Sunday evening I experienced a funny conversation with my son, Geoff, after the San Diego Chargers lost to the Patriots. As San Diego natives, Geoff, his friends, and many members of my family appear to be crazed with magical thinking. Or are they?

My otherwise sane son wears a special pair of shoes dedicated solely to game day. His sneakers are 8-0 (well, make that 8-1 now). My brother invests his victory faith in a shirt that's 9-0. My sister hasn't changed her toenail polish all season. My mom jumped into this lunacy late, so her blue and gold t-shirt is only 3-0. Accessory nuttiness aside, Geoff's friends seemed to have pushed magical thinking to a new level of madness with a mid-week conference call debate regarding a venue for watching the game on television. These win/loss standings count. One friend's house is 1-3; he's never hosting a game again. Another guy's den is 4-2. And once the whole group left somebody's home at half-time when the Chargers were behind by three touchdowns. As the gang departed, a weary wife yelled out the back door, "What's crazy is, you guys think you're gonna change the outcome by moving, don't you?" Well, maybe they did. The Chargers performed a miraculous come-from-behind win. Now that half-time move looms as a legend in magical thinking lore. Who can say? Is ritual merely superstition, or can you affect the outcome by following a "winning" prescription?

My early stabs at writing rituals began during long-ago college days. English majors write until their fingers are puckered and pruney with metaphors, dripping bloody similes on the library's threadbare carpet. I loved burying myself in the dark basement stacks. I cherished my "test sweatshirt," an oversized, cozy, hooded affair which protected all the answers. Or so I thought. Coddled my self-confidence? Maybe. I always crammed a large, thick Hershey bar into my pocket for final exams (and two such megabars accompanied me to the six hour comps for my Masters). I earned straight A's, so why question the drill? As an undergrad, I discovered eye-ease paper -- a pale green to which accountants gravitated, before computers and spreadsheets. Summary margin spiral notebooks (double wide margins) piqued my interest for doodling future novel ideas during Western Civilization lectures. For awhile I could only write essays with a Parker T-ball jotter. Don't get me started about plunking out (really awful) stream-of-consciousness poetry on my manual typewriter. I am, after all, a child of the 60's.

These days my writing rituals are not so much carved in stone as scratched in sand. A few dependable standbys, a few newly discovered idiosyncrasies, my whimsical behaviors are mostly sound in practice, but magical in aspiration. I like to keep my muse on her toes.

When I started writing again, I googled my old friends the eye-ease spiral notebooks and bought a dozen in three different sizes. Novel notes, back stories, and outlines are scribbled in black, purple, or hot pink, extra fine, pilot point pen. I always carry a notebook and several pens in my purse. At home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I enjoy writing with the dawn, coffee plus half 'n half in my Hogwarts mug. I use Scrivener (software) and my wonderful Macintosh (two manual typewriters collect dust in my studio). Comfort wins all battles. Gone is the sweatshirt and jeans. Green and red polka dot fleece outfit in the winter; blue cotton jammies and a scruffy pink robe when it's warmer. Fuzzy pink socks. When the weather swelters writing labor often withers, but I don tank tops and shorts and go barefoot. Must haves: swivel chair (also glides up and down; clean, clear desk; good light. And music.

Using iTunes, I've created soundtracks for each POV, or every character, especially the villain, in a story. For the most part I don't use music with lyrics. I'm chasing the feeling -- sweep, depth (or lack thereof), melody, and rhythmic quality. For example, one Hispanic hero flowed out of my fingers to the beat of mariachi and bullfight music. Bose noise-reduction headphones create privacy if anyone's home. Usually I write alone, keeping the music mellow and sometimes adding a scented candle when I'm writing a specific character. Brain experts tell us that smell, of all our senses, can trigger the most sharp and poignant memories. If I haven't been writing a particular story or character for awhile, any and all connections I can heighten are a big help.

In addition to physical and sensory rituals, writers must appease their minds. My writing rituals acknowledge my inner critic. She lurks in the dark corners, an overpowering beastie. A first line of defense and integration is to meditate, which aids my peace of mind and my imagination. I've followed the same narrative meditation for years. I also work with a concept called "voice dialogue" to discover more about the boundaries of all my inner voices. Quick-writing a dialogue (much like the script for a play) between my inner critic and my inner writer has led to surprises, understanding, and another ritual. A porcelain statue of Maleficent (the evil sorceress from Disney's Sleeping Beauty) now stands-in for the essence of my inner critic. I remove her from the room while I write (especially in the creation stage). I bring her back for the edits and revisions -- when I really need a strong critical voice. I know... your eyebrows just arched and you are certain this magical thinking stuff is crazy. For more information about Voice Dialogue, check out the books by Hal and Sidra Stone. (I don't have stock or any interest in their work). As a writer working with your Inner Critic, you might read articles by published writer Emily Hanlon (again, I don't have stock in Emily's company).

I'm not tied to any certain daily ritual, but for me a series of sensory and grounded steps, plus a familiar and pleasant ambience seems to work. Writing is a process -- a journey, not a destination. I use layers in the approach and in the composition. Creating a supportive, comfortable atmosphere feeds my spirit and my art. I don't own a pair of game-day shoes and I don't change rooms at half-time, but do I employ magical thinking? Maybe, maybe not.

What say you? Ritual, superstition, or magical thinking? What personal steps and/or accessories propel you through the writing process?