The best moments of my writing 'career'
This is it. Golden time. The magic window. The period of infinite possibilities.
The gap of time between entering a writing competition and finding out the results of said competition are the best moments in my writing career.
I might have won.
This period of stasis between doing the work, entering and the results being published is one moment where self-doubt goes missing for a while. It’s rather like my favourite daydream, in which I plan my first meeting with my new agent: it’s over lunch, somewhere fancy, I wear something smart, (but not too smart) there is wine.
Success is almost tangible.
This delicious time is mainly spent, as the announcement date approaches, imagining the impact it might have on my life, and checking my inbox on an hourly basis. Has the news come? I then check my junk mail to make sure that I haven’t just missed an email - and find out I have missed an email about several billion dollars that I have now acquired which is “100^% genuine and hitch free from all facets" (sic) and commiserate with poor old Alisa (not her real name) who would love to find a good man but “I a little shy as I’am write to you first”.
Perhaps I've just missed the announcement?
I check the competition Twitter feed continuously to see whether the results are out and I just haven’t heard that I’ve won or there’s been some major clerical error and they’re on the hunt for me, the mysterious genius playwright (could happen - perhaps I should write a play about it).
But in the end the news comes out.
The email comes. Ignorance was bliss. I haven’t won. I haven't made the long list. They liked it but it just wasn’t for them. Or just ‘Thank you but you haven’t made it this time’. A failure added to my long list. Never mind I knew it wasn't good anyway. I just hoped it would be.
I pick myself and my pen up.
I’d better enter another competition. I channel Kevin Costner, failure guru: “I’ve always felt failure was a completely underrated experience”.
I should just enter more competitions.