Writing competitions and AI

Why do writing competitions ban the use of AI?

Hayley King: Ascent Novel Prize Founder and competition addict.

As I sit to write this, in one of my favourite cafes, Microsoft word has very helpfully asked what it is I’d like help to write. This annoys me for several reasons. Mostly because writing is my domain. It’s what I’ve always enjoyed. When I was little, it’s what my teachers praised me for. A friend recently said she uses ChatGPT to write her emails, and she fears she is no longer capable of composing an email without its help. We are living in a grey world where technology is racing ahead of the laws that govern it. I can’t help feeling this is a scary time, and I have more in common with men who lived through the industrial revolution than I would like. As Ginni Rometty, former CEO of IBM states: ‘AI will not replace humans, but those who use AI will replace those who don’t.’

Only last week my husband played me a podcast that had been created by AI. It discussed his school’s development plan in a chatty, informal style. The result was incredible. Firstly, I would never have believed that these podcast ‘hosts’ weren’t real, and secondly, the result was so sophisticated, I fear I shall be soon out of a job. But then there is the murky way these language models have been created. I’m no technological whizz, but every time I ask ChatGPT for help, I consider the stolen work of every author I know. I project forward into a future where my children no longer need to think, because a machine does it for them. A machine built on stolen thoughts. I consider the students who use AI to write their essays. One lecturer I know, stated that if this technology is part of our future, why should students not be able to use it? I later read an almost exact replica of this thought by John Warner, a writing teacher and author: ‘If AI can replace what students can do, why have students keep doing that?’ But for me, it defeats what we learn in the process of writing.

When I write, I am changed. I can begin thinking one thing, and by the end, have a different viewpoint entirely. My academic essays always documented this shift. They marked the journey from one point of view to another. And that’s what fiction gives us, a journey in someone else’s shoes. But if we are no longer the ones going through that process, I fear we’re prioritising product over process. Most who write on this subject explore the benefits of AI being used alongside human input, such as Devesh Dwivedi, Forbes Council member who said: ‘AI - generated content has its benefits, including speed and cost-effectiveness. However, with human intervention, it can be contextualised to provide insights beyond just facts and be turned into thought leadership.’

Writing competitions don’t often accept work written by AI. Why celebrate the work of a machine? But I know many writers who use AI as a sounding board. They explore concepts and ideas as they would with a friend. They don’t use the answers given, but the ‘conversation’ leads to revelations and insights they would have struggled to gain.

The positive use of AI is impossible to deny. My doctor uses it to take away some of the mundane workload and I spoke to a teacher this week who had used it to help her write her end of year reports. The uses in science and industry are far beyond my knowledge and expertise, but I have a friend who recently took a picture of a plumbing problem, and AI guided them through the steps they needed to fix it. My friend then spoke in Urdu to his wife, and the instructions were translated from English instantly. What world are we living in? As someone still coming to terms with speaking to Alexa and asking what the weather is, I feel dropped into the middle of a science-fiction book.

When the camera was invented, it changed the world of painting, but it didn’t destroy it. But artists were forced to express when the camera couldn’t. Is there anything AI can’t express? Listening to that podcast, I fear not. But what happens when all our recycled ideas are exhausted? What happens when the machine is no longer fed anything new? In an inspiring interview, Margaret Heffernan spoke at length about AI and why it will never be able to replace the human imagination. I highly recommend giving her interview a listen at London Writers’ Salon, episode #152. I won’t paraphrase her incredible insight here, but she left me feeling hopeful for my future as a creative.

Artificial intelligence is here to stay, and we all must make our own judgements on how we use it. I wish our laws respected creatives and made these companies pay for the work they have stolen in training their language models. I also hope that my children will live in a world where they are encouraged to think for themselves. As Brian David Crane states, in Spread Great Ideas: ‘AI cannot duplicate human emotion. Original insights that come from reasoning, storytelling and personal experience are the secret sauce that consistently ranks higher.’

The process of writing is a precious one. I have learnt more about myself in my years of writing than through anything else. My secrets surface in my characters’ plot and dilemmas. Only last week, I wrote about how my fantasy book turned out to be about my parents’ divorce. I was nursing a thirty-year wound, and I never knew, and no amount of help from ChatGPT could have helped me discover that. As I write, my cup of tea now cold, co-pilot is still waiting to jump in. Let copilot rewrite this section. It is the equivalent, for those old enough, of that old paperclip that used to dance about in word. Only the power of this assistant is mind-blowing. In a study from MIT Media Lab’s ‘Your Brain on ChatGPT’ (2025) EEG scans compared brain activity during essay writing with and without AI assistance. ‘It found users relying on AI showed reduced cognitive engagement, weaker neural connectivity and lower ownership of their work. The researchers coined the term cognitive-debt to describe the long-term effects of outsourcing thinking to AI tools.’  

Writing competitions wish to preserve the integrity of writing. They want to celebrate the stories only you can write. To create stories from our imagination is uniquely human, and in that process of imagining what it is to be someone else, we become a better version of ourselves. So, keep writing the stories only you can tell, and while AI will only grow in power and efficiency, please remember that who you are in irreplaceable. There are combination of words and patterns of stories that no one else will ever be able to create. You have been called to write, and that itch will never be scratched by some dancing paperclip, or AI assistant. Keep going, and fight the good fight!

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.

What are the best writing competitions?

Hayley King - Ascent Novel Prize Founder and writing competition addict

How do you decide which writing competition to enter? And, of course, you only want to enter the best! Well, this depends on many things. Firstly, what are your reasons for entering? This may seem like a stupid question. You want the prize money, and to have your work before the eyes of an agent. You want to be able to query agents with a great list of competition listings. But what else can entering a competition give you? Seth Godin suggests that our only job as creatives is to ship the work. We have no control over the outcome, but we do control the process. Submitting to writing competitions is an act of bravery. It is announcing to the world that you believe your work is ready. Ascent Novel Prize reader, Venetia Constantine, author of THE LAST STARBORN SEER, believes in the power of manifestation. Before finding her agent and securing a publishing deal, she entered competitions to hone her craft. Submitting her work to the world was a way of signalling that she meant business.

Do you need a deadline? Writing competitions can be great for spurring you on. I once entered a competition with having only written the first five thousand words. I made the longlist and had two days in which to submit my next 20,000 words. And, you guessed it, those words didn’t exist. I love the thrill of a looming deadline and proceeded to write like a woman possessed. My novel didn’t win, but I did manage to add another 15k to my work in two days. Side note, my eyesight suffered for a week so I wouldn’t recommend this. I literally wrote myself blind. Who knew such a thing existed? (I can hear authors on contract around the world shouting, we did know! How could you not?)

The best writing competition is the one that aligns with you. If you’re strapped for cash, some of the expensive ones may not be for you. If you’re desperate for industry feedback, look for one that offers that. Ascent Novel Prize guarantees feedback to every entrant but I’m sorry to say competitions like this are few and far between. Some writing competitions are very well established, so have a look at how long they’ve been running for. In the UK, Bridport and Bath Novel Prize are well established and therefore have high levels of entry. Entering a competition has an element of risk. If you’re up against another 3,000 writers your chances aren’t as good as if you’re only up against 100. Literary festivals can have writing competitions attached to them and some of these competitions have lower number of entries. Personally, I would rather enter a smaller competition than one that has a huge jackpot and seems like a lottery. Weigh up the cost versus what you get in return. Think about how many people are likely to enter. Some competitions reveal how many entries they get. How long is the longlist? If 3,000 people enter and there’s only a longlist of 12, that’s a different scenario to entering a competition with 100 entries and a longlist of 20. Do the maths. What is the likelihood of placing on that list?

It matters that someone reads your work with care and, if you’ve done your job well, enjoys the world you’ve built.

A simple search online will give you a list of writing competitions. Alongside checking how established and competitive they are, consider their terms and conditions. I once didn’t enter a free competition because there was a clause in their terms that I didn’t like. I couldn’t bring myself to enter.  The best competitions are the ones that work for you. Look for competitions in your specific genre, or for opportunities that may be offered if you’re a writer from an under-represented background. In the UK, New Writing North provide many opportunities for writers from under-represented backgrounds. At Ascent Novel Prize, our Under-represented Writers’ Awards are free to enter with your main submission, simply tick the box as you fill in the submission form.

Look out for competitions that have a top 100, as it is more likely that your work will be acknowledged. My first ever listing, now many years ago, was in the top one hundred. It was a moment I’ll never forget. After years of hearing nothing, my work had been acknowledged. I was getting close. The following year, I made a longlist. The year after, I won highly commended. The sense of validation was incredible and something I wish I could give to every writer. Entering writing competitions gave me the confidence to keep going. Your story is worth it. Someone, somewhere is going to love your words.    

How does the competition celebrate its winners? Do they publish a list of their top 100? Do they have an awards ceremony. I once shortlisted for a competition with a highly reputable publisher. They didn’t notify me I’d made the shortlist, and I only found out because I emailed to ask when the winner was announced. The shortlist was never published. Their social media channels remained silent. It was as if my placing didn’t matter, and in the grand scheme of things, it probably didn’t. But I was an aspiring writer and to make it to the top six out of so many entries was like a dream come true. Look at how competitions value not only their winner but their long list. Do they send out trophies or include online interviews? Writing can be such a lonely process that these moments of achievement matter. Jericho Writers is a business in the UK that offers training to members and hosts an annual festival. Their competition is supported by the writing community it’s built. At these events, authors read out their work to a supportive and well-established community. Some competitions raise you up by the community they build. Look out for those ones, because when you win, it means so much more. You are part of something bigger than yourself: a community of like-minded people who can help raise you up.

Writers and Artists’ offer curated lists of writing competitions online. Like I said, the lists of competitions are not hard to find, but choosing the right ones to enter matters. Weigh the cost. What do you get back? Look at their terms and conditions: are you happy with them? How do they celebrate the writers who enter?

Red flags to look out for…

No competition will ever ask for or retain copywrite of your work. This belongs to the writer. If you are successful, check how much of your work they will share online. I can’t imagine any writer wants their whole novel sharing, but many competitions will publish the opening chapter. Reading samples from previous winners can help you decide if the competition is for you. The writing style of previous winners will give you an insight into whether yours is comparable. There are some competitions I don’t enter as the style of past winners is literary with a capital L. As my work sits in the book club market, it is more suited to more commercial competitions.

More red flags…

If you can’t see who the judges are, you won’t know if they’re industry professionals. Writing competitions should have clear and transparent processes. There should be a list of FAQs and an outline of the judging process. Think about how much information their website and social media channels give you. Is there enough information available for you to happily enter and know your work is in safe hands. At Ascent Novel Prize, our reading team and judges are carefully selected from across the industry and it was vital that the team chosen reflected the diverse world we all live in.

Last of all, entering a competition can be a daunting process. And the reality is that most people don’t win. But it is one step in getting your work out into the world. There are doors waiting to be opened. Choose your competitions wisely and know that the real power and accolade is the novel you hold in your hands. If you are lucky enough to have typed the end, you made it. Everyone says they want to write a novel and you’re one of the few who did it. In my eyes, you're a winner already.