Winning Formula by Poppy Gee

What are your thoughts on book contests? Do you believe winning one can further your career? Which ones, if any, do you enter?

I’m wary about entering book contests. In Australia you are required to pay a hefty fee, plus send three copies of your book, and pay for postage. And then, as we all know, your chances of winning are low.

Ten years ago, I was a judge on a book award: the prestigious Barbara Jefferis Award, an Australian award for a book that depicts strong female characters. Reading those books was fun. Seventy-odd books of literary and historical fiction arrived on my doorstep in a huge cardboard box. I loved reading them, I read non-stop for weeks. The organisers paid me a small fee and flew me to Sydney for a day-long meeting to decide on the winner. I feel bad for saying this, but I didn’t particularly enjoy the judging process. I love writing reviews on books I enjoy, but trying to formulate a judges' statement based on the opinions of myself and the other two judges felt awful. The statement that we presented was devoid of passion – it was like an academic defence of the intellectual achievements of each book. 

This experience affirmed my commitment to being part of the down-to-earth, real and robust crime writing sphere, rather than turning me off literary awards in general. The award I would love to be a judge on (or win!) is the Ned Kelly Award for Crime Fiction, named after the famous Australian bushranger (a nineteenth century highwayman). I don’t think winning would help sell books as most readers don’t think too much about awards unless it’s a Pulitzer or a Booker, but to win a Ned Kelly for a crime writer would be an honour. The award is run by the Australian Crime Writers Association, and, as other writers have noted, being recognised by your writer peers is deeply satisfying.

In my experience, the most worthwhile contests to enter are ones for unpublished manuscripts. There used to be one in Australia run by a big publishing house, the Allen and Unwin/Vogel Award. The winner won $20,000 and a publishing deal. I entered it five times. I never won, but I completed five manuscripts. The beauty of an unpublished manuscript competition is the deadline it gives you. It makes you finish your story and in doing so, you improve your craft. Competitions like this are a great way to get noticed – I’ve got lots of friends who got their start, not by winning, but by being shortlisted in unpublished manuscript contests.

I have friends that love entering micro fiction, or flash fiction competitions. I can see the attraction of this. It might take you a few hours to write, maybe a day or a week to ponder, the fee is minimal, and it’s a burst of pure delight if you win. These writer friends share their micro fiction with each other, they cheer each other on, talk excitedly about it when we catch up for coffee. It looks like fun. 

The winning formula for writerly satisfaction is not prizes and accolades. Rather, satisfaction can come by reminding ourselves why we started writing in the first place, which for many of us is writing for the simple and pure joy of it. 

A Slater up your Nose, by Catriona

What are your thoughts on book contests? Do you believe winning one can further your career? Which ones, if any, do you enter?

I was really chuffed

Re. the title of the blog: please don't be imagining a guy coming round to fix the roof and disappearing up a nostril instead. A "slater" in Scotland is a woodlouse (aka roly-poly, I believe). And why is it relevant? Because I've never been able to decide whether I'd rather be best-selling than award-winning or if I'd rather be either than critically-acclaimed. But let's face it: any of the three is better than a slater up your nose, as my dad used to say.

But we're talking about winning stuff this week, not about sales or plaudits.

Does winning the Nobel prize for literature further your career? Nah. I reckon once you're headed to Stockholm, you've peaked. 

How about the Pullitzer? Or, if you're in Britain, the Booker? Mos def, I'd say. I've bought Booker prize winners many a time, having seen them heaped up on a table at the front of a Waterstones. Bernardine Evaristo and Douglas Stuart certainly seemed to slip effortlessly from a Booker win to stardom. Mind you, both of them also seem like genuinely lovely individuals, warm and curious. 

Then there's the National Book Award and a memory I'm convinced is real although you tell me. When I was new here (back when I thought Escrow was a town where the realtor lived, and I thought Barney Fife was in The Flintstones) someone phoned me up and asked if I was American because I had to be to be considered for the National Book Award. I swear this is true, even though it seems like when "Keanu Reeves" used to follow you on Twitter (before it became Xitter (the X is pronounced "sh", by the way)).  

It was almost as unbelievable when I actually did get nominated for an Edgar award, more specific but no less prestigious. I didn't win but it was a great night (much more fun than the UK Dagger awards) and I cherish the happiest picture of author and editor ever.

Me and Terri Bischoff at the Edgars

Now we're getting to the awards I know about from having won them. The Agathas are wonderful, not least because the award itself a teapot (see above). And I think winning an Agatha award shortly after I arrived in the US did have an effect. It boosted me from complete obscurity to - I maintain - enough known-ness to cause the Sisters in Crime board to consider me for the presidency. Is that career furtherment? Kinda. 

Likewise the Anthonys, I think. I'd been here four years when I won for As She Left It and it was a boost of profile. There's an argument to be made that it was the surprise value of someone who wrote traditional historicals suddenly up and writing a dark modern psychothriller that caused the awards action (like a dog walking on its hind legs: it's the fact that it's doing it at all . . .) 

Love this jacket!

One of my happiest memories is associated with that image on the front of of As She Left It. I was at the American Library Association shindig in Seattle, sitting behind a heap of these books with an uncapped Sharpie. A harried librarian rushed past, stopping only to say "Why is all YA set in dystopia these days?". I didn't get the chance to say "That's not dystopia; that's Britain." Ah well. (It's not YA either; she's just got youthful jeans on.)

So, in conclusion, a lot of nice things have happened to me in my writing career: going to the ALA, SinC, keynote invitations, Guest of Honour offers . . . and, since we don't get to run the control in life, I'll never know how much of that would have happened if I'd written exactly the same books but not been entered for or nominated for prizes. During hoc ergo propter hoc, right?

Now, I had already planned what to write for this blog - I know; it's hard to believe - when I read Eric's yesterday and realised that the awards I've talked about aren't contests. Contests are something else. Contests are what the question was addressing. All I can add to what he had to say is this: do not pay to enter. You might be out of pocket to the tune of a copy or two of your book and media mail to get them to the judges, if the contest asks for physical submissions, but that's it. Contests, like publishers and Nobel academies, should pay us, not the other way round. Or, again as my dad would say "they'll no eat a piece" - i.e. they won't even cost you as much as providing a sandwich. 

Cx    

Judge Not by Eric Beetner

What are your thoughts on book contests? Do you believe winning one can further your career? Which ones, if any, do you enter?

I have benefitted from a contest, albeit a short story contest. It was quite a long time ago for an online zine that no longer exists. From that win, I got my first agent. Contests can be a great way to get recognized and to meet people. I have cynical views on some of them, however. 

First and foremost: do not, under any circumstances, ever, ever, not ever, PAY A FEE to enter a contest. I have been a judge in many high-level year-end awards for some of the biggest national organizations. I’ve judged short stories and novels, which means reading hundreds of submissions. Myself and my fellow judges did it all on a volunteer basis. No fees required, and these are prestigious awards that can absolutely boost sales and give you accolades that will go on the front cover of your book. For some reason the hardship of reading means you need to pay someone to do it? No. That doesn’t fly with me. 

There’s also the slightly icky feeling I get when you turn a craft into a competition. I totally get it that if you do get the little gold star on your book, it could mean someone will find it easier, but I don’t like being pitted against my fellow writers. End of the year awards like the Anthonys or the Edgars are peer accolades that feel different than explicitly entering your book into the thunderdome to fight it out among dozens or hundreds of other books. It feels wrong enough to have to grovel on social media each year reminding people that your books is eligible for this, that or the other award, but to take your creation and shove it into the cage with fists up feels weird to me.

And really, every time I submit to an anthology with an open call, it feels like the same process. You’re asking to be judged. But they don’t charge a fee, or of they do I don’t submit. But we writers have countless examples of sending our work out there to be judged. The prize maybe an award or simply publication. The fear and anxiety are the same. Do I really want to add to that? 

And I don’t know of any contest that has the same prestige as a peer-judged award. For many if not most readers, all they need to see are the laurel leafs on the book jacket to know it has been endorsed by someone, somewhere, but I don’t know many readers who go seeking out the winner of some brand new competition with little to no track record. Some readers may wait each year for the winners of the Booker prize to be announced so they know what to add to their book club list, but I don’t see that happening with small, online contests. 

Whether you want to submit is entirely up to you, the author, and if you want to take that swing for the glory, then I support you. Even if it means handing over a few dollars you deem worth it. There is no doubt that any accolade or prize we can use to tout our books as being a quality read is worth a couple of dollars in the end. I think an award win among your promo materials is probably worth more than a blurb from a famous author. It’s validation and makes a potential reader feel safe in their decision to pick your book up off the table. I tend to avoid them for all the reasons mentioned above, but I’ll never begrudge an author their shot. Go for it. Get that gold star. Place it proudly on your book jacket, because it’s not only validation for the reader about to pick up your book, it’s validation for us as writers, and heaven knows we don’t get enough of that.

Winner Winner, I'll Take the Dinner

 

What are your thoughts on book contests? Do you believe winning one can further your career? Which ones, if any, do you enter?

It all depends on your motivation. A writer can look at a contest as a way to test their talent. An athlete trains, and a writer writes. A runner completes the race, a distance covered in a certain amount of time. A writer finishes a work in a genre and with a certain word count. The results, however, are different. Where a runner covers a predetermined distance, at a pace that is mathematical, a writer’s work is subjective, as in subject to the whims and taste of a judge or jurors. 

It is understandable why one takes the measure of their talent because nobody wants to do anything in isolation. The perspective that I think is best to take, and the sanest to adopt is detachment. To quote Lydgate, “You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of the time.”

Contests are the collision of commerce with the pitfalls of psychology. Some contests are a consumerist ploy, in that writers may or may not pay a fee, though it’s certain they enter the arena for comparison. The judge could be the Lord High Executioner or a star chamber of agents who hold the pen and paper of a publishing contract.  Thumbs up, thumbs down, or the cold silence of intergalactic space.

I’ve served as a judge and as a juror. I’ll be honest. I didn’t enjoy it, though I am grateful for the experience. I can sympathize with agents because I have seen disasters of manuscripts. The rules can specify margins and fonts, but there is always that special Ken or Karen who thinks the rules need not apply to their Precious. Every. Single. Time.

Regardless of the brain droppings on the pages within, if you can’t follow simple directions, I doubt you are professional in other aspects of your career. It’s a bet that I’ll take without thinking I am James Bond against Le Chiffre in Casino Royale. And then there’s the fundamentals of knowing the rules and expectations of the genre…

The ellipses is intentional because I want to be clear about one thing:

I am not a snob or a purist. I’ve never been jealous or envious of another writer. Honestly. I know how damn hard it is to write something, to disappear behind the page. I admire good writers, no matter their genre or style. We all have unique linguistic fingerprints, and they should be celebrated. I also understand the need for validation.

As for the time I served as a juror, I experienced despair because I felt as if I had read the same damn story a hundred times. The music was in the same key, and there were few variations on the melody. I assume the writers wrote what they thought would appeal and sell, or were somehow infected with the latest enthusiasm. Vigilante noir. Vampires. 50 Shades of Dread.

Alas, we must sell our wares in the Temple of Lucre.

As for winning contests (let’s substitute awards), I really don’t know. At face value, it’s that validation, that recognition we crave, and that should be valued as an accomplishment. Your work, your creation has stood out. My second published short story placed in the top 10 for the Fish Prize, in a field of over 4,000 international submissions. I was overjoyed and proud. I am fortunate to have been listed several times for the Bath and Bridport Prizes in the UK, the Agatha, Anthony, Derringer, Silver Falchion, and took home a Macavity and a Shamus award. I floated to the top, but I am acutely aware that the water is not a lake or a river, but an ocean. Put in cruel terms, I’ve had agents say to me in person, ‘The nominations are nice, but you didn’t win.’ The message there is a point for marketing and the old chestnut that you can’t eat prestige.

Then there are what I call the anti-readers, the people who deliberately won’t read the prize winners because they assume they are elitist, and henceforth die Scheiße.

My take on all of this is to apply the F.I.D.O Method.

Write. Do your best.

There’s a good chance you are like me, your own worst critic of your work, but no matter what you do, you can’t change those fingerprints. Be you. The hecklers will always be in the peanut gallery. The ones who scream the loudest often can’t write one true sentence, so…

F*ck It, Drive On.

And the Winner Is...

 

Photo by Christina Dahl on Unsplash

 

 

What are your thoughts on book contests? Do you believe winning one can further your career? Which ones, if any, do you enter?

I’ve never been considered what one would call lucky. I’ve yet to hit the lottery or win a jackpot at the casino. I’ve never even caught the boquet at a wedding. You can decide on whether that’s luck or not for yourself. So, it’s not surprising that I’m not the most enthusiastic believer in contests. However I can see their worth.

 

Photo by MW on Unsplash

 

I imagine that if I were lucky, or skilled enough to win a contest, maybe that might serve as motivation or validation to push me to write more, so I could enter and win more contest. Or maybe, just write more. Nothng says keep pushing like strangers recognizing that you wrote something worthy enough to stick a trophy on it, or cash. Yes, cash, is much better. But can it further your career? I say, yes.

When you’re a new, unknown writer, it can be daunting to try to build an audience when no one knows your name. According to a quick search on Google there are approximately 11, 000 books released per day. That’s one every seconds or so, if you’re counting. It’s not easy to stand out in that kind of crowd. Being able to say you won or even placed in a reputable writing contest may give your book that bit of an edge to land in a new reader’s hand or Kindle.

I’d imagine that would work well for querying writer’s too. There’s nothing more daunting than getting to the, tell me what you’ve done, section of your query letter, and find yourself staring at that white space of empty accomplishments. Imagine the joy of being able to write, I won this or that contest. Do agents give that manuscript a little bump up the food chain? I couldn’t swear on it, but if I had to place a bet, I’d say yes.

Photo by Brands&People on Unsplash

 

So what’s the downside? Well, I’m not sure if there is a downside, necessarily. There is a debate on whether it’s okay to enter a contest that requires a fee. I stand firmly in the no column on that one. But other’s will argue that a nominal fee for reading and whatnot is acceptable. I think reputation of the contest is important. For instance Writer’s Digest holds an annual contest with entry fees from twenty to thirty dollars. They are very reputable in the writer’s community. I’m fairly sure I may have entered that contest at one point or another. I also entered L. Ron Hubbard’s writing contest a long time ago. There was no entry fee. But I didn’t know about the Scientology thing either.

 

So enter or not. Pay or not. It’s all up to the indivual in the end. But one thing that should not be up for debate or optional. Research! Pantsers and Plotters alike. Do your research or you might end up entering a contest you know nothing about and is totally against your values. Or lose cash. Never good to needlessly lose cash. Happy contesting or not.