A Skeptic’s Guide To Writing Contests

Earlier this morning, I submitted a short story to a popular literary journal’s writing contest, and I feel worse for it. I have never submitted to this type of contest before. Despite knowing fiction writers and poets who have won story and poetry contests, I have even advised other people against this practice. Writing contests have often rubbed me the wrong way. We can chalk it up to my inner skeptic. We can call it bad math. Writing contests? I just don’t trust them. But here I am, short another $20 looking at my Submittable ticket receipt, and drinking coffee like any other regular day in the life.

Many of my friends have entered contests with a reader’s fee. (Say, $20.) A journal would announce its contest, promise the winner $500/publication, and the runner-up $100/publication. This amount varies depending on the contest, journal, allotted reader’s fee, etc. In exchange for the reader’s fee, writers will receive a subscription to the literary journal.AQR Writers begin submitting their stories and paying the journal’s fees. A journal hosting the contest might receive 1,000 manuscripts during their reading period. That’s a lot of reading fees. $20,000 of reading fees. For a long time, that sounded like bullshit to me.

Maybe I’ve become a bit more amiable over the years, because I’ve met the readers and judges of these contests and heard their horror stories. Or maybe I’ve gotten an insider look into literary journals that allows me to see how difficult funding can be. I am saddened by a recent article and movement that’s been floating through the literary scene entitled Save the Alaska Quarterly Review. This article illuminates some of the obstacles faced by journals, and the hashtag #saveaqr is a painful reminder of these problems.

I realize I could just be saying all this to make myself feel better about spending that $20.

Originally, I felt like contests were money-making ponzi schemes. Highly successful literary cons. A darker side of my skepticism thought the judges of said contests probably had a small pool of favorites anyway. I disregarded reading hierarchies and anonymous submission/reading guidelines with the understanding that people talk. Writers recognize each other. I concentrated on getting published the regular way, and that has seemed to work pretty well. I operated under the golden light that my stories might receive awards after they’ve been published. In some ways, I felt like I was taking the “smart” route, but now, I’m not so sure. I have started to see contests as a necessary evil in the literary world. A give and take affair.

Contests are a viable way for journals to stay afloat financially. Some journals that have contests use that extra generated money to pay writers for their accepted submissions throughout the year. Other journals just want to pay their fucking rent. However, it’s still best to remain pragmatic when submitting:

  • Submit to contests hosted by journals you love.
  • Only submit exceptional material.

There are a thousand other people out there submitting their work to a contest. If your submission doesn’t stand out from your own pool of writing on your laptop at home, it’s not going to stand out in an even greater pool.

But here I am thinking about the different ways a person could spend $20—new pants, a bike lock, gourmet cheese, tote bags— and wondering if any of my friends secretly submitted, too.

Positivity Week: Day 5 and 6

Positivity Week Prompt

Day 5: Your Impact
What positive impact (or impacts) do you hope to leave behind when you go? Do you hope that positive impacts you leave behind will change the world for the better?

Growing up, I felt continually oppressed in East Tennessee. I carry the suffering of place with me everywhere I go, but I do not have active plans to change the social landscape there.

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National Cemetery by Natalie
Greeneville, Tennessee

What makes an act eternal? The generation or articulation of new thought, creation of an outlet, and/or reduction of suffering? I am an inherently selfish person, but I long to act in meaningful ways. I do not know if I will ever impact the place where I grew up, and I think to theorize on this possibility suggests a willingness to adhere to the philosophy of determinism.

This past summer, I worked and taught playwriting at the Appalachian Young Writers’ Program at LMU. I am not sure if I impacted someone during my time there, but I know the impact such organizations have had on me. I may one day change the mountains of East Tennessee, but for now, I will exist within the act of throwing stones.

Day 6: Something Funny
Share what makes you laugh. And I mean, really laugh to the point where your face hurts, your stomach hurts and you’re crying. There is nothing better than a good laugh.

Basset Hounds are the silliest dogs in the world. They are basically the floppy, depressed versions of Corgis. The Eeyores of the dog world. I love their long ears, thick paws, and layers of love. (Layers of love being just another way to talk about wrinkles.)

basset

Photo by Rob Carr

Ever see a Basset Hound run or look at one of their “beauty shots” from dog shows? It’s absurd. Too much.

The first dog I ever wanted was a Basset Hound. Later, I would live across the road from a family who owned one named Flash. The hilarity of his name only increased when the family bought a sleek Weimaraner, who would occasionally trample or hurdle Flash during his pursuits. From my window, I would watch Flash leisurely walk up and down the side of the street and laugh. Sometimes, Flash would start trailing a scent and run into a mailbox or bicycle.

Basset Hounds are loud, messy, gassy dogs, and they make me smile.