Writing competitions and rejection...

Hayley King: Ascent Novel Prize Founder and writing competition addict.

If you’ve entered a competition and haven’t placed, you know there are very few words I can offer in consolation. It hurts. It can make you angry, or sad, or anything in-between. It can make you question why you started to write. And to those waiting for an agent to get back to them, or to the agented writer waiting for a book on submission…the possibility of rejection seems to never end.

The first time I submitted my words to anyone, it was on social media, to Clare Mackintosh, the wonderful author of ‘I Let You Go’. She posted a writing prompt, and I thought, why not? Many others posted their paragraphs too. I sat and waited for her to respond. What was taking so long? Why hadn’t she seen my words and declared they were a work of genius? Of course, she later liked everyone’s post and shared how much she’d enjoyed reading everyone’s work. Sharing those sentences on Clare's page felt like jumping off a cliff.

 In all the things we can chose to do, I think writing leaves us most vulnerable. We are stripped bare, revealing nothing but our unprotected insides. Here is a book I wrote about losing my grandfather. Look, here is the depression I faced after leaving my first husband. And that is why there are no words of consolation I can offer when you stare rejection in the face. Your story means more than words can ever say. Parts of your life will be ingrained within those words and so the rejection can feel like a personal attack. Why am I not good enough? What is wrong with my story?

But what we share is more than just personal. Sometimes we share truths we have not yet faced. I was into my billionth redraft (okay, third) when I realised I was writing about the divorce of my parents. It was a fantasy book about story-drinking witches, but there it was, lurking beneath the words: the confusion of a nine-year-old when her mum moved out. In the fight to defeat the bad guy was really the anger I nursed for the decade that followed my parents’ divorce. Back then, I had entered a strange in-between land, living neither here nor there. I went to school with my toothbrush and a change of clothes in a plastic bag, and as you know, if you didn’t have the right plastic bag at high school, you were asking for trouble. I never had the right plastic bag. Being plunged into a single-parent family meant we went to the cheap shops, and the cheap shops had cheap bags and now the whole of my year group knew I was from one of ‘those’ families. My fantasy book about story-drinking witches made Bath Children’s Novel Awards top one hundred. But it didn’t long-list, and that’s when ‘The Doubt’ crept in.

I capitalise ‘The Doubt’ because it is what we, as writers, must battle to the end. Think of Darth Vader, or the Night King - leader of the White Walkers. Think of that clown from Stephen King’s IT (I don’t know his name because the book’s been on my bedside table for weeks and I’m too scared to read it). The Doubt waits for when you’re feeling down, or perhaps a little tired. When there’s even the smallest of chinks in your emotional armour, it’s there, calling your name with a handful of red balloons (and yes, I’m also too scared to watch the movie).

The Doubt knows the phrases that hurt. You’re not good enough. Who are you to think you can win a writing competition? No one will ever want to read your work. If this sounds familiar, you’re in the right place. This voice is proof that you’re trying. You’re doing the courageous work and pushing yourself forward. You will often hear me reference Seth Godin’s philosophy on shipping your work. If you haven’t read ‘The Practice’, I highly recommend it.

So, whilst I can offer no words of consolation for your disappointment at not listing in a writing competition, I can say that I’m ready to stand by your side, sword and all, and fight ‘The Doubt’. It has no place in your creative practice. It’s the scared part of your psyche and it’s trying to protect you. It doesn’t want you to take a risk or stand out from the crowd. And it certainly doesn’t want you to share your words with the world. What if the world hurts you?

Allow yourself to recognise what The Doubt is trying to do. Make a list. Dig deep. Then thank it for its service. But do not allow it to stop you on your creative path.

As Barbara Kingsolver says: ‘This manuscript of yours is a precious package. Don’t consider it rejected. Consider that you’ve addressed it ‘to the editor who can appreciate my work’ and it has simply come back stamped ‘not at this address.’’   

I have recently found The Rejected Writers’ Club podcast. Do check them out! They feature honest conversations with authors about rejection, failure and the messy path to publication. Hearing about the difficulties authors have faced can help in times of despair, and I’m not talking about SHE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED and her Harry Potter empire. Author Chloe Timms hosts the podcast Confessions of a Debut Novelist and it’s probably very wrong of me, but I love the stories of agony the most. Give me tales of a ten-year novel that was rejected by every agent and publishing house every day of the week. I love it. Perhaps I am a terrible person. Or perhaps I love these stories because they remind me, we’re all in the same game. The creative game.

Writing takes great courage and determination. Entering a writing competition is a step beyond that. One of our very own readers at Ascent Novel Prize describes how entering writing competitions was, for her, a way to signal to the universe that she was serious about her work. Venetia Constantine, author of ‘The Last Starborn Seer’ used competitions to grow in confidence and nurture her talent.

Laure Van Rensburg, another one of our talented team, wants everyone to remember that placing in a competition is a great boost, but if you don’t make it, it isn’t a reflection on your writing. Writing competitions are subjective. Readers have personal preferences, as do agents. There is no escaping this. So, feel all the emotion you need to feel. Not winning writing competitions hurts. But it’s not that you or your work isn’t good enough.

We are all in this battle together. It is what we chose when we signed up for a creative life. It’s a journey of risk and reward. There are highs and lows. But when The Doubt raises its clown-faced head and those words of discouragement come thick and fast, please reach out. Because I have an imaginary sword, forged in the fires of Mordor and I’m not afraid to use it. Keep writing, my friends, and keep shipping your work because one day, that leap of faith will pay off and you will win the most incredible prize of all. You will be able to hold your book in your hands. It will have a cover and readers who love it. One day, your story, the one only you could tell, could fly into the world and change someone’s life.