Making a writing prize shortlist but not winning

Coping with the highs and crushing lows of the writing life

The email dropped into my inbox on Tuesday morning a few weeks ago.

It was from the organisers of a writing prize I’d entered last year. ‘Congratulations,’ they said. ‘You’ve made the shortlist.’

It came as a complete surprise. It’d been so long since I entered, I presumed I’d been unsuccessful. On the spreadsheet I use to keep track of my submissions, I’d already turned it red and moved on.

Then along came the email, reigniting all the hopes and what ifs I’d had when I entered. What if I won? What if…

It was a well-respected award, providing funding, training and support that would help me move forward much faster in my writing career.

I read the email and read it again. I did a quick internet search to make sure it wasn’t a hoax. But no, they were exactly who they said they were.

I’d made a shortlist.

Woohoo!

To move forward to the next stage, I had to submit some information and explain how I would spend the funding.

I replied immediately, saying how I’d use the money to pay for the services of an editor. When it comes to putting a book together, it’s always a good idea to call in the professionals.  

I sent the email and waited. They got back to me, saying they would be in touch soon.

Two weeks passed. Two long weeks of me checking my emails every few minutes to see if they’d messaged.

Having made the longlist for Yorkshire Emerging Writer 2023, I’d told myself that should I ever be listed for anything ever again, I would remain cool and calm. I would not let thoughts of winning consume my life. I would carry on as normal. And I most definitely would not start planning who’d play the leading man should my romcom be made into a film (Ryan Gosling, if you’re wondering).

Unfortunately, when writing means so much to me, that is easier said than done. Just like last time, I ended up being in a state of limbo, unable to concentrate on my writing in progress until I knew the outcome.

The organisers contacted me on Wednesday, two weeks and a day since the first email.

Any email beginning with the word ‘unfortunately’ was not going to be good news.

‘Unfortunately, you haven’t made it. But well done for being on the list. We really enjoyed reading your application and your books and please apply again as you were so close.’

I closed the email and took a deep breath, trying to be cool, calm and rational about it. But there was no stopping the tears.

I sat at my desk and sobbed. I’d missed out. Another amazing opportunity was passing me by.

I went downstairs and made a cup of tea, because life always seems better with a brew. After being so excited and anxious about the outcome for two weeks, now that I knew, I felt completely flat, as if someone had steamrollered me.

The results got me at a fragile time. I was already tired, emotional and hormonal, and now I was tried, emotional, hormonal and a failure.

My thoughts were only negative. I’m not good enough. My writing is not good enough. Why am I even bothering?

I imagined the panel, sitting down with my books, reading my writing, and dismissing my work. I pictured them scrawling red pen over my application.

Must try harder.

I doubt myself and worry about my words more than most, so in my fragile state, this latest rejection seemed like a reinforcement of all my doubts and fears.

‘I wish I’d not made the list,’ I told Chris. ‘All it’s done is get my hopes up, then crushed them completely.’

I didn’t mean it, though. When I thought of all the times, I’ve entered prizes and not got anywhere. Not heard anything. That’s also difficult to take.

Being shortlisted was an improvement. I just had to get better at managing my emotions because the highs and lows might be hard to cope with, but they are, inevitably, part of the process.

Over the next few days dealing with the disappointment, I went through stages of being upset, then angry at myself and the organisers and the world, and then, finally, acceptance.

As luck would have it, Chris and I had already booked some time off together on the Thursday and Friday, so we headed to Yorkshire Sculpture Park.

Visiting Yorkshire Sculpture Park

Being outside, walking around the park and seeing the sculptures, gave me the time and space to process the disappointment and take the edge of the sting. By the time we headed to the café for lunch, I was seeing the rejection differently.

‘I know it’s not personal,’ I said as we sat down. ‘I know they have criteria and I’m probably not as far ahead as other writers.’

Chris listened and nodded.

‘And they must have liked my writing to shortlist me.’ I took a deep breath. ‘It’s just hard…when writing means so much to me.’

My eyes started filling up and soon I was weeping into my fish butty, which is the best comfort food in the world, and was even more comforting because it came with chips.

Chris passed me a napkin.

Embarrassed at crying in public, I dabbed at my eyes and tucked into my lunch. And soon felt better.

The next day, we had a day at Wentworth Woodhouse, a stately home in Rotherham, followed by an afternoon at the cinema. For obvious reasons, we picked a comedy.

I didn’t cry once.

By the weekend, I was much more positive, not back to normal but getting there, and certainly upbeat enough to reply to the award organisers.

Thank you for letting me know. Thank you for the opportunity. It’s great that you offer this support to the writing community.

Had I replied earlier in the week, there’s a chance I might have written.

Go f*** yourselves, you f******

But I’m nothing if not polite.

I started to think, what’s next?

Progress might be slower without the opportunity, but I could still make it happen. I’d resume work on my books and find a way to get them out into the world. The funding would have been nice, but I could save up and pay for an editor.

And then, just like that, a new opportunity landed in my inbox, reigniting my hopes. This could be the break. This could be my chance. And I knew, no matter what, that I would keep going.

I grabbed my laptop, opened my spreadsheet listing my submissions, and added the new opportunity. While I was at it, I turned the award I had been shortlisted for to green (for successful) because I had made a shortlist and that, I’d realised, was something to celebrate.

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