Competitions, Publications and Performances

While I can't be certain as to how my employment status will look for the coming months (aside from the weekend job in the bookshop!), it seems that I'm feeling a bit more prepared, really and truly, for writing competitions, for publications, and for performances. I have tended in the past to avoid them, partially out of a lack of time to consider themed-stories or poems due to college assignments, partially out of fear of being judged.

The first is much easier to get past. After this month, I will have nothing more to do for college. Until such a time that I can actually afford to do a Masters programme, I won't have any such assignments to hand in anymore. I'll have, at the least, evenings to myself. With these evenings, I'll finally have the time to consider submitting something. Within a group I run on Facebook, I've been gathering a little list of publications to consider submitting to. Even just having the list is a comfort.

It's not just short stories and poetry, though. I've been thinking it through, more and more over the last few years, and I'm getting to the point of being mentally and emotionally ready to submit to a publishing house. I've done it once in the past, when I was fifteen, and there was a distinct problem with that: I convinced myself that the book was ready, when I wasn't even at that point myself. (The book also needed a lot more editing than it had gone through. A LOT. I won't deny that at all.)

Now, though, I feel ready. I feel like I can actually submit a book - and I know which one - for publication. I won't be talking about that much from here on out until such a time that I actually have good news to share, though. Aside from the book still needing some work, I don't want anybody getting the impression that it's not worth publishing because one editor or agent didn't consider it suitable enough.

It's all part of one big movement for myself. I've never felt ready for somthing like this like I have now. I'm even considering competitions that have an entry fee, if I can write something that I think is suitable. That's a large step for me. I don't often put money on the line for anything. I'm not a gambler. I never really have been. Putting my money on the line for a competition is going beyond my comfort zone. I guess I never really trusted myself before now.

That's where we meet the fear of judgement.

I don't think I'm alone in that. It's not quite a lack of confidence in my ability (that's partially why I avoid submitting much, but I've managed to overcome that on a few occasions for publication purposes). I think it has more to do with the person on the other end of the submission process, knowing who will be reading what. That's put me off for a long time.

Then I entered the Heart in Mouth competition, on a whim, and that actually turned out okay.

Making that shortlist was a major deal for me. It gave me some confidence in myself. It took away some of the fear of submitting short stories and poetry to competitions and magazines. There are a lot of opportunities out there for someone to submit something, especially if they write across several different forms of writing like I do.

As for performance... I think the anxiety has gone out of it. Having gotten on stage both for fun and for the competition, I've gotten a bit more comfortable doing it. I know I still have a long way to go - it's still beyond my comfort zone - but I know what I need to do to help myself improve. It'll be a while before I attempt actually getting listed as performing - the open mic will do, thank you.

So, there we have it. I'm much less scared now than I was even this time last year. I can't say how well I'll do in all of this, but it's a good first step to get myself emotionally ready for this. The writing will come a bit more naturally, I think.

Heart in my Mouth

Today, the final day of the Heart in Mouth Audio Poetry competition took me out to Swords (immediately after a four hour shift in work). In the Council Chambers, a room that looked way too official for me to enter in Converse and wearing (hidden under my shirt) a Giant Squid of Anger t-shirt. At around four, the wonderful duo of Dave Lordan and Karl Parkinson led some of the shortlisted poets in the competition (including yours truly) and some others that found their way into the workshop (still figuring that one out).

What did I learn? Specifically, that's too much information for a post like this. However, they covered a lot through the collected weaknesses of the group, from stance on stage, volume, pace and confidence. In a single reading (of Bottom of the Bottle), I found some extra confidence for later in the evening. But we'll get to that later.

The workshop, and the food to follow, allowed me to meet some of the other shortlisted poets, people from all walks of life. Long conversations were had about poetry and how long we've been writing and how diverse the group seemed to be. Dave and Karl got involved in the conversations (and one with the latter and a particularly vocal member of the group will stick with me!) and everyone seemed to find someone to talk to, food to eat, and a ridiculous amount of tea.

It was almost a bad idea. Almost.

Right before we began the showcase, the rest of the shortlisted poets who would be attending showed up, along with a couple of the country's finest performance poets. They missed the food, but they were still there to read.

In the end, Dave decided it would be fun to seat us in the centre of the room, surrounded by the audience, all of us in seats that we could get used to, but probably shouldn't. They were just too comfortable, and very official. Nothing like an official chair, is there?

One by one, and counter-clockwise (because anything with a counter is good, right?), we stood at what could be considered the top of the (circular) room, and read our entries. We were a nervous bunch, by and large, some of us less experienced than others, but I really think we did a good job, put on a good show, and did ourselves proud. I found a strange confidence while reading, though I became aware of my pace (too quick) and my eyes (not looking at the audience enough). I think I did alright, though, and a couple of the more experienced poets (including the eventual winner) complimented me on the poem.

So, no, I didn't win. But I didn't really think I might after hearing some of the others. I did manage to sit between the winner and one of the two runners-up, though. (It's possible they meant to sit beside each other and I got in the way, but I didn't get in the way of their conversations during the break. They were fun to listen to!)

It as a great day, really and truly, and aside from having to get a taxi home (my bank account hurts...), I wouldn't have changed a thing about it. I wouldn't even name-drop Balor Reborn to people. (Time and a place, right?) Though, maybe, I might try get more sleep the night before.