My publisher, Vickie McEntire of Colorful Crow Publishing, heard of the Townsend Prize for fiction and decided to nominate my latest novel, Lying In. It cost eight copies of the novel in hardback, postage, an email to ensure it would not be too late to meet the Labor Day deadline, and an undisclosed entrance fee.
I appreciated my publisher’s confidence in the book, rushed down to Calhoun to hand her the eight copies, thanked here, and went about my business. Academy Award nominees say, “It is an honor to be nominated.” In my case, I felt gratitude that the publisher, who had just taken over the business from the founder, was willing to submit it.
However, I did not expect anything to come of it.
The Townsend Prize is awarded every two years to a literary fiction writer living in Georgia (at the time of writing the book). It is supported by the Atlanta Writers’ Club. TPast award winners include Alice Walker, Terry Kay, Ha Jin, Philip Lee Williams, Ferrol Sams, Kathryn Stockett, Mary Hood, and Judson Mitcham, among others. The awards dinner is in April of 2025.
I will be attending the dinner because I am one of ten finalists. I received an email on December 19 explaining this decision by the eight readers. This is the first time one of my novels has achieved any recognition. I have received small local awards for short stories. I do not enter short fiction contests as a rule or submit my short stories—as of yet—to literary magazines. That should change, I suppose, although these contests usually have fees and the literary magazines have long waiting periods.
I am pleased but realistic about the prize. It was a validation, a confirmation, and more, an assurance deep in my doubting soul that I should keep writing fiction. Specifically, writing fiction I would call “hopeful” but not Christian or religious. Christian is not an adjective, but a noun, the cliché goes. I don’t know what Christian art is except art embodying hope.
I appreciate the many congratulations although my book sales have not changed—another matter entirely. My realism is a cynicism that the three next-tier judges will be looking for work with more diversity (racial or sexual) or harsher language. But...some one I do not know at all, actually eight someones who know literature, found it worthy to be sent to the next level for a prize won by Terry Kay, Alice Walker, Mary Hood, and Janisse Ray. They connected with an outcast person—real to me, not just a character—who is caught in global currents and has to survive herself and save four children, in the end finding what she really wanted. It is a small story in an unknown, isolated area. But it resonates with readers.
Then, Friday night, I watched a Christopher Guest film I had missed in the past. For Your Consideration is not one his best, but considering my recent happy email, it struck a chord.
Synopsis: actors on a low-budget independent film come under the spell of a rumor that one or two of them will be nominated for an Academy Award—Oscar buzz—and it changes their lives for a few months. It is nothing but a rumor, the film is laughingly bad, the “suits” want to change it from a Jewish story set in the South to a white-washed Thanksgiving theme, and we get to sit through all the egotistical foibles of professional but largely unsuccessful actors.
Parker Posey, an improv acting genius, has the line, “I don’t act for awards.” That says it all. Yes, it’s sour grapes for her character, but it said something to me who had just earned a minor recognition. (I should say Lying In is up for two other awards, self- or publisher-nominated.)
Why do we write? I do not write for awards, but we still crave recognition. We eat for nutrition, but we crave elements that are not entirely good for us yet make the experience glad—salt, fat, sugar, and we ingest too much of them. Too much recognition might be like excessive salt intake.
The characters in the film are under the misconception, or rumor, that they will be nominated for best actor awards. The film is devastatingly bad and silly, which is the point; the scriptwriters and the director are not first class, but they all love what they do. These artists are like Ed Wood and Steve Martin’s character in Bowfinger. They love their art but will never be experts or royalty in it.
Yet after I got the email, I said out loud, “Thank you, Lord. That was the kick I needed.” I have been wallowing in laziness and self-doubt about writing. It is my love and calling; it is also something one must work very hard at to master the craftsmanship of it.
I am reading Stein on Writing—the first chapter must be read by all amateur or beginning writers, those who think they can produce a book because they have ideas and stories and can type. Also I ordered Bird by Bird by Ann Lamott. It’s hilarious...she has a unique voice that sells a lot of books, although I don’t know how life-changing her advice is. But I have been doing this a long time and newcomers to serious writing need her advice, so I will hold off on criticism or praise.
The point is, if one claims to want to write, that claim means more than a few pages to take to the critique group. It means immense investment of time and emotional energy. Lamott’s third chapter is about using short assignments to get past the idea of writing a whole volume, and she gives examples of portions of chapters of a novel or creative nonfiction one might pursue. But how do you know what parts to write about a novel if you don’t already have something of a plan? Yet she is correct: start small, start particular, start about one person. Grow the seed, remembering you are the soil and sunshine and water and ecosystem growing the seed.
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