Real talk: How to Make Your Own Luck

(For Writers Who Don’t Believe in It)

Ah, luck. The word that gets tossed around like a hot potato at every writer’s group or book launch party. “She’s just lucky her book hit the bestseller list!” “He’s lucky his short story got picked up by The New Yorker.” But let’s be honest—if you’re sitting around waiting for some ethereal, green-tinted fairy to sprinkle pixie dust on your manuscript, you might as well be waiting for a publisher to knock on your door with a six-figure advance. Spoiler alert: it’s not happening. So, how does one “get lucky” as a writer? By realizing that luck isn’t random. It’s not divine intervention. It’s something you craft with grit, preparation, and a little bit of delusion.

You need to show up like it’s your job (because it is). You know who doesn’t get lucky? The writer who complains about writer’s block but hasn’t touched a keyboard in months. The lucky ones are the people who, despite the existential dread of staring at a blank page, keep writing—shitty drafts and all.

“Writing is a numbers game: the more you write, the more chances you have to hit gold.”

Personal story? Fine. Back in the day, I treated my writing like a moody hobby, only flirting with it when I felt inspired (read: once every three months). Shocking nobody, my work went nowhere. Then I made a pact with myself to show up daily, even if the words dribbled out like molasses. Turns out, luck comes to those who hustle.

You need to be bold enough to suck. Writing is rejection. It’s humiliation. It’s sending your story into the void and hearing…nothing. But here’s the kicker: every “lucky” writer has been rejected a hundred times before landing the gig, the agent, the deal. It’s not luck; it’s resilience.

Take Stephen King’s Carrie. Dude got rejected 30 times. Now, Carrie is a household name, and King is swimming in more royalties than I’ll ever see. The difference? He didn’t take those rejections personally; he used them as stepping stones.

You need to network like it’s a Fiesta. I used to be that guy—holed up in my apartment, churning out stories and expecting the world to magically discover me. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. The real breakthrough happened when I dragged my introverted ass out to writing conferences, mixers, and even the occasional cantina. Networking isn’t just about rubbing elbows with the elite; it’s about finding your tribe, exchanging ideas, and learning from people who’ve been there.

“When people know you, they’re more likely to remember you when an opportunity arises.”

You must create opportunities (a.k.a. Stop Waiting for Permission). The digital age is a writer’s playground. Blog your work. Self-publish that novella. Start a Medium account. The lucky writers are the ones who take risks. Sure, not every risk pays off, but every risk increases the odds that one will.

Be Patient, Damn It. Luck isn’t immediate. It’s cumulative. Those overnight success stories? Ten years in the making. Keep writing, keep sharing, keep connecting. And when the stars do align, people will call you “lucky,” oblivious to the mountain of effort beneath your iceberg tip.

The Bottom Line? Luck is the product of effort, timing, and being ready when the moment strikes. So, stop whining about not being lucky. Write that messy first draft. Send it to a contest you’re terrified of entering. Talk to that published author who intimidates the hell out of you.

Your “lucky” break is waiting—it just needs you to show up first.

(If you enjoy this short article and feel like helping out, consider giving a donation. My future kids will thank you for it.)