The Writing Contest

The Writing Contest

I sit-wandering through the list of previous contestants' works. It had been my goal for the past three weeks or more to submit a work of my own to this year’s contest. Suddenly, a wave of familiar rushing anxiety hits me like a strong gust of wind. I want to hide and shield myself from this persistent fear. It’s an all too familiar feeling every time I look at the page, something akin to jealousy for the skills I do not have, but nothing like it at the same time. What am I doing trying to apply for a writer’s contest? I’m just a silly kid! My confidence plummets just as I started to believe I can start my day with a proud smile. How I wish my writing was anything comparable to these amazing authors!

The deadline for submitting is closer than ever. My blank page glares back at me and self-doubt gnaws at my chest. How do I make a phenomenal metaphor? Nothing I’ve thought of will hook my readers! Meanwhile, I’m locked in a gruesome battle between my own hesitance and my will to be a writer. It can’t be so bad, I tell myself, it’s just a simple contest. Yet time and time again I find myself overthinking it. I type out a sentence and erase it immediately.

This is supposed to be a fun writing contest. It’s only supposed to be an opportunity to hone my writing skills and see what other writers do. Still, I can’t help but compare myself. For a moment I close my eyes. I know I can do this, so what’s stopping me? I take a deep breath and when my eyes are open again my mindset is renewed with a new sense of clarity that was not there before. I begin to rapidly type an outline onto my page. The ideas slowly but surely begin piecing themselves together into a coherent idea with a meaningful lesson.

As I type the final words onto the page, relief floods through me. I can do it. This little short story is physical proof. Then, I’m faced with the submission form and a new tidal wave of anxiety. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this after all. I scan my story once, twice. It needs to be perfect. This one piece must collectively demonstrate my experience and passion as a writer. It’s reasonable to not win the first time, I must remind myself, but even as I reflect I know I’m not scared of not winning the contest.

My sudden burst of inspiration and confidence is short-lived. I quickly click the “x” in the corner of the tab and release a long held breath. “Maybe next time” is the phrase I’ve grown accustomed to as I visit these contest pages time and time again. What kind of author can’t even take that first step and put their work out there? Still, as I focus on calming my nerves, I can’t help but feel the smallest semblance of pride. Pride for the little piece I wrote and the confidence I had to go one step further this time. Last time, it was brainstorming what I might actually write if I was in the contest. The time before it was skimming over the rules and expectations for writers. Now, I've taken the next step and written something. Next time I might submit. “Baby steps count as long as you are going forward.”