As a Writer, I Let Astrology Guide Me (Up to a Point)

Though astrology has let me down, I continue to consult the stars. I’m trying to let go of expectations while giving space for hope.

If you mention astrology, I’ll talk your ear off like a stereotypical Gemini sun and share my personal path from skeptic to fanatic. And if you too are a writer struggling to get published, I’ll admit I’ve started timing when I send queries according to the movement of the planets. How two literary agents requested my manuscript when Venus, the planet governing art, was in synchronicity with Jupiter, the one associated with luck.

Astrology and writing first converged for me in July 2021. I attended Tin House’s Summer Workshop virtually and, in the inaugural event welcoming all participants, people filled the chat with their sun, moon, and rising signs. I only knew my sun sign, but later, at a virtual happy hour, someone shared a site that creates natal charts. I’d never related to the description of Geminis as outgoing extroverts. That’s not me. But my other placements made sense of the inconsistencies. My rising sign is Pisces, known for being introverted and quiet.

My last day at Tin House was also my last day of BookEnds, a yearlong novel-revision fellowship. At the end of the program, a literary agent reads your manuscript and offers industry-specific feedback about what the novel needs. I expected the agent who read mine to say that my novel needed a serious overhaul, but her suggestions were surface level: The characters’ names were too similar; the epigraphs weren’t doing enough work. I was called “a promising novelist on the brink of true brilliance” and was invited to send the revision.

Like a true Aries moon, I’m impatient and driven, so I immediately took time off work to focus on a rewrite. I sent; I waited. (Am still waiting.) I queried other agents; one asked for an exclusive but ghosted me. As the rejections piled up, I reassessed and tackled an overhaul of the manuscript, what I’d suspected it needed back in July. Not sure how brilliant it is, but it’s a strong draft I feel good about.

By the time I was ready to climb back into the query trenches, my interest in astrology had become an obsession. Hello, Astrology for Writers. I measured when I hit send: I never queried when Mercury was in retrograde, a time known for its increase in miscommunication, mistakes, and mishaps. Instead, I waited for that favorable aspect between Venus and Jupiter to send those query emails—and when such timing led to requests, I felt certain astrology could guide me on the path to achieving my dreams.

I receive weekly readings through an app tailored to my rising sign. Our rising signs are described as how other people see us, but they also determine our houses—the aspects of human life are divided into twelve sections, or houses—and which planet rules our chart. As a Pisces rising, mine is Jupiter, a planet whose energy is hopeful, optimistic, and open to possibilities.

Last year, Jupiter ran through my first house of self, a time when people were supposed to be drawn to me. (They weren’t.) Then Jupiter took a trip to my second house, the one governing our resources. My horoscope said, Here comes the money, honey. And it actually came—raises, bonuses, freelance assignments.

So imagine my excitement when my weekly readings began talking about publishing. That’s a matter of the ninth house, as is travel, education, and religion, and mine is in Scorpio. During Scorpio season, my horoscope said that, if I’d been trying to publish something, my time had arrived. My heart pounded as email notifications flashed on my phone—this was it. But no, only more rejection.

I know rejection is part of being a writer. I’ve even gotten a little kumbaya about it: Had I gotten a quick offer of rep, I wouldn’t have tackled the last revision, so I’m grateful the noes forced me back to the page. But rejections when you expect an acceptance are a special brand of devastation. People who query like clearheaded adults might take rejections in stride—okay, this person didn’t like my work, onto the next. But sending at auspicious times, seemingly confirmed by requests for more work, planted expectations in my wide-eyed Jupiter-ruled heart. Crushing disappointment that spun me off axis.

My Jupiter is in Leo; that means my style of hope is confident, bordering on deluded. I know hope doesn’t come so easily for others. You might be more cautious with unleashing it. But research shows cultivating this outlook positively impacts our physical, mental, and social well-being. The psychologist Charles Snyder developed a concept called “hope theory,” which breaks down this outlook into three parts: goals, agency, and pathways. We need to have goals, believe we can meet them, and have concrete steps to achieve them.

As writers, those steps might come before belief kicks in. We know what we need to do to achieve our publishing dreams: We must endlessly revise our work, listen to feedback from beta readers, and revise some more. We must rewrite and polish. And when it’s time to submit, we need to be professional and prepared, researching agents, editors, and publications so we don’t waste their—or our—time. And when we’ve done all that, the belief that we can meet our goals should follow.

Except some of us have done all that and are still struggling to get our work into the world. The publishing industry is a beast—oversaturated and driven by a capitalistic market. Acceptance rates of 1 percent. Straight able-bodied cis white gatekeepers tell those of us who are not all those things that they couldn’t relate to our work, or they wouldn’t know how to sell it. A friend spent nearly a decade on a gorgeous novel her agent hasn’t been able to sell. (Yet.) Another friend has been trying to publish a sharp, polished short story for five years. Even finding a home for strong work can feel hopeless.

I’ve been querying for a year and a half, long enough to truly doubt myself, despite my cocky Jupiter in Leo. Maybe my novel can’t find a home in the current market. Maybe the new novel I’m working on will be my debut. Maybe my idea to use astrology to send out work is completely ridiculous.

I met with an astrologer who told me my Saturn in the eighth house of committed partnerships is in a challenging position. She said it’d be a long, hard road to love and I’d come to it later in life. But then she realized an agent-author relationship would fall into the eighth house too—perhaps the difficulties would be not with finding love but with literary representation. Great. Even my natal chart predicts obstacles.

But obstacles can be overcome. As a determined Aries moon, I don’t let doubt hold me back. Instead, I’ve leaned into superstition. I do daily manifestation exercises. I bought crystals that supposedly draw good luck. And though astrology has let me down, I continue to consult the stars. I’m trying to let go of expectations while giving space for hope.

I’m trying to let go of expectations while giving space for hope.

Hope has positive benefits on our well-being; expectations can have the opposite effect. It’s why those rejections were so demoralizing. I thought expecting the best was in line with the law of attraction. The power of positive thinking! But instead it caused massive despair and existential doubt. Not exactly the optimal mindset for querying.

Some despair is inevitable. The stats aren’t favorable. (Ahem, 1 percent acceptance rates.) I’ve wondered if I’d be happier if I called it quits—I could stick my novel in a drawer and take up knitting or roller derby. I could pour my creative energy back into music—less rejection and, when it comes, I’d have bandmates to commiserate with.

But it’s possible something could still come out of those queries I’ve timed just right. A Chani Nicholas reading during Scorpio season talked about how I might find things not working out the way I expected and I may need to look at alternative paths. And she said, no joke: “Your job is to write the book to the best of your ability, and to keep on that journey, and keep reaching out to the people who can publish it.”

So I’m exploring alternative paths, like small presses, and am keeping on this journey. And I’m bringing hope along for the ride. I’m using astrology as my map, even though sometimes I feel like it’s led me astray. But I need some kind of compass, something to bolster me when things feel impossible—something for the journey rather than the destination. Maybe what’s happening in the sky has no bearing on whether or not I publish my novel, but it’s nice thinking the universe can offer boosts now and then. I’ll take assistance wherever I can get it.

If you’re disheartened by the road to publication, consider using the principles of hope theory on your path. First, set specific goals. Above my desk are Post-it Notes with mine: Get published in Catapult, sell my novel, etc. When I meet one, I put that Post-it in a notebook where I collect nice things that writers, editors, and agents have said about my work. When I’m feeling discouraged and like I’m going nowhere, I pull out the notebook to remind myself of the progress I’ve made toward my goals, the people who’ve supported me, and the tiny victories along the way.

The notebook is a nice tool to aid in the second step: agency, or willpower. We need to believe we can indeed meet our goals. Remembering we’re not alone on our journey helps. (Hi, writer friends—I love you.) So does having something that you believe can help sustain you. I’m not suggesting everyone use astrology. Some people think it’s fake and, right now, I’m not in a position to argue otherwise. But I say, Cling to whatever you believe in. Maybe that’s religion, rituals, or lucky charms. Whatever gives you a boost, an inkling of that outlook that’s good for our well-being. The road is dark and winding. We need to grab on to whatever can add a little light.

And then we come to the third step: moving toward those goals, or taking action toward making them happen. We send a polite and professional pitch. We submit our polished story. We wait and we hope. Trying to get published isn’t for the fainthearted. Rejection hurts, and some are especially sensitive to it, but we can’t let our fear restrain us. We have to take the risk of getting hurt or we’ll never meet our goals.

We have to take the risk of getting hurt or we’ll never meet our goals.

Speaking of risks, I’m going to contradict myself. (Hey, I’m a Gemini; I contain multitudes!) As valuable as I believe it is to put faith into something, I also think sometimes we need to loosen our grasp, just a little. If I’d held too tightly to my belief in astrology, I never would’ve pitched this essay to Don’t Write Alone at Catapult when Mercury was in retrograde. And if I clung to my expectations that doing so would result in a rejection, I wouldn’t have taken that risk. Taking that risk made a literal dream come true.

Maybe the trick is this: We need to hold on to whatever beliefs fuel our hope, while loosening our grasp just enough to allow for some magic.