Writing Contests: The Joy, the Pain

A writing contest is a little like passing in an assignment at school, hoping that you get an A.

Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t. And that’s okay most of the time.

But to intentionally enter a writing contest, to pay a fee to compete with others for the top prize is a little more nerve-wracking and personal.

I have experienced both the joy and pain of the competition this spring.

In 2011, I had over 50 articles published, most of them news stories, but also book reviews, business profiles, personal essays, and this blog. They weren’t all great; sometimes the constraints of research to deadline made for unforeseen challenges and not necessarily exemplary writing. Sometimes the stories were slightly dull to begin with, and I was hard-pressed to breathe some life into them. But I also produced some good articles, and had good feedback from my editors and readers.

I want to grow as a writer, and for 2012 I resolved to enter my work in  a writing contest. So I did. I entered seven different articles in seven different categories in the Word Guild’s Canadian Christian Writing Awards.  I paid the money. I waited.

A few weeks later, I was thrilled to learn that I have been shortlisted in the Blog category, for my posts “Mudalicious” and “Quilt Therapy”.

I was so thrilled, I forgot that in this contest, writers get feedback for their submissions.

And so a few more weeks passed.

Then I got an email with 6 attachments, all individual comments from judges for each article that didn’t get shortlisted. There was more pain than joy here.

Some of the reviews of my articles were strongly worded- maybe the judge was tired of reading crappy entries and mine was one of them. With some I barely made a passing grade. Ouch. These articles had all been published, and I had been paid for them, and now I was told that they are crummy. That’s hard to hear. It stings.

Thankfully, a few of the critiques I received were very positive, very encouraging and motivating. Phew! They are the wind behind me, gently pushing me forward.

Now that I have had more time to read the articles, judges’ comments, and ponder what I could have improved on, I can see their points. Some of them I even agree with. In fact, I think I can say that I agree with all of the critiques except one of them, which I could have a good debate about.

I also received good advice like “Take a grammar course”, which I definitely know I need.

So if you want to ramp up your writing to the next level, try getting a critique. Even better, enter a contest. Listen to the judges, but listen to your heart too, because it is still YOUR writing after all! Even if you don’t get an A or you don’t become a finalist, you will have learned something that will help improve your writing.

Congratulations to all my fellow finalists in the Canadian Christian Writing Awards!

Wordless Wednesday: Holland, Michigan

Eating Stale Cookies and Other Fun

From the outside, my childhood may appear to have been quiet, boring even. Born to Dutch immigrant parents, I went to church every Sunday (sometimes twice), and often during the week for other programs  or events. The Calvinistic work ethic was alive and well in our home, and money was handled frugally.

But that doesn’t mean we didn’t have fun!

Cookies were a big part of my first ten years. Yes, my mother baked cookies- sometimes. But she didn’t really need to, because my father was a cookie salesman. (If my husband sold cookies, I don’t think I would bake them either.)

Dad drove a van all over Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, selling cookies to grocery stores, small gas bars, and even to the ubiquitous Canadian coffee shops named for a hockey player.

He couldn’t possibly contain all those cookies in one van load, so we always had a store of them in the garage.

Biweekly, a big rig from Ontario would arrive at our rural Nova Scotia home to unload the next shipment. There was always lots of excitement in our house the day the truck was coming! (It may even have influenced the course of my brother’s life who is now an Operations Manager for a large trucking firm in British Columbia…)

The Cookie Truck! Can anyone guess what year this is?

We would wait on the lawn while the truck backed up slowly to the garage. We would watch while the cases of cookies slide down the steel rollers. We thought it was cool that Dad could carry so many cartons at once. We were never allowed to carry more than two at a time- a dropped box meant lost inventory. We loved to watch the garage fill up again, to listen to the talk of the driver and sometimes his driver-in-training, to see what kinds of cookies we would get. Sometimes they would unload in pouring rain. I remember the wet cardboard smell to this day.

My brothers by the Cookie Truck many moons ago. Aren’t they cute?

The empty boxes were great fun too. Being Dutch (and smart), Dad didn’t throw empty boxes out, but rather flattened and stacked them. They had many uses, such as a sort of mat that Dad could lay on while changing the oil in the vehicles.

Eventually, we moved to a new home, and most of our belongings went into cookie boxes. Once empty, the boxes still didn’t get thrown out.

Instead, my brothers and I folded them back up into empty cubes, and made elaborate forts and tunnels out of them in the vacant hay mow of our old barn. We put flattened boxes on the floor so our knees wouldn’t get sore. We spent hours up there being active and creative. And getting hungry.

After Christmas, Dad would have to remove all the stale gingerbread men, and the red & green wreath cookies from the shelves. He brought them back home. He may have received credit for them from the company, or it may have been a loss he had to swallow. Whatever the case, they made a convenient snack, sitting unattended in the barn.

The problem was, we would always get caught. The coloured sugar would stain our mouths an unnatural green or a Rudolph red. Somehow this never got past Mom! Which wasn’t great before supper. But the scolding we may have received never really diminished our fun, and more cookies would be eaten again. Maybe Mom didn’t really mind either- hungry kids are not usually happy kids, and besides she didn’t have to bake!

Post-holiday cookies made their way into the house too, and  were not really stale at first. You would think I would have gotten sick of them, but I haven’t. When given the choice in a store today, I often choose the very same ones I ate in my childhood. And often, I smile.

Wordless Wednesday: Orchid

 

 

 

In Praise of the Working Man

It has been quite the winter- rain, ice, snow, and every mixture thereof. Mild and wet, and bitterly cold. A time of year when it is a pleasure to have adequate shelter.

When driving home the other day, I had to turn around because a large limb had fallen under the weight of ice and snow. A crew of men was working diligently with chainsaws to clean up the street.

Just around the corner, another road was blocked. This time, men were digging a trench that was full of water. It looked like a water pipe had burst in the freezing cold. The breath of the men and the water in the trench formed a mist around them. It was messy, sloppy work. Backhoes and shovels were in full demand. No one was standing around.

I was grateful to be driving in my comfy, warm vehicle. And I silently said thanks for these hardworking men. For when I started to think about it, men like these have built and maintain our country to this day. Our whole infrastructure of highways and bridges, transportation and shipping, homes and offices have been primarily been accomplished by the sweat and strength of working men.

So, men, this post is in honour of you! Thanks for all you do, and for making our land such a great place to live! We appreciate it more than you know…

Here’s a great song from Canadian Country Music Award winner, Johnny Reid:

 

Wordless Wednesday: January Weather

 

 

Crocheting Dutch Doilies

Crocheting with my grandmother, “Oma” in the winter is a warm memory from my first year of marriage. I had moved far away from friends to be with my husband, and was admittedly a little lonely (although I am not sure I admitted it at the time).

It just so happened that my widowed grandmother lived across the street from me, and I suspected she was lonely too. So about once a week in the evening, I would go visit. We would sit together, have tea, and talk about crocheting, needlepoint, and other handiwork. She could still make the intricate, cotton thread doilies at her age, from memory.

This doily was a wedding gift from my husband's Oma. She was in her 90s when she made it.

She would also talk to me about her teen years in Holland, and about marriage. She would sometimes give me advice, but I think she mostly listened. She was a good soul, and I felt very safe with her. I felt like I could tell her anything, and that she wouldn’t think less of me for it. I really don’t know how much I did share with her, but maybe she saw through me anyway. And that was okay.

Just being in her presence, especially by myself with no other family members present, was a blessing. It was like a little oasis. I always left her place happy, with songs in my heart.

Not once when I phoned her to ask if I could visit did she say no. True hospitality. I am thankful that I had a caring Oma. I am glad that I got to know her a little better on my own terms, before her decline.

She gave me the gift of herself, and I am grateful.

January’s Jigsaw

I got a jigsaw puzzle tradition from my mom. And there has rarely been a year since I lived on my own when I have not followed the tradition.

Every year, after the Christmas decorations are put away, when it is cold and snowy and I’d rather be by the fire, when the sunshine beams in the windows brilliantly, I make a new jigsaw puzzle.

First, I pick out a puzzle with a good image that won’t irritate me when the puzzle-piecing gets hard. Like this:

Then I choose a nice bright place to work in natural light. Usually that means the kitchen table, but given the table’s constant use, it is not always the best pick. (And since I have children, you will notice that the natural light in this photo has long since disappeared). I have to adapt to working on a large piece of cardboard or wood.

I pick out all the edge pieces, like this:

And then I randomly choose a colour or zone of the puzzle to work on next. Right now, it is the sky:

 

 

 

 

 

 

By now, I have most of the pieces sorted according to colour or zone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I continue on this way, picking out areas, placing pieces, until I am all done! This particular puzzle, although only 500 pieces has turned out to be rather challenging because some of the pieces have the exact same cut and will fit in more than one spot. The colour variations and patterns then become the key thing to look at.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How satisfying it is to place the last piece! (Sorry, I just started this one, so no pic).

I have done various things with completed puzzles. Sometimes I break it all up in  haste, and put it in a bag for Goodwill because it was such a miserable thing (think not-interlocking-pieces-that-fall-apart-whenever-you-look-at-them) to work on.

Other times, I put them back in the box for another time. I made a Norman Rockwell puzzle three times, I think. Then I gave it away to another puzzler. I couldn’t handle making it again, great as it was.

Another thing I have done is glue the completed puzzle together and frame it. Then they have memories to go with it. This puzzle was given to me from a dear friend in university. And it was framed by the handyman whom I house-sat for when they were down south in weather like this. It has been on one wall or another for two decades:

The sunflower puzzle was incredibly challenging, and since I am not an expert puzzler, my Mom and brother finished it for me. And my Dad framed it, so I guess you could say it was a family affair!

Here is a close-up of it. Don’t you just love it? It was also a gift…

So, I’m not sure what I’ll do with “Family Picnic” yet, whether it will go back in the box or not, but so far my January jigsaw has been as enjoyable as ever!

Sounds of Grace

Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Sound… recently a friend asked on Facebook, “What does Grace sound like?” While there were some cute comments like “I know a few girls named Grace, and they all sound nice”, this question really got me thinking.

It’s one of those phrases that I have heard a million times and never put much thought into.

I always took the phrase to mean that the composer John Newton thought the idea of grace sounded amazing. Which is true. Grace is amazing. Being gracious is a desirable trait that is not commonly seen. When is the last time you described a person as being gracious?

“Grace”, according to an online dictionary  is “elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion, or action”. Wow! That could be a lot of things!

And whether we acknowledge it or not, I think we have all experienced grace already in 2012. Okay, maybe you didn’t see very much of it while Christmas shopping, but grace is all around every day, if we will open our eyes and hearts to see it.

Bono of U2 sings “Blessings not just for the ones who kneel, luckily” in the song City of Blinding Lights. That sounds like grace to me.

Read it again.

Blessings not just for the ones who kneel…

But to persist, and to ask as a child, what does grace sound like?

Think about it.

It could be the sound of rain on dry ground…

the sound of waves on the beach…

the sound of a mother’s lullaby

or children happily playing.

It could be gentle words in the face of anger…

a kind voice when you are lost…

or the sound of a hug when you are heartbroken.

Can you hear it? The sounds of grace? Tell me what you hear…

A Look Back, and Ahead

In 2011, I had 52 articles published (mostly news related), and made 39 blog posts. So that is one article a week, and almost that much for blog posts. Thanks to everyone for the encouragement and challenge along the way!

I am looking forward to two writing conferences in 2012, and I hope I can maintain and even better my record from last year. I would like to have more personal essays published, work on a novel, and just get better as a writer.

And I would love to have a new camera and improve my photography skills.

What are your (writing) goals for 2012?