I just returned from the Jackson Hole Writers Conference and I’m ready to jump into my new project, a historical fiction. I’m enjoying this reprieve from Folsom while the publisher goes over the manuscript of my book. Check out my post at AprilJMoore.
Isn’t that how the song goes? “Oh, home on the range . . . la, la, la . . . where seldom is heard a discouraging word . . .” I thought it was “encouraging word” therefore providing some sense to this post—stay with me—but I looked it up and it is indeed “discouraging.” And I don’t want to be discouraging. (Then I realized what a downer if the song said seldom is heard an encouraging word . . .) Ok, anyway . . .
I’m talking about judging entries for a literary contest. I want to be encouraging, but what do I do when those types of words escape me? When I can’t think of an encouraging thing to say except, “Ah, keep at it,” or “Good use of the word the.”
What if I find an entry offensive? Both in content and in language? Now, some people might conclude—if they didn’t know better—that swashbuckling sailors or a pack of wild truck drivers raised me (sorry, Mom) but even the product of those upbringings can easily get offended. Even me. I won’t repeat what the entry-in-question contained, but it did in fact leave me speechless, which rarely happens.
Not every submission has been bad. For every four entries, there is one that earns a double take and leaves me wanting more pages. These, I jot down on a piece of paper for my own use; one to look back on when the results of the contest are announced. I realize that this endeavor; this process of printing out your proverbial baby and sending it off into the unknown to unknown judges for the purpose of being well . . . judged, can be a very scary thing. Believe me, I know. I’ve done it twice. The second time resulted in a finalist position, but that was all. Someone else’s baby fared better.
My motto as I read through these entries: Not a Discouraging Word. In the meantime, I’m looking for sage advice here, folks.
Have you ever judged a literary contest? What did you learn? What would you have done differently? Tell me, O’ Wise Ones . . .
Ask most writers and they’ll tell you that writing a book proposal ranks up there with having a root canal. They run in the same circles with synopses and query letters, also likened to painful dental procedures. There are endless how-to books on writing book proposals, all varying in some way or another, all insisting their format is the best one to follow. The anxiety of picking the correct format could easily be compared to picking the right door on Let’s Make a Deal.
I’ve been told by some in my critique group that a book proposal is unnecessary for Folsom’s 93, as it is creative nonfiction. I have also been informed of the converse; all nonfiction requires a proposal—before the book is even finished. What is a writer to do?!
Well, I wrote one. And I have rewritten the damn thing more times than I care to share, over the course of a year. I’ve added to it, deleted stuff, changed it, altered it, and contemplated burning it. But I know like a phoenix, it would continue to rise from the ashes . . . and haunt me until I got it right.
On March 11th and 12th, the completed and newly revised proposal will make an appearance at the annual Northern Colorado Writers Conference where I will be pitching it to an agent. As a member of the NCW and part of the conference’s creative team, I will have lots of other things to keep my mind off of the proposal. Informative and creative workshops await me, including How to Build an Effective Platform by the very agent I will be pitching to.
In the meantime, wish me luck and for my fellow proposal writers, I feel your pain.
Folsom's 93 