My good friend Heather recently finaled in the Four Seasons contest, meaning that her submission is going to be read by an editor at Harlequin — hooray! Getting a partial read by an editor is a prize in and of itself, potentially leading to her manuscript being published and fame and fortune and all the other good things that follow. I’m so excited for her I can barely contain it. I’m sure she’s going to be published this year - she’s been working hard and her story’s great, so it only follows that the World Must Know. And heap praise and cash upon her, of course.

I myself had not entered any contests, feeling totally unable to put my manuscript out there for review - but Heather has inspired me. Contests, here I come! Yesterday I saw an opportunity to submit to the Central Ohio Fiction Writers’ “Ignite the Flame” contest, so I dived in and sent off my first 10+ pages.

And I felt good. I felt damned good. I went to sleep happy and optimistic and filled with excitement about all the other contests I’d wake up this morning and enter.

Yikes.

Can there be anything more depressing than re-reading your work the morning after you’ve sent off multiple printed hard copies to a contest? What was I thinking? The urge to revise is overpowering. The urge to call up the nice contest ladies and tell them to toss the envelope unopened on a bonfire dedicated to the Goddess of Lousy Prose comes in a close second.

I suppress both urges by writing a blog post, but this is just putting off the inevitable. I’m going to have to send this in again and again! I’m going to be rejected, again and again!

Rejection’s not a puppy. I don’t think it’s cute and I do feel the urge to kick it.