Exclusive: Read an Excerpt from Cynthia Erivo's New Book, SIMPLY MORE

Cynthia Erivo isn't just on the big screen this holiday season. The Wicked star's new book, Simply More: A Book for Anyone Who Has Been Told They're Too Much, is now available from the Flatiron Books imprint of Macmillan Publishers.

In a series of personal and powerful vignettes, the actress, singer, writer, and producer shares how she learned to embrace being “too much” in order to live up to the fullest iteration of herself.  In the book, she also reflects on the ways she has grown as an actor and human, practices that she learned over the years, and how to learn from each challenge, whether real or metaphorical.

BroadwayWorld is very excited to bring you an exclusive excerpt from the new book!

33. Train Like a Boxer

When big moments come to us in life, sometimes we only recognize them in the rearview mirror. But at other times we know exactly what’s happening in the very moment it transpires. The experience is lit up in neon lights, telling you, This is the way. Keep going. You’re getting there. And when that happens, it’s time to buckle down. Focus in. Work.

That was how I felt with Wicked.

I had three weeks to prepare. A far cry from the two days I had for The Color Purple. Things change. I got the music and all the scenes and started working on them like I was in training. As if I were a boxer. There’s a discipline to being an athlete that crosses over to just about every part of our lives: We set goals for ourselves, look for progress over time, trust our legs and training to carry us, and don’t give up. Nothing really happens without a major commitment on our part, a commitment to see things through. We refuse to trust chance or rest on our laurels and the fact we’ve done well in the past. Rather, we set aside all that’s extraneous to fully prepare. We must become our best selves in the time allotted to us.

As part of my training, I ran while singing the Wicked songs, back and forth, singing just to get them fully into my body. I wanted the music and dialogue to all be so deeply embedded inside me that when I got to the audition I wouldn’t be thinking about lyrics, or the melody, or lines. All that would just be a part of my DNA.

I ran the lines constantly. In the shower, I sang the songs over and over and over again. On the day of the audition, I even swam laps trying to sing the songs while swimming.

With every week and day and hour and minute that passed, I brought myself closer and closer to being ready to do what I knew I could do.

To becoming Elphaba.

I arrived early for the audition and for the first hour, it was just me on my own. I practiced with the pianist, a luxury to have before an audition. He was lovely and played with emotion and patience, which is sometimes rare at an audition.

I felt really grounded. I showed up with no frills, just me in a T-shirt and jeans, a pair of comfortable sneakers—or was it a pair of flats? I forget . . . Oh, and I wore a red knitted cardigan because it was soft and cozy and I wanted to feel comfortable. When I am at ease in my body, I am able to be relaxed in my art.

It was important I wasn’t thinking of anything other than the work when the time arrived. And that’s what happened. I did not think of myself at all. Only Elphaba. Channeling her.

Before one of the songs I was to sing, Jon asked about my connection to Elphaba.

And though I’d thought these things over the years, I’d never before given them voice.

This was the exact piece of music I escaped into when I was in drama school. If I was having a really bad day, or was miserably aware of how odd I felt there, an outsider who couldn’t connect with the others, I would hide out in a music room with my friend Michael. We’d sing this together. We’d stay in that little room until the very last minute before we had to go back to class, belting our hearts out. This song gave me refuge. Singing it during a very vulnerable time in my life, these songs made me feel safe.

I got emotional telling him this because it was the first time I’d told anyone how alienated I’d felt. How alone. How freakishly weird and not part of the mainstream.

That’s the feeling sometimes, I’ve come to realize, of being simply more.

Yet singing that music had given me sanctuary. I’d felt safe. And I’d come to feel Elphaba in my soul.

When I finished speaking, John asked me to sing. And you couldn’t have told me that in that moment I wasn’t wearing Elphaba’s cape. That I wasn’t holding her broom. Every emotion, every nuance, it was all alive inside of me. Her broom was my broom; her green skin, mine. My voice was hers. It all came together. I felt alive.

And that’s another clue in life:

When you feel that alive

You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.

Excerpted from  SIMPLY MORE by Cynthia Erivo, copyright  © 2025.  Reprinted with permission from Flatiron Books. All rights reserved.