Hello all you international people who are spiking my daily page views! I don't think you're supposed to be here, but greetings all the same.
Now then...
A few literary responsibilities have come and gone in the past couple months. I didn't want to write about them until they were either finalized or more established.
I managed to finish the Reflections Contest judging a few days ahead of schedule. When my friend asked me to help with K-2 entries on the day of the deadline, I happened to have a head cold at the time and could barely concentrate on work. So I couldn't help him... which is a shame. I still don't know who won in my middle school level, though. It would be cool to know. Also, I haven't heard anything from my managing editor about whether we can publish some of the best runners up. Some of them were amazing, and I'd love to be able to present them with an amazing consolation prize. "Sorry you didn't win... but this magazine wants to publish you, which is an amazing opportunity for someone your age." My managing editor was excited about the idea, but we had to make sure to do everything legally and submit the idea to the other editors and to PTA. Alas, after I gave my managing editor and friend each other's emails, I no longer received updates about correspondences. I guess that's what happens when you step away from being the middle person.
A few months ago, when I attended a Bridges publishing conference at Chatham, I met a local literary agent. She's part of an agency and specializes in YA literature that is female-centric. I thought it would be an invaluable experience to work for her as a reader--someone who reads solicitations remotely and writes up impressions, and gets paid for it. Alas, the position no longer exists in the publishing world. That job is now done by interns who aren't paid because of the economy still being what it is. So we spoke for a little bit during the conference and she mentioned that she might have internship slots available during the summer. I emailed her earlier this week and received a response yesterday. Alas, there are no slots. She said to contact her again in August for fall positions and to remind her of our exchanges. She seems to be a really nice and fun lady, and I still think it would be great to work for her. Plus, it's remote work with only one day in the office. With my full-time job's flex hours, I could manage this internship well. So now I have to play the waiting game again.
On to better news.... One of my creative nonfiction pieces was accepted for publication! The notification came out of the blue, kinda. I had sent out simultaneous submissions about 100 days ago and after a couple months, you're supposed to either query or consider the submission to be rejected. But no! So that was an awesome discovery.
Showing posts with label judging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label judging. Show all posts
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Judging a National Contest and Finding a Mini-Me
Again, I've encountered a situation that illustrates how hard work and chance encounters can create amazing opportunities.
To explain: I have two long-term friends from elementary school: Jess and Ethan. Jess I've known since Brownies (girl scouts) even though she went to a different elementary and middle school (but the same high school). Ethan I've known since elementary school. We've always been aware of each other, always nice to each other, but more acquaintances than friends. He's the kind of guy whom everyone liked. He always wears a smile. Always.
No, really. Always.
There's even a legend about him: One day around seventh or eighth grade, jock bullies were making fun of him for being so happy and smiling all the time, so they kept trying to find ways to get his smile to falter. Finally, they punched him in the gut. The smile faltered, but never left Ethan's face. His reaction, though one of pain, shocked the bullies and ever since then, they left him alone and showed him some respect.
I'm not sure how much of that is true. I should ask him.
Anyway...
Hard work. In my case, it was building a solid foundation through tiny actions that always, in some way, reinforced my potential and my future. Working for two campus lit mags, interning for a publishing house, interning for a city magazine, earning a BA and MFA in writing, always reading, writing reviews, becoming a legit columnist, becoming an editorial assistant, becoming an unofficial review editor's assistant (that title doesn't exist, but it's basically when I'm doing until Weave can get a full-time review editor). Basically striving to maintain a successful literary career.
Chance encounters. After graduating from high school, Ethan and I lost touch until a few months ago (nearly 9 years later). We accepted friend requests on Facebook, exchanged comments... the typical stuff. Then a couple weeks ago around midnight, he randomly messages me by saying: "I know this is random, but..."
He proceeds to ask me if I'd be willing to judge the middle school level literature entries for the PTA Reflections Contest. For the national round. That alone made me freak out.
The PTA Reflections Program is a national program centered on developing a passion for art--be it traditional art, performance art, literature, or music composition. It's a BIG DEAL, but apparently not all schools participate in it. You win in your school, go on to a regional round, then a state round, and then a national round (if I have that order correct...). Then someone at the Library of Congress (I think) picks the grand prize winner.
I had won first prize for poetry during fourth grade. Just for my school, though. The poem was one I'd worked on for a few weeks and incorporated schools lessons about monarch butterflies into. It apparently made people cry. It wasn't as if I'd intended any emotion. I just wrote about the images in my head, as if the universe told me what to write and I dutifully typed everything down. The only purposeful part of it was the butterflies. So, riding on that win, I entered again that following year and didn't place. It was disappointing, but okay. That first place win the year before was the first time I'd won anything. But, alas, at some point over the subsequent years, we lost the winning poem. We have the trophy, the certificate of achievement, even the folder and the losing poem... It's heartbreaking that I can't remember the poem, there were no copies made, and I'll never see it again. Because, of course, digital copies weren't being archived until a number of years after fourth grade. And, apparently, the PTA is only allowed to keep the poem for three years and then it's scrapped.
It should be known that when we requested a copy during fifth or sixth grade, the organization wouldn't give it to me.... siting something about copyright that even at the time seemed wrong.
Well, Ethan knew about this because we'd talked about it a few weeks before he messaged me, when he posted a picture of all the other category submission CDs. So going off that and what little he knew about my literature life (just that I was into it), he asked me to judge.
It's as if everything came full circle with this contest.
I have 48 entries to go through by April 15. It seems like it should be more (one entry per state per grade), but apparently not all the entries were submitted. Odd... Basically, my top picks will go to that final person for the grand prize, national winner.
When he asked me to help him (because a position opened up that needed to be filled immediately), Ethan had no idea what I do during what is technically my spare time. He was astounded when I told him why April is a busy month for me: reviews, review editing, full-time job, literary event evenings, concerts, Weave submissions, and now contest submissions. Oh, and dancing lessons--that's another new development.
The process itself is intriguing. I have to look for raw talent. There's a rubric, of course--an educational assessment must always have a rubric... Interpretation of the theme, artistic merit and creative merit (which, for literature, is about the same thing anyway), and technical merit. I must be aware that many winners were picked based off context, not technical writing rules. They won't have a firm grasp on grammar, nor will they have a solid understanding and execution of craft. But talent is talent, and if something is freakin' amazing, then it doesn't matter how old that kid is. But because of the technical merit, the delivery can't be completely atrocious.
It is very interesting to hop between Weave submissions (wherein I'm looking for the best of the best) to contest submissions (wherein "best of the best" is a lot more lenient but still applicable.)
While going through submissions, I've already found a poem that blew me away and thus received a perfect score. And I found a different entrant, a girl, who's basically a mini-me. Her poem is the exact kind that I used to write in high school, when I'd sit at a computer during free time in a physics lab and let the universe tell me what to write. Lots of inspirational, abstract, and broad ideas. Corny. Amateurish. Not much thought involved. I made dozens upon dozens of those poems. And this girl wrote something that fits into that collection.
She won't win, but I posted on FB about how I want to hug her and provide reassuring words:
To explain: I have two long-term friends from elementary school: Jess and Ethan. Jess I've known since Brownies (girl scouts) even though she went to a different elementary and middle school (but the same high school). Ethan I've known since elementary school. We've always been aware of each other, always nice to each other, but more acquaintances than friends. He's the kind of guy whom everyone liked. He always wears a smile. Always.
No, really. Always.
There's even a legend about him: One day around seventh or eighth grade, jock bullies were making fun of him for being so happy and smiling all the time, so they kept trying to find ways to get his smile to falter. Finally, they punched him in the gut. The smile faltered, but never left Ethan's face. His reaction, though one of pain, shocked the bullies and ever since then, they left him alone and showed him some respect.
I'm not sure how much of that is true. I should ask him.
Anyway...
Hard work. In my case, it was building a solid foundation through tiny actions that always, in some way, reinforced my potential and my future. Working for two campus lit mags, interning for a publishing house, interning for a city magazine, earning a BA and MFA in writing, always reading, writing reviews, becoming a legit columnist, becoming an editorial assistant, becoming an unofficial review editor's assistant (that title doesn't exist, but it's basically when I'm doing until Weave can get a full-time review editor). Basically striving to maintain a successful literary career.
Chance encounters. After graduating from high school, Ethan and I lost touch until a few months ago (nearly 9 years later). We accepted friend requests on Facebook, exchanged comments... the typical stuff. Then a couple weeks ago around midnight, he randomly messages me by saying: "I know this is random, but..."
He proceeds to ask me if I'd be willing to judge the middle school level literature entries for the PTA Reflections Contest. For the national round. That alone made me freak out.
The PTA Reflections Program is a national program centered on developing a passion for art--be it traditional art, performance art, literature, or music composition. It's a BIG DEAL, but apparently not all schools participate in it. You win in your school, go on to a regional round, then a state round, and then a national round (if I have that order correct...). Then someone at the Library of Congress (I think) picks the grand prize winner.
I had won first prize for poetry during fourth grade. Just for my school, though. The poem was one I'd worked on for a few weeks and incorporated schools lessons about monarch butterflies into. It apparently made people cry. It wasn't as if I'd intended any emotion. I just wrote about the images in my head, as if the universe told me what to write and I dutifully typed everything down. The only purposeful part of it was the butterflies. So, riding on that win, I entered again that following year and didn't place. It was disappointing, but okay. That first place win the year before was the first time I'd won anything. But, alas, at some point over the subsequent years, we lost the winning poem. We have the trophy, the certificate of achievement, even the folder and the losing poem... It's heartbreaking that I can't remember the poem, there were no copies made, and I'll never see it again. Because, of course, digital copies weren't being archived until a number of years after fourth grade. And, apparently, the PTA is only allowed to keep the poem for three years and then it's scrapped.
It should be known that when we requested a copy during fifth or sixth grade, the organization wouldn't give it to me.... siting something about copyright that even at the time seemed wrong.
Well, Ethan knew about this because we'd talked about it a few weeks before he messaged me, when he posted a picture of all the other category submission CDs. So going off that and what little he knew about my literature life (just that I was into it), he asked me to judge.
It's as if everything came full circle with this contest.
I have 48 entries to go through by April 15. It seems like it should be more (one entry per state per grade), but apparently not all the entries were submitted. Odd... Basically, my top picks will go to that final person for the grand prize, national winner.
When he asked me to help him (because a position opened up that needed to be filled immediately), Ethan had no idea what I do during what is technically my spare time. He was astounded when I told him why April is a busy month for me: reviews, review editing, full-time job, literary event evenings, concerts, Weave submissions, and now contest submissions. Oh, and dancing lessons--that's another new development.
The process itself is intriguing. I have to look for raw talent. There's a rubric, of course--an educational assessment must always have a rubric... Interpretation of the theme, artistic merit and creative merit (which, for literature, is about the same thing anyway), and technical merit. I must be aware that many winners were picked based off context, not technical writing rules. They won't have a firm grasp on grammar, nor will they have a solid understanding and execution of craft. But talent is talent, and if something is freakin' amazing, then it doesn't matter how old that kid is. But because of the technical merit, the delivery can't be completely atrocious.
It is very interesting to hop between Weave submissions (wherein I'm looking for the best of the best) to contest submissions (wherein "best of the best" is a lot more lenient but still applicable.)
While going through submissions, I've already found a poem that blew me away and thus received a perfect score. And I found a different entrant, a girl, who's basically a mini-me. Her poem is the exact kind that I used to write in high school, when I'd sit at a computer during free time in a physics lab and let the universe tell me what to write. Lots of inspirational, abstract, and broad ideas. Corny. Amateurish. Not much thought involved. I made dozens upon dozens of those poems. And this girl wrote something that fits into that collection.
She won't win, but I posted on FB about how I want to hug her and provide reassuring words:
- Keep writing.
- You'll be great one day.
- Don't give up.
- I was just like you once.
Well, Ethan saw that post and told me that he's planning to make a blog that enables judges to send messages to the students who submitted. And yes, it would be awesome to write that girl an official message of support and reassurance.
So that's my big update of the month. I'm still in shock that it's happening.
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