I have always thought the designation “Honorable Mention” rather like winning “Miss Congeniality” at a beauty contest – nice, but let’s face it — no money and no contracts. People liked you, but you weren’t really in the game. Still, when I sent one of my short stories in to the Writer’s Digest 78th Annual Writing Contest, I knew that to place at all would be immensely satisfying to me as a writer. However, I had only the smallest glimmer of hope that such could be the case.
When I was growing up and people asked me what I wanted to be, I always thought immediately, “Writer”. But I seldom said it — it seemed to be a lofty ambition, right up there with singer or movie star. It seemed egotistical beyond belief, and I was very conscious of my limitations — both of birthright and of God-given gifts. Still, I loved to write. I wore out pen after pen, and my parents couldn’t keep me supplied with enough spiral notebooks for all my creations. As a child when my stories got picked for P.T.A. night reading, or class readings, I was not shy about sharing them. But as I grew older, I became more secretive about my creations. They were a part of my soul, and to have any negative feedback would be rejecting me, the very essence of me. At least that’s how I felt. So I put my love for writing on the back burner and concentrated on real life creations — love, marriage, children.
But when something is a part of you, you never really do forget it. So, after the busy years of raising kids were past, I tentatively started to write again. I took some workshops in writing fiction and poetry and learned something about craft. I wrote a few short stories, and one of them got enough positive feedback from the people I respect that I entered it into this year’s Writer’s Digest contest. After all, I figured, what have I got to lose? I told only 2 people, so I didn’t hang myself out there to fail publicly. Then I forgot about it until a few weeks ago, when I knew the winners would be announced. And I heard nothing. Well, this confirms it, I thought. I’ve got nothing to offer. I complained bitterly to my son and husband, who said all kinds of consoling things about the contest being a lottery and not really even fair. Still, it rankled. I hate rejection.
Then the letter came. I won Honorable Mention for one of my stories, and I was beyond jubilant. Finally, some validation! There were over 13,000 entries overall, some people already established writers. And there it was, in black and white — my story placed.
William Styron won the Pulitzer Prize at 24, and Herman Wouk wasn’t much older. These are writers I admire greatly. I know I’m not of their caliber, but I also know how little I work at it. So, I am honored. To have been mentioned. As for the Pulitzer, I don’t think that’s in the cards. I’ll settle for publication by some small literary magazine, if I work hard enough, or placing in another contest. At least now I’m not afraid to share pieces of myself with others — that’s what writers do.
Congratulations on the Honorable Mention. I do think writing is something you have to do. If it is in you, then you have no choice but to write. I can’t wait to read the story.