I was going to say I don't have any writing rituals that would count as superstitions; all I have are sensible working practices. But, while looking around my office for examples, I noticed my pens.
I use blue Bics. Bic Cristals. But that's not a ritual, right? That's a preference. They're a design classic, for a start - evidence: they're in MOMA. Also, they don't leak like Hi-techpoints and other fancy-schmancy pens when you take them on a plane. Finally, they smell like pens should. Not that I sniff my pens.
But the reason they caught my eye is this:
When I say I use blue Bics, I really mean I like to have a full pen-holder of them, as well as the one I'm using, one in my bag and a packet of new ones in my desk drawer. And it gets worse. The three back slots in the pen-holder - a sea-washed brick picked up on Prestwick beach in the late eighties - contain a red Bic for corrections (under the Dandy Gilver fingerpuppet), a black Bic for occasional scanned government forms (under the Bury Her Deep gravestone) and a pencil (under the Bunty Dalmatian).
Now, the black-pen-under-blackish-gravestone and red-pen-under-red-Dandy look either neatly orgnanised or slightly anal, depending on your point of view, but at this point you probably think the pencil-under-Dalmatian is completely random. A devil-may-care detail that balances out the rest of it. Not so:
It's really quite a Dalmatiany pencil under there.
So. Writing superstitions. Hello, my name is Catriona and although I can write in my office, by the fireside, on the porch, in bed, in coffee-shops, in the Ethel Merman quiet room of the Davis Public Library, in departure lounges, hotel rooms and on planes, I can only do it if I know that on my desk there are five blue Bic Cristals in their slots against a backdrop of red, black and pencil finger puppets. Don't judge me.