly pursuit. Videos create clones; books create artists.
When you read the works of the masters—the theory of Henning Nelms, the philosophy of Eugene Burger, the intricate psychology of Tommy Wonder—you are not merely learning a trick. You are engaging in a Socratic dialogue with the finest minds in the history of the art. A book forces you to become an active participant in the learning process. You must create the images in your own mind, interpret the nuances of the language, and wrestle with the underlying theory.
This active engagement is what sparks your own creativity. Videos create students who can replicate; books create thinkers who can innovate. The real secrets are guarded by the effort required to read, digest, and understand the written word. They are in books because magic, at its highest level, is a scholarly art.
For the Veteran: You have read the classics. You have dog-eared copies of Strong Magic and the Tarbell Course. The next step is to read them again. You will read them with entirely different eyes, and the wisdom you extract will be on a completely different level. But more importantly, the most significant breakthroughs for you are no longer in magic books. Your library must expand. Read books on theatrical directing, screenplay writing, psychology, marketing, and mythology. The solution to making your show 10% better will not be found in another book on card sleights; it will be found in Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces or Robert Cialdini’s Influence. Your craft is mastered; now you must master the context in which it exists.
6 – Find a Team
For the Beginner: The romantic image of the solitary magician is a powerful but misleading illusion. Behind every truly great performance is a network of collaborators, a team that supports the artist. In your first year, this “team” may not be a paid crew, but the principle is the same. It is an act of acknowledging that you cannot, and should not, attempt to be an expert in everything.
Your team is the friend with a theatrical eye who can direct your blocking and sharpen your script. It’s the musician who can help you find the perfect soundtrack to evoke the right emotion. It might be a graphic designer who helps you create a professional logo and business card.
Philosophically, building a team is an exercise in humility and an acknowledgment of interdependence. It is the understanding that the final performance is a synthesis of many talents. Your role as the magician is to be the central creative force, the director of the vision. But that vision is amplified and clarified by the specialized skills of others. Surrounding yourself with trusted collaborators is not a sign of weakness; it is the hallmark of a professional who is more concerned with the quality of the final product than with their own ego.
For the Veteran: You likely have a team, but is it the right one? Have your assistants and agents become complacent? A team’s role must shift from support to provocation. It is time to hire a professional, objective director. Not a friend, but a paid expert who has no problem telling you your “masterpiece” is boring. Their job is to challenge every assumption, from your opening line to your final bow. The veteran performer’s greatest enemy is the echo chamber of polite applause. A true director introduces constructive conflict, forcing you to justify your choices and pushing your performance from merely “professional” to truly “artistic.”
7 – The Business Part of “Show Business” is Bigger
For the Beginner: This will be the hardest lesson to accept, for it feels furthest from the art. You fell in love with the “show,” but it is the “business” that will determine whether your art ever finds an audience beyond your living room. The most breathtaking magic in the world is useless if no one knows you exist, or if they don’t trust you enough to hire you.
Philosophically, embracing the business side of your art is an act of profound respect for the craft itself. It is the statement that what you do has tangible value in the world. To treat it as a business is not to “sell out”; it is to build a sustainable vessel in which your art can live and grow. In your first year, this means learning the language of contracts, invoices, and marketing. It means building a professional website and learning how to articulate your value to a potential client. Andy Warhol famously said, “Being good in business is the most fascinating kind of art.” You must become a fascinating artist in both senses of the word.
For the Veteran: You are no longer just a magician; you are the CEO of “You, Inc.” The mindset must shift from getting the next gig to building a long-term brand and legacy. Are you diversifying your income streams? Beyond performances, are you creating books, lecture notes, signature products, or a ticketed theatrical show? The business is no longer about survival; it is about strategic growth. Are you building an asset that has value beyond your own ability to show up and perform? This is the time to think about your five-year plan, your exit strategy, and what the “brand” of your magic will mean long after you’ve taken your final bow.
8 – Learn How to Approach People to Perform
For the Beginner: The skill to perform is useless without the social grace to create the opportunity. Learn to politely offer a moment of magic, to read a room, and to accept rejection gracefully. Your goal is to create a temporary “social contract” where people have given you enthusiastic permission to alter their reality.
For the Veteran: This is a muscle you have likely let atrophy. You no longer need to approach tables at a restaurant; clients call you. The challenge is to go out and do it again—not for money, not for a gig, but for the art itself.
Go to a party or a public square, with no agenda other than to connect with strangers through your magic. Why? To reconnect with the raw, visceral feeling that made you fall in love with this art in the first place. It strips away the pressures of the client and the stage, and puts you back in direct, unfiltered contact with human wonder. It is the perfect low-stakes environment to test new material and, most importantly, to remind yourself that before magic was your business, it was your joy.
9 – Learn How to Approach People About Business
For the Beginner: This requires a shift in mindset from artist to professional. You are not asking for a handout; you are proposing a value exchange. You must learn to speak the language of clients, focusing not on your tricks, but on the solutions you provide for their event.
For the Veteran: The skill is no longer about getting a gig, but getting the gig. Your approach must evolve from that of a vendor to that of a consultant or a creative partner. You are not there to simply fill a 45-minute slot. You are there to consult with the client on how your unique skills can solve their core problem—whether it’s making a CEO’s message more memorable, facilitating networking, or creating a jaw-dropping moment for a product launch. This consultative approach commands higher fees, greater respect, and more creative control.
Furthermore, the veteran must master the art of saying “no.” Your brand is defined as much by the gigs you turn down as the ones you accept. Saying “no” to work that doesn’t fit your brand, your style, or your fee structure is the ultimate expression of professional confidence.
Thirty years on, the case is still with me, a constant reminder of the journey. I don’t carry it anymore. I haven’t for a long time now having learned that it did not suit who I was becoming.
The greatest illusion I ever had to overcome was the belief that becoming a great magician was only about learning secrets. The real secret is that the journey never ends. The art is in the constant rediscovery of who you are, the communities you cultivate, the business you evolve, and the connections you forge—one trick, one audience, one moment at a time.
Tim “Santiago” Converse
