Vol 8. On judging and being judged
Some thoughts literary contests and how to get away from the winner-takes-all mentality.
A few weeks ago, I had the immense honor of judging the annual 3-Minute Fiction Slam of the Monadnock Writers’ Group in Peterborough, New Hampshire. The winner of the event would represent that group at the New Hampshire Writers’ Project state-wide 3-minute fiction slam on November 11.
I was invited to serve as a judge by my friend and mentor Rodger Martin, and my initial reaction was reluctance. I hate the idea of ranking creative work because, quite simply, I hate the suggestion that there are losers in art. If some win, others lose, or so it is all too easy to believe.
Over the years, I have entered (and lost) my fair share of literary contests. Poetry contests. Short story contests. Essay contests. Book contests. You name it, I’ve entered it and lost.
My most memorable loss to date was a poetry slam at the Worcester Public Library. In celebration of National Poetry Month, the librarians asked all the literary organizations in Worcester—of which there are quite a few! We are a city of poets here in the heart of the Commonwealth!—to send a representative to participate in a fun, lighthearted, family-friendly poetry slam. At the time I was the managing editor of The Worcester Review, the annual literary journal of The Worcester County Poetry Association. The previous year, I had gotten a contributor to represent us in the slam, but, for whatever unfathomable reason, this particular year I decided to volunteer myself as tribute.
I was one of the first poets called to the mic, and I performed my poem, Dog Tales. Now, I know poetry slams are usually associated with spitting verses, fast and furious, and some gritty content, but, given the family-friendly library vibes, I felt like this was a good choice for the slam. Also, I had already had plenty of positive feedback about the poem. I had recorded a video of it which was included in the Rabbit Heart Poetry Film Festival, a local poetry-film festival, and I had read it at a few venues to good reception.
I took the mic and performed the poem. I didn’t read it off a piece of paper. I didn’t do a rapid and anxious recitation. I performed it. With feeling. And then the panel of librarians judging me awarded my poem 2 and 3 points out of 10. I was shocked and felt a genuine, deep, public sense of shame. I think in the end my poem was the lowest scoring of the night, even though most of the poems read off of pieces of paper, which is definitely not in keeping with poetry slam conventions. And even though it was all “in good fun” and it “didn’t mean anything,” and even though the pattern in scoring was clear—the judges wanted dark, angry, stereotypical poetry slam shlock—I was mortified. When I got home that night, I may have cried.
Every perceived failure seems to dredge up in the mind a litany of all of one’s perceived failures. Our creative pursuits are so personal—they are direct extensions of our soul—and so when they are judged harshly, it feels like a personal indictment. At least, that’s what happens to me.
And so my ambivalence when I read Rodger’s email is no surprise. That said, I know Rodger dislikes poetry slams for their public judging systems just as I do, and the other judge, Linda Warren, is someone I admire and respect, so, with trepidation, I agreed.
I’m so happy that I did. We heard seven or eight fantastic pieces of fiction, in a variety of genres and styles, but all of them gave us vivid worlds in under three minutes. After we heard each story, Linda or I would share brief, positive comments and would privately record our scores out of 5. The contestants did not see the scores. When scores were tallied, we were to name a winner and two runners-up. The quality of the stories was consistently high and so the only challenge was that we could only name one winner, but I think the format did reduce the feeling that there were losers and winners. Everyone got feedback on what we admired in their stories and no one but else knew the number scores.
Sure, one might walk away from an event like this one thinking, If they liked all that stuff about my story, why didn’t I win? But at least in this context, where every participant heard every story out loud and heard the feedback for each entrant, there was a certain amount of transparency. I hope participants found our feedback interesting and reassuring.
It also probably helps that everyone participating in the event was part of a group that exists to support one another as writers. Most attendees seemed to know at least some, if not all, of the other folks in the room, so there was genuine camaraderie. That is the beauty of a local event—real community, not internet forums of strangers who all too easily forget that the people they are reacting to are in fact humans with feelings.
There are lessons here for how other contests of creative work might want to operate. By incorporating positive feedback for all participants, by having transparency in the process, and by staying local creative competitions can foster writers and artists instead of contributing to a winner-takes-all mentality.
Have you participated in poetry or story slams or other literary competitions? Do you submit to juried exhibits and other art contests? How do you cope with feedback (or lack thereof) from these sorts of events? I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Studio News
While I’ve been wearing my writer hat a bit more lately, I have still been plugging away at my watercolors as well. If you’d like a glimpse into what I’ve been working on, check out this process video of an abstract landscape I recently completed!