Progress

Eleven Days ago, I wrote a story called I'm back—maybe? In it, I talked a bit about my personal journey and highlighted some contests outside of Vocal that I was interested in participating in. I'm doing this because I've stepped away from writing for far too long. I've fallen out of practice, and my apathy has turned into the worst bout of writer's block I've ever experienced in my 28 years of life.

Since, between both Vocal Challenges and outside competitions, I've entered work in 6 different contests. The results of the first of these contests were revealed today.

The Contests I Entered

The first challenge I entered, which sparked the tinder and ignited my metaphorical writing flame, was the Falling Leaves Challenge.

If you're looking purely at an odds standpoint, as if the winner is chosen by chance (which it's not), I had a 0.02% chance of placing as one of the 5 winners in this contest. If you take into consideration all placements, the odds escalate to 3.53%. I did not win (shocker), but the list is out, and there are some amazing pieces that deserve the recognition.

I am not surprised I did not place. I wrote all of these completely last minute when I saw that the deadline was the same day. I entered four poems: two that I actually liked, and two that I just threw out there because they were written.

The Poems I Liked

metamorphosis

gentle abscission

self-righteous impermanence -

tipping of the scale

I felt that this one captured the fragile violence that it is to be a leaf in autumn. To sever yourself from the only home you've ever known, to then float down and become food for the soil beneath you. I tried to capture that in the last line, "tipping of the scale." The seasons are changing from the warm, lively spring and summer to the cold, death that comes in fall and winter. The scale always tips in one direction or the other, and the earth itself relies on them to coexist to continue surviving.

cycles

sweet amber honey,

paint a portrait of your mother.

watch it fade away.

This poem is rather simple: a sensory snapshot meant to capture the color and taste of the concept of falling leaves, followed by two actions (create and destroy). I tried to capture the beauty in fleeting moments, and again, the bittersweet necessity that exists between the transitioning of seasons. While the leaves die, they paint a picture of their mother (Earth), and then they fade into the dirt, providing nutrients for the cycle to begin again.

The Other Poems

naked

a total eclipse

as the grass becomes covered;

the yearly undress.

at last

only a moment -

stuck in slow-motion descent:

the taste of freedom.

They're fine. I wrote them. They followed the haiku format. I submitted them. They're kind of just basic descriptions of what happens in the fall. The leaves cover the grass, and the trees are naked. The leaf falls to the ground and feels the taste of freedom, however fleeting. Pretty simplistic. They're fine. I wrote them. They followed the haiku format.

The next contest I entered was the Willie Morris Southern Poetry Award. I cannot share this poem until the contest is completely over. The results should be sometime in February. I am incredibly doubtful that I will win, but I did submit a rather sing-songy poem about Appalachia, where I live. One of my colleagues has actually judged for this contest before. I did not know until I had mentioned it to him after submission. He told me Appalachia is rather unrepresented in their candidate pool, so it was a good topic to write on.

However, I'm well aware that I'm up against some prolific Southern poets. I am not expecting anything to come out of this, but I'm looking forward to being able to share this work. Once this contest is over, I will publish the poem on Vocal. I also have some other plans for it... A banjo might be in the cards.

On the same night, I also entered for a chance to win the Morton Marcus Prize put on by Hive Poetry. I wrote a lot of poems that night because I was attempting to enter a number of different contests, which I didn't, and for which I will talk about why later in this piece. I chose the strongest poem I wrote that night for entry. I also cannot share this work until the results are released. I do not think I will win. I did not like anything I wrote that night; this just happened to be the strongest piece. The results for this contest are in November. So I won't have to wait long to be able to relinquish this work.

The last three challenges I entered were all right here on Vocal.

First being, The Sonnet of Shadows, which closed on October 3rd.

I also entered 4 poems into this competition: "pushing daisies", "when life was simple", "Hitchhiker", and "blizzard".

They're all pretty different, conceptually. I wrote "pushing daisies" first, and then I wrote the following three in the same night, the night it was due, of course. They're definitely all 14 lines, though some are more traditional sonnets and others are more modern and experimental. They're all fine. If I'm being honest, there is not a single one I genuinely like or feel good about. But hey! I wrote something, and that's the point here. We keep marching on.

The next Challenge I entered was A Knock at the Door, and this is the only one so far that I'm genuinely proud of the piece I wrote.

The idea came to me and it was just one of those lightbulb moments. It's controversial, sure, but I had to write it.

Home of the Free

"Do you have a warrant?" Glen asked calmly, never looking back at his children.

The twins stayed on the rug, holding each other's hands as they went back to pretending to play their game.

"You know I don't need one, Mr. Finch."

Part of my writing block comes with the overwhelm I feel from the state of the world. I like to write things that mean something. That moves people. That shocks people. My hope is that this piece is able to do that. That's to be determined.

I am also planning on reworking an old story of mine to fit the criteria that the story starts with a knock at the door. That will be published before midnight because, well, it has to be! Last chance to enter this contest for those who are interested in doing so. Hurry ;)

Finally, I did submit some old poems to Masks We Wear as well.

This included going through the work that I previously hid under my subscription and republishing in the Poetry categories. These entries include: "One Man War," "Shower Spiders," "Ode to Sunday Morning," and "Snapping Beans."

I thought they fit the theme, or just vaguely did so, but I also intend on writing at least one new piece, if not more, to submit before the Friday deadline.

The Contests I Didn't Enter

One Page Poetry

It's as simple as this: The cost to enter was steep ($25 for one, one-page poem), and I didn't write something I felt worthy of the cost. I will certainly try again next year. I have plenty of time to do so.

The Ghost Story Fiction Award

I couldn't come up with a story within the time frame. I love the concept of this contest, and similar to the previously mentioned, there is plenty of time to come up with a really good story to enter next year.

2025 Vivian Shipley Poetry Award (Connecticut Poetry Society)

Yeah, so, crazy thing. I was going to enter. I had three poems written out in a Word document. I had my card out, ready to pay. It was around 10 PM Eastern. When I went to the website to submit, the option to submit was gone. One of the poems became my entry for the Morton Marcus Prize.

Annual Action, Spectacle Editors’ Poetry & Prose Prize

This definitely offered the most bang for one's buck. Ten pages of poetry for $20. I simply did not write enough work in the short timeframe that I had to feel comfortable submitting it as a cohesive collection. It just wasn't good enough or long enough, and that's okay. I know it exists now, and I have plenty of time to come up with a concept and enter next time.

Final Thoughts

I feel good about what I'm working on. I'm flexing my writer's muscles. Exercising the parts of me that I've allowed to go dormant. As long as I keep at it, I'll start creating more work to be proud of.

I don't always stick to things. I tend to get frustrated when I start feeling things aren't going my way. I don't often write through it when I'm not liking a piece. This time, I'm sticking with it. I'm not going to like everything I write, ever. But I'm not going to write things I do like unless I stay in practice and experiment and fail.