Friday, March 22, 2013

Do You Feel Lucky? Well?

Funny. I want to tell you I don't believe in luck. But I do. In that "Fortune favors the prepared mind" (Louis Pasteur) kind of way. Hence the alpine glow shot. Except that this wasn't 'prepared mind'. It was run like heck to fetch the camera when I realized what a great shot Ma Nature was offering.

Despite what I've said about not wanting to believe in luck, I feel lucky.

I have two really great critique groups. Did I actively DO anything to make those come together? I don't know - I was looking and I stumbled upon two sets of people who've made me a better writer and who have also become my good friends. That's pretty damned lucky.

I have a tremendous editor who knows exactly what to say in a revision letter so that ideas and solutions to story problems begin flowing immediately. For real - there's very little angst to revisions so far just because she's that good. *I* didn't get to pick my editor - though she did pick me and we had a test run to see how we worked together but still. How lucky is that?

Sure. I can claim to have put in my time and paid my dues, cliche after cliche. But the fact remains that showing up to do the work isn't a guarantee of publication. The fact that I've been published isn't a guarantee that I ever will be again. Still. I feel lucky.

I get to do something I love. Something that drives me and that keeps me awake at night scribbling story notes in pen on my hand in the dark. What? My family gets cranky when I sit up at 2am and flip on the light. And yes. Usually, I can even read what I wrote. But as far as good luck charms go - I'm not crazy about them. I've had 'em. But they burn out. Maybe it's me. What worked to generate luck yesterday, won't do the job tomorrow. Places are the same way. I'm squeaking the last dregs of 'luck' out of going to work at the tea shop up the road. This breaks my heart. Any place that brings me tea and goodies while I write has my everlasting devotion...until I can't write there anymore. And for whatever reason, lack of new-to-me-ness maybe? The writing mojo is dying on the vine there. Dang it.

Ritual remains. Sit down. Open the WIP. Sip tea. Empty veins on virtual paper. Rinse. Repeat. If there's invocation or grounding or whatever is necessary to get me focused, fine. But clinging to objects and places to be my luck? No. It's my job to generate my own luck and to trust that such a thing is 100% possible.

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