step one wash your future magical item, whether wand or pendant, crystal or knife, in warm salt water in moonlight, crying over the life you have chosen to give it whether it is ready or not. you must mourn it before it can live, for it will no longer be what it was.
step two at dawn, work yourself to exhaustion by ecstatic dance or exercise bike, until your muscles ache and scream and give way beneath you. let your sweat drip onto it so that it knows what work is and what you will ask of it.
step three light your candles at noon with only the sun and your eyes acting as reflecting lenses until you can see through your item. place it in the fire until smoke rises, the old, ordinary soul of hard use driven out to make way for something else. do not let it escape by burning away.
step four hide in the long shadows of late afternoon, holding it close to you and whispering the secret that will form its core, shaping it. a secret is not a secret if two people know it, so forget it, after. it will remember for you.
step five as the sun sets, give it a name, a mission, and the space to expand fully into itself. leave it overnight. if it is not there in the morning, start over knowing both more and less than before. if it waits for you with dew-tears then bring it home and care for it.