The spotlight picks out a podium on the stage. A hush descends over the audience. There’s the rattle of an envelope opening, a clearing of the throat. ‘And the winner is…’ A long pause. And then a name is spoken. Yours.
If you’ve ever been in this position, it might have felt unreal. Or perhaps not – perhaps you expected it. Maybe you depended on winning or maybe you were so sure you wouldn’t that you couldn’t take it in when you did.
It doesn’t matter how trivial or unimportant the competition, winning feels great. To gain the approval of fellow humans is something many crave. And to get an award for writing – well, that’s the intellectual cherry on top of the competitive cake. ‘You really do slip outside yourself for a second, the way you do with any extreme experience, whether fear, pain, joy or heartbreak,’ Marlon James told The Guardian newspaper about his experience of winning the 2015 Booker Prize, one of the most prestigious literary awards, for his novel A Brief History of Seven Killings. Pat Barker, who won the same prize in 1995 for The Ghost Road, said in the same article that it was ‘more like an Oscar than a literary prize’.
No mean feat
And yet, for every literary winner, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of losers. The Bridport Prize, one of the most famous short-story contests in the world, attracts thousands of entries from over 80 countries every year. In short, the odds are against you getting to the top spot. All the same, those who do win often receive kudos (not to mention some cash) that boosts their professional lives. But what’s the reality behind the bright lights and headlines? Is it as good as imagined? And is it worth entering, considering the unlikelihood of receiving a prize?
If you’re a wannabe winner or regular enterer, read on to discover the answers. And if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to weed out a longlist from thousands of entries, there’s also a peek backstage into the workings of a short-story competition.
So, is it a good idea to enter a writing competition? In a word, yes. There are many good reasons to do so, and the chance to come away with a prize is only one of them. In fact, consider that the impetus isn’t to win, but to enter. ‘The best thing about competitions is that they give you a deadline, and give you something to work towards,’ says Naomi Wood, a novelist, short-story writer and lecturer in creative writing at the University of East Anglia in the UK. She’s also a prolific competition enterer, of which more later.
Opportunity knocks
If you struggle to complete a piece of writing, a competition will hone your mind and help you focus. Most prose-writing competitions are for short stories (or sometimes very short stories, known as flash fiction), with an accompanying strict word count. Having to hack into your story and edit it to length is like pruning roses – it gives your remaining blooms a chance to breathe. Many competitions specify a theme or sometimes even a title, which can be an invaluable incentive to explore topics you haven’t previously considered and can take you in new and exciting directions.
Writing can be a lonely business, and you might wish to get feedback on your work-in-progress before submitting it. Joining a writing group with this aim will get you away from your laptop and give you the opportunity to shine light on your prose among a more-or-less sympathetic crowd before you email it to strangers. Many competitions also offer feedback in the form of a critique, although you might have to pay an additional fee – be aware that the quality of advice varies, too.
And, of course, even if you don’t win, you might still claim a place near the top. ‘Because there are so many competitions, you can enter stories all year round,’ says Naomi. ‘If you get on the longlist or shortlist, they’re a great way of padding out your cover letter for approaching agents and publishers.’ She admits that ‘the probability of getting shortlisted for awards is slim, because of the number of people who enter’. However, try not to let this deter you. Your work of genius being rejected on the first round can be valuably humbling. Writers can be sensitive souls, and the toughening-up of wordless rejections is a step in distancing yourself from the art you produce.
What sort of competitions should you enter?
With novels, it’s often the publisher that enters its listed books for prizes. However, short-story and poetry competitions are more egalitarian – if you fit the criteria, you’re in. The big-name, big-money prizes inevitably attract many entrants, which means you’ll be competing against literally thousands of other writers. Smaller prizes have fewer entries, and more chance of winning, but come with lower prestige. Winning any prize, however, is good for your professional reputation – and, as Naomi says, with so many taking place, you can enter ad infinitum, provided you stump up the (sometimes high) entry fees.
What’s it like to win?
Naomi’s advice isn’t only the opinion of a seasoned writer and enterer. In 2023, her short story, Comorbidities, won the BBC National Short Story Award, one of the most prestigious writing awards in the UK, with a first prize of £15,000. So, what is it like to win such a prize? Is there an anti-climax once reality returns? Is it all, at the end of the day, a bit pointless?
The answer from Naomi is ‘definitely not’. In fact, she says, winning ‘was really amazing! I’ve never won an award that big, and the national attention was just lovely.’
She had already been shortlisted for several awards, including the Manchester Fiction Prize and the London Magazine Prize. She’d also made the longlist of the BBC award two years in a row. ‘To be on the shortlist, then the winner, was just the cherry on the cake.’ Yet, despite appearances, it wasn’t an easy road to get there. ‘I have a spreadsheet I share with my students which I call “The Spreadsheet of Shame”,’ she says. ‘It shows my two years’ worth of rejections – and two or three acceptances – for short stories.’
Even Comorbidities, the prize-winning story, was rejected by other competitions and magazines nine times. It’s no surprise that winning felt such a joy – except for the nerves she felt before the announcement was made. ‘Mostly, I was thinking that if I won, I’d have to go live on Radio 4 immediately, and I was trying to work out how to not make my voice wobble,’ she says.
What happens next?
The biggest outcome was the uplift it gave Naomi’s career. ‘The win put me on the map in terms of being a short-story writer… It really helped gain attention for my debut collection, This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, and, of course, we got to plaster that prize win across the front cover.’ And the ripples spread further afield, as winning the competition got her representation and publication in the US.
It’s good to know that winning is all it’s cracked up to be. Yet the truth is that, whatever your skill and appeal as a writer, the odds are never in your favour. But maybe that’s not the point. For me, as an ex-serial competition enterer and former competition reader, entering short-story competitions provided the impetus to get something written, and it’s from the roots of short stories that my novels found life. So, win, lose, no matter. Whatever happens, keep trying, and keep writing on.
For more information on Naomi’s work, visit her website at naomiwood.com, or follow her on social media @NaomiWoodBooks. Her short-story collection, This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, is out now, published by Phoenix.
Many literary festivals run their own writing competitions, and you’ll find plenty of other suggestions online. Penguin’s website features a round-up of major competitions at penguin.co.uk/articles/company-article/writing-prizes-and-opportunities