As an unpublished writer, I enter as many writers’ contests as I can, partly to gain more experience in different genres and styles, and partly to gain exposure for my work and my name. The more diverse the markets, the more interesting they are to attack, and contests provide not just an opportunity to write “for someone”, but varied stimulation as well.

I came across a contest inviting short stories for a lesbian and gay cultural festival. Being heterosexual myself, I called to find out if there was a criteria for the entrants to be gay and was told that no, the contest was open to any interested participants.

Pleased to be able to offer my writing to what amounts to a minority group of the community, I tapped away at my keyboard and came up with a story that I was thrilled to send off to the competition. Lo and behold! I won third prize! Ok, so the prize was only a forty dollar book voucher and a certificate, but the acknowledgment that my work was worthy of a prize was wonderful validation of my talent. Not to mention, that I had stepped out of my comfort zone and written something about which I personally, know very little… and it worked!

I was invited, along with the other prizewinners to read my story to an audience, at the festival, which was held interstate. I considered it to be a fantastic opportunity, one which might present me with the chance to become acquainted with members of the writing community, and perhaps, I thought, there may even be some talent scouts there, looking in on the festival to see if there were any up and coming authors that they might like to talk to.

How wrong I was! The expected audience of about one hundred didn’t materialize. I could have counted the number of people sitting in the “audience” on my fingers and toes, but it was far easier to envisage an ocean of people hanging on to my every word, than to look out over a puddle of festival-weary, hung-over men and women and try to impress them with my little third place getter.

Still, I read like I was Tony Robbins at a motivational seminar, expecting that, at the end, I would be pounced upon by people eager to talk to me about my writing style and the inspiration for my story, and accosted by a publisher who couldn’t wait to see what else I might have to offer. None of this happened. And worse … the woman who presided over the readings, and who is a creative writing teacher at a university, and who gushed about the quality of the work that had been presented at the readings … refused my business card!

I had prepared copies of the synopsis of my novel, introductory letters, business cards featuring a photo of myself and the web addresses of my two websites, and had them all with me to offer to anyone who was interested. This woman, whose job it is to encourage writers, and to teach them about the business of becoming published, actually refused my business card, and screwed her nose up at my synopsis! I was not only flushed in the face at the embarrassment of rejection, but a choking anger built in my throat, that she could so blatantly refuse my attempt to approach her.

Perhaps I had stood on some toes, a heterosexual woman appearing at a lesbian and gay festival, and winning a prize into the bargain. Perhaps the hot sun had gotten to her and all she wanted was a cold drink and a sit down. Perhaps she thought I was asking for a favor. All I wanted was to make my trip worthwhile. I did, after all, pay the entire cost of my flights, my accommodation and so on. I simply thought I could take advantage of the opportunity, considering the artistic environment in which I believed myself to be … but I left the grounds of the festival deflated and with a sour taste in my mouth.

Fortunately, the city where the festival was held is surrounded by a world famous wine producing region so the next day, I set off on a tour of the district, soothing my rejection with some of the country’s most prized vintages. So inspired was I by the scenery, the glorious weather and the liquid offerings, that I wrote an article upon my return to my hotel, and submitted it to several magazines when I arrived home. I had felt like a rider thrown from a horse, winded and hurt, who had climbed back on and galloped toward the next obstacle in a steeplechase.

To my delight, my article was picked up by a beautiful, glossy wine publication and turned into a stunning two page spread… and I received $400!

Rejection is far worse face to face than it is by email, and after the initial sharp intake of breath, I settled into a realization that I am no queen of the literary arts, at least not yet, and I that I have some distance to travel before I can start patting myself on the back for my successes.

My message is that just as wine may suit some and water may suit others, it is similar with writing. You can’t take it for granted that everyone is going to think your work is as wonderful as you do, or that others seem to. But you can and must continue writing, every single day, and write what you write best rather than trying to analyze what you think is expected of you.

Your integrity and that of your work will be obvious and to top it all off, you will find it easier to create something if your heart is in it.