I’ve been thinking about the value of entering writing contests. Is a writer a gullible fool to fork out entry fees and should we eschew contests who charge them? Or is the very process of entering (and losing) contests a necessary part of our craft?I think a serious writer needs a strategy. I spent my childhood years scribbling snippets of stories for friends and family. Lovely pastime! My readers told me I was brilliant; I basked in their unqualified praise. Then I grew up. I learned there are no short-cuts to getting published. That you have to work damn hard at it, and you have to have a strategy. You have to court criticism, and failure.
Success, I’ve concluded, is measured in your ability to accept failure and keep moving forward. I’d go further, in fact. Failure is your friend. It gives you a line in the sand, a measure against which to work. You might think that a hundred failed entries, or failed submissions, would equate to a feeling that you’re unequal to the task you’ve set yourself. But the writers who give up, in my experience, are not the ones with a hundred rejection slips under their belts. They’re the ones with one or two rejections or maybe none – because they didn’t ever work up the courage to put their writing out there to be judged. Perhaps they told themselves it was pointless because contests are a rip off and a crap shoot. Funnily enough it’s often not a lack of confidence that stops a writer subbing their work. It’s ego: “Of course they’d never award a prize to such innovative writing.”
A serious writer knows the value of failure, is intimately acquainted with its sharp edges and its blunt tone. Remember Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia, holding that burning match until it’s ash between his fingers? “Of course it hurts. The trick is not minding that it hurts.”
About this strategy business, then.
So few magazines pay money and even fewer have a profile with agents, publishers, editors – all the people you need to get onside if you want to make a living as a writer. Sure there are bound to be contests out there which operate as commercial ventures but these are generally easy to spot. Having been part of the Fish Awards in Bantry last year, I can tell you that it’s a labour of love for the people behind the venture. It cost me about ten pounds to enter but the prize money was close to six hundred pounds – I call that a good return for my investment. More importantly, it got me right in front of readers, learning important lessons about the hard end of the business. I got quizzed at length by a scouting agent, face-to-face. I’m trying hard to think how else I could secure that sort of exposure if I eschewed all contests on the grounds that I was getting ripped off.
I’m under no illusions; I’m a grown up. Fish was a calculated investment. And even had I got nowhere I’d have counted it valuable in the sense that unless we keep putting our heads above the parapet, keep courting the slings and arrows, how will we know we’re getting anywhere? It takes nerves of steel to keep pushing our work out there to be judged, to be rejected. But without that process I think the danger is this becomes an exercise in ego-stroking. There is an acid test in the judgement of peers and professionals. Sure it’s a crap shoot, to an extent. A lot of it comes down to the subjective opinion of an individual or two. And luck. But I’d be interested to hear people’s thoughts on how else we can get ahead, get better, stronger. Persuade me!
Sarah Hilary is a frequent contributor to Every Day Fiction (Lolita’s Lynch Mob is an all-time favorite) and on other flash sites around the web. Check out her blog, Crawl Space, where she lists all her online writing and then check out her other brilliant FLASHES of fiction.
