This past week has been
all about writing contests for me*, so naturally when I sat down to write
today’s post, it was the topic at the forefront of my mind.
But so much has been
written about the value of entering contests, about the disappointment of not
winning contests but the need to soldier on, about the difficulties of being on
the other side of contests as a judge
or mentor, I wasn’t sure what I could say that would be different or useful.
And so the only thing I
can do is share my experience. I hope somewhere in here there’s a nugget or two
you haven’t heard before, something that explains the value of entering
contests, helps you deal with the disappointment of not winning, and gives you
a glimpse of what it’s like on the other side.
It’s Not Whether You Win or Lose, It’s How You Play
the Game . . . and other “Mom-isms” that Turn Out to Be True
In late 2012, I finally
admitted to something I’d been doing in private for three years: writing. Other
than my husband and one or two close friends, no one knew I’d been working on a
manuscript for give-or-take two years. The thing I was slowly discovering I
loved was far too fragile to put out there. What if I told people I was writing
and nothing ever happened? That was my greatest fear (in many ways, it still
is…but that’s another post for another day).
But in keeping my writing
to myself, I was hampering my ability to do what I loved—what I couldn’t even
dare to hope in the far reaches of my mind might possibly, one day, maybe become
a career. Because without showing our writing to other people, without getting
feedback and critiques, we are working in a vacuum, with no ability to learn,
grow, or improve our craft.
If it weren’t for one
login and password, I’m not sure I would have ever left my safe, but
unproductive writing cave. That login and password were to Twitter. The writing
world on Twitter opened its arms to me (special shout-out to Dee Romito
(@writeforapples), Jen Malone (@jenmalonewrites), Summer Heacock (@Fizzyfrrl),
and Brenda Drake (@brendadrake) for being some of the first writers to make me
feel comfortable doing this thing called “tweeting”).
Somehow, in this
semi-anonymous, semi-public world of people I had never met and would only
recognize on the street if their heads were surrounded by tiny square boxes, I
found the courage to say I was writing (I was still not ready to call myself “a
writer”). This was the fall of 2012 and as this season tends to be, it was
CONTEST TIME on Twitter.
Though I kept it hush hush
with my friends and family, online, I entered contest after contest with my
first manuscript and also with my second, the one I worked furiously hard to
finish in time for Pitch Wars 2012.
The end result? I won some
and I lost some.
How did this make me feel?
It gave me the courage—and the desire—to call myself a writer. Let me explain:
For me—someone afraid to
admit I was writing—the first time I advanced a level in a contest, I felt
ecstatic but also a tremendous amount of relief. Not just to have advanced but
to have gotten the tiniest of nods that “yes, maybe I can do this.” Did I lose
contests after that? Including Pitch Wars. Yes and yes.
But I’d gotten the contest
bug. I was determined to keep trying, to see what worked for others, to absorb
every tidbit of feedback I was given, to do anything and everything to get more feedback. Because feedback was
making me better. It was making me annoyed, frustrated, and the teensiest bit
competitive, sure, but better too. Feedback was helping to teach me what I was
doing great and what I could do better.
I sought feedback in every
way, but three things ultimately made the most difference in my writing.
The first was getting
critiques from published authors and from agents. How does one do this? It’s
not easy. But Twitter helps. At times authors and agents (especially as auctions
in support of great charities) give away critiques. These do cost money (but
the money is going to help those in need, don’t forget). But in my case, I can
honestly say that I would have never sold Becoming
Jinn without these critiques I bid on and won. Feedback from those
critiques run a straight line to elements I changed that led to my agent and
book deal. Cost? Priceless.
The second was diving into
an intense three-week First Five Pages Workshop online (that still runs; check
it out: http://firstfivepagesworkshop.blogspot.com). This workshop gave me
something I couldn’t get elsewhere: feedback on what I’d changed. Because it’s
one thing for someone to point out what isn’t working but how am I to know if
my changes are on the right track? By having fellow writers, published and not,
look at each revision and give constructive criticism, I started to learn to
trust myself. Even more priceless.
The third was, again,
contests. But now I’m not talking about the feedback from contests. I’m talking
about the people. Okay, so you’ve heard this before. But it is so true that I
can’t not repeat it. Making connections with other writers is the most
important part of this industry: for feedback in terms of critique partners,
for gaining confidence to put your work “out there,” results be damned, for
having people who understand what you are going through, who know how high your
highs are and how low your lows are, and who will hold your hand through it
all. It is through contests and Twitter that I found my writing friends who are
now simply friends. (Shout-out to N.K. Traver (@nktraver), Chelsea Bobluski
(@chelseabobluski), Nikki Kelly (@styclar), and the entire Freshman Fifteen clan (@freshman15s).
Contests are hard to
enter. They are hard to judge (there’s so much talent, I find myself wanting to
work with every single entrant and wishing I had the time to do so; picking one
hurts me, maybe not as much as you, but it does, believe me).
There’s much to be learned
on both sides. And that’s the other part of this: if you don’t take the
feedback, if you don’t work hard to improve your writing, then you can enter
all the contests you want, but your writing may not get you where you want to
go.
Are all judges “right”?
Absolutely not! But more often than not you will find a little something to
take away: even if it’s reading the entries of the winning writers and
comparing their work to your own.
So that’s it. Contests
aren’t for everyone, but if they appeal to you, enter and grab onto all the
feedback you can get!
The second was, you
guessed it, Pitch Wars. And if you would have told me in 2012 that the contest
I just lost would have me as a mentor two years in a row, I’d have chuckled in
your little square-headed Twitter box face. We never know what the future
holds. Be open to everything and enjoy the ride.
Lori Goldstein is the author of
Becoming Jinn (now available for
preorder; Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan, May 12, 2015, sequel, Spring 2016). With a degree in journalism and more than 10 years of experience, Lori is a freelance copyeditor and manuscript consultant for all genres. She focuses on the nitty-gritty, letting writers focus on the writing.
