A Judge With Imposter Syndrome

Here's the article I wrote for Prof Writing Academy (Faber Writing Academy) about about how judging competitions improved my writing.

https://www.profwritingacademy.com/how-judging-competitons-changed-my-writing

Image: not my writing room.

So why was this a turning point for me, and why did it give me imposter syndrome?

The article covers the highs of winning a prestigious, international competition, and the follow-up lows when my novel was unanimously rejected by the agents I queried. I also admit that I became a little addicted to the competitions, chasing the success and recognition again, and without the wins, this left me more frustrated. It seemed like I had two options: sit, write, and be satisfied (never!) or try a different tact: judging a competition instead of entering one.

I read over a thousand stories, and some of them were breath-taking. There's a handful I still think about. I could be out walking the dog or standing in the supermarket queue, and I remember about the fishing trip or the evangelical hysteria or the girl crying in the bathroom, and I feel lucky to be one of the first readers of what I'm sure will become widely read and loved stories. Some of them were so good it made me question my position as judge. If I couldn't write that, how can I judge it? I started wondering if I had won through pure fluke. Of course, the more reasonable side of my brain

But I also developed a heightened sense of smell; the stink of an overwritten paragraph, the stench of a tell rather than show, a lazy typo. It sounds mean, I know. I'm guilty of the aforementioned myself. However, being positioned as the judge of these stories helped create an objective distance, and truly appreciate what I previously felt was over-repeated yet wise advice:

l e s s is m o r e

s h o w not t e l l

Now I feel I fully understand these. I've been under the bonnet, as it were.

But on reflection, I also discovered something else. Some stories were beautifully written; clear prose that you could through, charming characters, lush settings; as pieces of craft, containing literary devices, they were almost flawless. Yet I found myself disengaging.

And then I asked why. In some, there was something rather flat about the narrative voice. In others, they lacked emotional depth. And in many, the prose flowed smoothly but they just weren't moving, or memorable, because the themes weren't fully realised, the characters a bit 2D. I also appreciated that a hook, an intriguing set-up, was more powerful than an inventive plot.

Then I thought back to my less successful short stories, the ones that had been short listed, or simply rejected, with a new critical lense. It felt a bit like inviting someone into your house and noticing, for the first time, your own dusty mantlepiece and dehydrated potted plants. I saw my mistakes; I even felt a bit of shame. One story had a good character, but she didn't really do much, and she wasn't challenged or didn't change, she just thought some thoughts in a room. In another, the theme was too force-fed, and in another, there was way too much plot, too many location changes. So now I'm asking myself, what do I really want to say? What emotional truths do I want to explore? Whose voice and viewpoint is guiding the story? These more subtle questions, alongside my golden rules, are my new way forward. And no more competitions. Not until I really feel I have something special. Focus on the craft, on the enjoyment of writing, and hopefully the rest will flow!