Being a writer, you learn the true secret to success: luck. Hard work breaks you even and timing gives you a head start, but to be a bestseller you find luck and cultivate it. Hoard it Even write an ebook about it: The Science of Luck And when a nobody like Scott Noble–unimaginative, metaphor-butchering, run-on sentence hack that he is–starts climbing the charts, you tail his ass and find out just where his luck’s coming from.
“What are you showing me, Hendricks?” I ask the PI, the blob of a man I’ve given the job. He replays the footage.
“Every morning it’s the same, Mr. Dodd,” he explains between bites of a doughnut. “A pinch of salt over his left shoulder, a penny in a wishing well, and three kisses to a rabbit foot at 5:03 A.M. Every morning…”
Holy hell, he’s right. I was right. My research and sweat, the mocking from an uncaring establishment, the taunts of being called a quack–it doesn’t matter. The Science of Luck is true, and it’s going to make me a fortune.
As Hendricks fiddles with the controls, he notices me eyeing his new gold watch. Someone’s luck has changed.
“You did it, didn’t you, Hendricks? Noble’s routine.” Before he can answer, I stick a pen through his eye and into his brain.
Rule #1: There’s only so much luck in the world. I’m not about to share.
I try to replicate Noble’s success, but the words just aren’t there. My writing’s dribble and my grammar’s a mess. There’re adverbs galore and my sales are crap.
My mind unravels.
Am I using the wrong salt? Pennies from the wrong year? Am I buying the wrong rabbit feet or do I need to butcher the little bastards myself? No, it’s simpler than that.
Rule #16: Luck favors those who get there first. Noble’s in my way. He’s hogging the luck that should be mine.
So simple. The next morning, I’m at Noble’s home. I sneak up behind, gun drawn, ready to take what’s mine.
You disappear, I become a god. The Amazon bestseller king.
As I’m about to pull the trigger, a pinch of salt gets into my eye. I trip, accidently firing. Just my luck, the bullet ricochets into my skull.
Neurons fire and die, and as a last burst of inspiration before the bloody end, I think of a final rule: All luck is good luck, it just may not always be yours.