Guest post written by Lucky Break author Jaclyn Westlake
Jaclyn Westlake is the author of the novel Dear Dotty and an alumna of the Stanford Continuing Studies novel writing program. A recruiter turned career advice columnist, her work has appeared in Forbes, Business Insider, and Inc. She lives in California with her husband and their dachshund mix, Indiana Jones (but you can call him Indy).
About Lucky Break: When a spate of bad luck upends her meticulously planned life, Eliza moves to a charming—and mysterious—Midwestern lake town, where she just might find herself while trying to find the truth. Perfect for fans of Beth O’Leary, Katherine Center, and Sophie Kinsella.
Back in 2021, I was writing a career advice column for The Muse, and, like a lot of people during that strange, upside-down time, I found myself daydreaming about leaving it all behind. The city noise, career burnout, apartment walls that felt like they were creeping closer together with every Zoom call – it wears on you after a while.
And it wasn’t just me. People everywhere were reconsidering their lives, jobs, and priorities.
So when my editor asked me to do a piece on relocation incentive programs – real offers from real towns that would pay you to move there – I was instantly intrigued.
Cities like Tulsa, Oklahoma and Topeka, Kansas were offering financial incentives to remote workers to get them to relocate. Some offered thousands of dollars toward rent or the purchase of a home. Others promised coworking spaces and community perks. But the value proposition at the heart of every incentive was: this is your chance for a fresh start. And people were jumping at the opportunity. When Tulsa Remote launched, they received over 10,000 applications practically overnight. As of 2021, that number had grown to more than 50,000.
It felt like the premise of a feel-good Netflix movie: An overworked startup employee, fed up with the stress and chaos of the big city, takes a leap of faith and starts fresh in a charming small town. The more I researched, the more I thought: This would make a great book.
So I wrote it.
In Lucky Break, thirty-two-year-old Eliza is doing everything “right” – until her carefully laid plans fall apart, starting with a broken engagement. When she gets the chance to move to Juneberry Lake, a fictional small town modeled after these real-life relocation destinations, she shocks everyone (including herself) by buying a lake house sight unseen. She’s not sure what she’s running toward, exactly, only that she needs to escape the ruins of the life she’d so carefully constructed.
What follows is a story about second chances, small-town secrets, and the sometimes uncomfortable, often magical process of finding yourself. There’s also a dash romance, tons of Midwestern charm, and a cast of quirky neighbors with secrets and surprises of their own.
But what is it about this fantasy that hooks us so deeply? Why do we dream about leaving it all behind and starting over?
Part of it, I think, is the appeal of reinvention. When life starts to feel like a series of obligations – job, bills, expectations, lather, rinse, repeat – there’s something wildly romantic about the idea of hitting reset. A new town offers the promise of a new version of yourself. No baggage, no history, just possibility.
Add in the last few years of collective burnout, and the idea of trading hustle culture for lake views and potluck dinners becomes more than just a fantasy – it feels like self-preservation. Small towns represent community, slower living, and room to breathe. And in stories (and maybe in life), they give us the space to ask: What do I actually want? Who do I really want to be?
There’s also something timeless about a good “fish out of water” story. We love watching people find their place in unfamiliar surroundings – especially when they stumble into unexpected friendships, second chances, or a bit of small-town mystery along the way.
At its heart, Lucky Break is about the thing so many of us crave, whether we admit it or not: the chance to press reset. To pivot. To say, actually, I want something else. Sometimes, what looks like bad luck is just life nudging you toward something better.
So if you’ve ever dreamed of packing up and starting over somewhere new (or just love books about fresh starts, found family, and a cozy little mystery) you might just find your own version of a lucky break between the pages.
As for me? I rode out most of the pandemic as a liveaboard on a 46-foot boat with my husband and our dog, Indy. As time went on, the already small boat started to feel downright miniature, so we ended up moving the little beach town in Southern California where my husband grew up.
Sometimes life imitates art.
