Not Another Award-Winning Poet
On narcissism, competition, and false narratives
You have not been selected for the [redacted] Prize longlist this time. We know this is disappointing news, and sincerely hope you are not too discouraged.
I’ve been getting emails like this for five years now, and it’s never become less tiresome. I question myself about what I would do if I was to win a competition. Does it really change anything? I don’t think so, but if there is one thing for certain, it’s that I would never describe myself as an award winning writer/poet. The reason for this is because winning awards doesn’t mean anything in the end, and I don’t believe I’m better than anyone.
It seems that the entire industry is geared towards trophies and accolades—the ultimate symbol that your work is worthy. What happens if you never win a single award? Does that make your work bad? Does it mean you are somehow less than those who do? Anyone who poses such questions is seen as bitter, which really isn’t the case.
People who rarely see hardship (someone always seeing success) don’t like it when the thing that feeds their ego is held up to a mirror. I grew up being compared to one of my peers, and I wasn’t the only one. Our entire class was held beneath this one kid—we were never good enough, and we were told as much.
They told us that we were not reaching the standard they expected, but the supposed standard was her. If we wanted to be validated, we had to emulate her ‘greatness’. As children, it is vital that our needs are met. We must feel that we matter. If we don’t get this, we continue to seek out people and things that give us what we need, but nothing sticks. The glue dried many years ago.
If you are constantly awarded prizes for your work, there is a chance you may start to evolve above your station. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but the notion of being an award-winning writer fills some with an inflated sense of self-importance—forever believing that anyone who doesn’t feed that is simply jealous of their self-perceived brilliance. Jealousy is used as a buzzword when they have placed themselves on the throne, and are fearful that someone may knock them off.
Remember this language. Bitter. Jealous. Sad. Pathetic. They are all used as a way to paint you as someone who is incapable of rising to their level—an inherently narcissistic belief. “You’re just mad that you will never be where I am.” Everything is heightened, and the onus is never on them. The pedestal must remain intact. They will make excuses about how they are simply proud of their achievements, but that is a camouflage. It is a reason that is believable enough that you will come off looking like a bitter raisin who is unable to puff up.
Your strongest defence against these kinds of people is to simply step away. They want you to validate their narrative of being bitter and jealous. If you don’t give them any ammo, they can’t hurt you. I know it’s hard when you feel someone is painting you in a light that is not true, but narcissists need you to come over to their side. Having you believe it takes the heat off them—it lowers the risk of their toxicity being exposed.
All of this can be overwhelming, and it definitely is. I suggest taking days where you don’t check social media. Listen to music! Go to the library! Watch your favourite film! It’s also important to find people who are on your wavelength. Find people who just get you. Take yourself out of competition. We must remember that we shouldn’t have to hide our frustrations because it is frowned upon. There is favouritism in this business whether people want to admit it or not. Some of us have an extraordinary amount of passion/talent, but we will die before anyone cares. Never tell someone that they just aren’t working hard enough. The absence of success does not make anyone less capable.
I have decided to stop entering competitions because not only is it a waste of money, they are designed to make you doubt your ability and talent. If you don’t win, those niggling ants (those with narcissistic traits) will always tell you to work harder and write better—therefore continuing to perpetuate the false narrative of awards equaling immense talent.
Remember, you are not alone. There are people out there who understand, and will not judge you. We champion the underdogs. We will rise. We will rage against the dying of the light.
Generally, I agree with the sentiment. However, over the years I have submitted to enough competitions and gotten close, ie, either a runner up or second place that I have to believe there is some validity to them. Thus, I'll probably always submit to comps, though with occasional ambivalence. (And I usually only mention shortlists and runner ups in my cover letter bio). And for me, it's usually a good feeling I get from this recognition, and a sense of pride in my work. Never do I think of it as an opportunity to besmirch another writer. Cheers!