(See the list of winners here.)

Alison Luterman’s five books of poetry are The Largest Possible Life, See How We Almost Fly, Desire Zoo, In the Time of Great Fires, and Hard Listening. She also writes plays, song lyrics, and personal essays. She has taught at New College, The Writing Salon, Catamaran, Esalen, and Omega Institutes, and writing workshops around the country, as well as working as a California poet in the schools for many years.

Here’s her winning non-rhyming poem, “Charring Lemons.”

Charring Lemons

by Alison Luterman

February, and those fat yellow

knobby-nippled grenades

are dropping from everyone’s backyard tree,

to be kicked around like little hockey pucks,

or left to rot in tall grass.

One neighbor fills a cardboard box

with precious Meyers and sets it,

as an offering, on the sidewalk.

Another leaves a bag on my doorstep–

Take, take, m’ija, my tree is bursting!

And I remember walking

in the Berkeley hills decades ago

with my first husband who was not yet

my husband, gaping at all the front lawns.

Look, a lemon tree! Another one!

Fresh out of Boston, naive as a new puppy.

Everything in this golden state

was a wonder to me, not least

the boy-man on my arm

with his black curls and high-wire heart.

What did I know then of fire and flood,

mudslides or earthquakes?

Oh, to be twenty-five and free

from even the thought of disaster,

to be so simply dazzled by a tree

heavy with fruit in the heart of winter!

That was our first year together,

when everything was still possible.

Before the marriage collapsed

under our feet like a beautiful building

not built to code. Well now he’s dead

and I’m old, and standing over a hot skillet,

charring lemons—a trick I learned

on the Internet—blackening them just enough

to bring out the hidden sugars.

Hold anything over the fire

for a few minutes or a lifetime

and it turns into smoke.

Get recognized for your writing. Find out more about the Writer’s Digest family of writing competitions.

The post Writer’s Digest 94th Annual Competition Winning Non-Rhyming Poem: “Charring Lemons” appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Grand Prize

Alison Luterman, “Charring Lemons” (non-rhyming poetry). Read the winning poem here.

Children’s/Young Adult Fiction

1. “The Order of Ordinaries” by Cathy Lepik
2. “Rowan’s Greatest Hits” by Akash Arun Kumar Soumya
3. “Autumn Lies” by Cathryn Smith
4. “Camels in the Clouds” by Gina Steeves
5. “A Shot Fired” by Becky Franklyn
6. “Under the Covers” by Shae Harper
7. “Santa’s Crazy Year” by Thomas Donahue
8. “Grandma’s House” by Thomas Donahue
9. “Ari’s Bathroom Map” by Rebecca Thapa
10. “Death and Theft” by Aspen Hite

Honorable Mentions

• “Higher Ground” by AB Cromer
• “Just Another Ordinary Day” by Jolea Broome
• “The Magic In Ming’s Hands” by Maureen Tai
• “Putting Toys To Bed” by Alan Elliott
• “Good Whine Gone Bad” by Jay Lehmann
• “Stuff As Dreams Are Made On” by Heidi M. Rogers
• “Lizzie’s Napa” by Lori Pelliccia
• “Talk To The Trees” by Angela De Groot
• “Things We’ll Ask God” by Rachel Wierick
• “Mom’s Superhero Story” by Jiwon Yoon
• “Blood Raven” by Becky Franklyn
• “A Zip Code from the Heart” by Sandy Cameli
• “The Last Gate” by Anna Alsup
• “Gotta Fly!” by Debbie Austin
• “The Night of the Magic Light” by Doug Geyer
• “Mia’s Puppet Party” by Megan Erin Hamilton
• “A Bellyful of Fireflies” by Marcus McGee
• “Dockson Billie” by Sherri Ashburner
• “The Arrowhead Game” by L.S. Scott
• “The Book Boat” by Jenny Nelson
• “Afraid of Rain No More” by Michael Harley
• “Simply Extraordinary” by Emma Bowen
• “Sequin the Snake—Explains World Peace to Children” by Carol Ikard
• “A Life Unfinished” by Brynda Wolf
• “Here, There, Everywhere” by Sabrina Powers
• “Baking a Cake” by Jobie Scarborough
• “What Will You Call Me?” by Shannon Mae
• “Ace Ferreira, Multiverse Mechanic” by Ridley Adams
• “Turning Back Time” by DM Reynolds
• “Just Tyler” by Tom Olds
• “Garage Sale Religion” by Susan Jensen
• “The Last Acolyte” by David Weinkauff
• “The Synonym Family” by Thomas Donahue
• “Streetlight Halo” by Kyrie Jade
• “Kyler and the Garbage Men” by Megan Churchman

Genre Short Story

1. “Poison Pills” by GK Daffu
2. “The Kimchi Contest I Never Signed Up For” by Rachel Desiree Felix
3. “Laney’s Rescue” by Deborah Boucher Stetson
4. “Bite Like Chocolate” by Bruna M. Barbosa
5. “A Spare Moment” by Emee Camp
6. “Morty’s Farewell” by Carrie Hachadurian
7. “Realm of the Grotesque” by Clarence J. Croxford
8. “Rwanda 2265” by Sig Watkins
9. “Lilacs” by Mark Mrozinski
10. “The Light Collector” by Christina Trujillo

Honorable Mentions

• “Cotillion” by Kejana Ayala
• “Our Lady of Life Support” by Amber Fenik
• “At the garden of the gods” by Frank Biro
• “Twice” by Penne Hawkins
• “A Complication” by Jennifer Slee
• “The Beast at the Door” by Eric Reitan
• “Thirteen Coins” by Teresa Michael
• “The Keeper” by Lucas Tremper
• “The Legend of the Red-Haired One” by Raw
• “Twice Pierced” by Joseph Tappero
• “The Clichéd Crime” by Bill Glose
• “Unknowing” by Andrew Hoffmeister
• “The Cycle” by Robin Nixon
• “A Morning at Diedre’s Cafe” by Richard Sutter
• “Treading Water” by Alison Wright
• “The Zenith of Her Powers” by Leslie Wibberley
• “The Voice That Lies” by J. P. Bellipanni
• “Nisha’s Revolution” by Judith Pratt
• “After” by Joslyn Lois Bartholomew
• “Hotel Room” by Andrew Kass
• “Willow” by Holland Poole
• “Tempest” by Kyla Paterno
• “A Reckoning at Trail’s End” by Albert Morrow
• “An Extra Scoop of Revenge” by Rachel Cyr
• “Without a Chaperone” by Susan Matley
• “Ring of Deception” by Michelle Hess
• “Everything Burns” by Jennifer Slee
• “The Currawong” by J.A. Clarke
• “More Than a Second-Hand Find” by Mary Jo Wyse
• “Dash Into Love” by Dorothy Wills-Raftery
• “The Last Mural Frances” by Aurelia Gold
• “Grains of Sand” by Peter Ball
• “Habits Don’t Lie” by Amy Collins
• “Beginnings and Endings” by Kelly Thomas
• “White Tooth” by Cody Pearce
• “Today I Shot Desmond” by Louise Bailey
• “The Porcelain Garden” by Cara Boynton
• “The Departed Dancer—A Las Vegas Mystery” by A.L.Padden
• “At Birth” by Kate Fitzgerald
• “A Castle in the Ocean” by J.H. Schiller
• “A Realm Of Smoke And Sins” by Alison Arico
• “Then I Became Us” by Victoria Lalayan
• “War” by Useless Assistant
• “The Big Smoke” by Jennifer Frost
• “The Hunger Pattern” by Jason Bellipanni

Humor

1. “Burnt Toast” by Don Michalowski
2. “A Vulgarity Smithsonian” by Greg Bauch
3. “A Textually Transmitted Disease” by Monda Kelley
4. “Nuts! A Regrettable but True Tale” by Michele Miles Gardiner
5. “I Will Come In Last With Grace and Good Eyeliner” by Mia Lazarewicz
6. “How to Write a Novel in 10 Years” by K. Ashby
7. “The Shade of the Bodhi Tree in a Basket of Waffle Fries” by John Garvey
8. “Revealed: The Hidden Secrets of Male Bonding!” by Gary Alexander
9. “Fore!” by A.J. Schmitz
10. “Faux pas” by Mary Finnen

Honorable Mentions

• “My Broken Zipper” by Geoffrey K. Graves
• “Finding Mr. Right” by Mary Ellen Humphrey
• “G-Man: And other humorous anecdotes taken from the teaching profession” by Dr. Donald Robertson
• “An ‘Intercoursal’” by Stroke Mary Finnen
• “HUH? The Story of My Broken Ears” by MerriLee Anderson
• “Newly Unwed” by Jamie Lockwood
• “Controversial Sermon Sparks Brouhaha Over Biscuits” by Lori Drake
• “Astronauts And Panty Hose” by Nanny Treadwell
• “Is Breaking Bad? Celebrating My Birthday in a Rage Room” by Karen Scholl
• “Dear Merriam-Webster” by Christine Petzar
• “Fishing for Seniors” by Steve Holland
• “Yakov the Supplanter” by Laurie Rosenwald
• “The Fainthearted” by Lisa Chow
• “I Swear I Skipped the Poison Apple” by Evelyn Aucoin
• “The Easter Dress Karen O Conway” by Kay McKay
• “Hello, this is Your Overly Talkative Captain” by Deanna Hahn
• “What’s for Dinner?” by Allia Zobel Nolan
• “Cupid: Chubby. Ornery. Mischievous!” Tammy Lough
• “The Great Holiday Light Display Race of Appleton Ave.” by J.C. McKenna
• “Breakfast with a Ghost” by Bison Scribe
• “Violets” by Jessalyn Haefele
• “Friends of the Earth Urgent Appeal” by Tom Gable
• “Why I Exercise, and Why I Don’t Care to Get Any Better” by Jacob Summerville
• “The Third Grader’s Manifestation of Queerness” by Risa Hasebe
• “The Sabbath” by Christopher D. Pence
• “Fifty Shades of Gruyère” by Jennifer Becker
• “Final Cut” by Don Michalowski
• “Ten Pounds in Three Days” by Joy Alicia
• “Easy Riders” by Joe Haines
• “A Half-Carton of Eggs and Getting Published” by Lori Drake

Inspirational/Spiritual

1. “All the Way to Mystery” by Stacy Clark
2. “Where the River Narrows” by David Paul Goins
3. “No Ordinary Love: Agnes and Leonard’s Visit” by Leonard Scovens
4. “One Samhain Night” by SamiJo McQuiston
5. “The Miracle of Ordinary Gifts” by Tracy Cranford
6. “The Boy From Somewhere Better” by Robin Farnsworth
7. “Grandma’s Garden” by Celeste Handfield
8. “Fireflies” by Heidi Botkin
9. “The Dakini’s Ants” by Robin Nixon
10. “The Initiation” by Holly Ma

Honorable Mentions

• “At the Feet of Sleeping Giants” by Kelli Sullivan
• “The Great Exchange” by Maureen Miller
• “The Pew by the Window” by EW Bradfute
• “30 Pieces of Silver” by John Tucker
• “Hummingbird” by Linda Peterson
• “Hope Came in the Mail” by Colleen Black
• “The Inevitable Sameena Topan” by sam riot
• “Spiritual Resilience in Opioid Withdrawal” by Donna Fado Ivery
• “Walking on Water” by Kristy Mabe
• “Rock of Ages” by Thorne Everet
• “Sustaining Hope in Uncertain Times: Jewish Strategies for Faith” by Carly Levy
• “The Garage” by Natasha Jo Benevides
• “Volleyball and the Virgin Mary” by Mary Ellen Collins
• “Fragmented Stones” by Rhonda Larson
• “Enmity” by Andrea Hayes
• “Her Birthday Is The Least of Her Concerns” by J B Nicholson Hunt
• “Mary Did You Know Controversy” by Kathy Ferrell Powell
• “Into the Light” by Kay Lesley Reeves
• “In The Forest & Field” by Katherine Tyler
• “The Valley” by Antionette Duck
• “A Gnome Knows” by Michael Gregory Whitfield
• “Radiance” by Jewel Garcia
• “Searching for Silence in India and Nepal” by Blake Plante
• “You’ve Got to Believe; It’s Not Magic” by James Meyer
• “Hortus Creatoris” by Aria Stewart
• “Water in Motion” by Ashley C. Shannon
• “Crazy, Mismatched Socks” by Holly Karpovich
• “The Traveler” by Lori Griffin
• “A Midwife’s Hands” by Bruce Graham
• “Bleak Midwinter” by Eric Beversluis
• “Breath as a Blessing: The Transformative Power of Breath” by Angela Waldron
• “Pilgrim” by Ashlen Renner
• “Learning To Swim” by Katie McGuire
• “The Paradoxes of Prayer” by Robert Pechman
• “What You Don’t See” by Sarah Boury

Mainstream/Literary Short Story

1. “The Memory Eater” by Eric Reitan
2. “Dugga Boys” by Greg Jones
3. “The Absence of Cut Grass” by G. Thomas Fin
4. “The Gas Line” by Colin Kostelecky
5. “J.C., Little Susie and the Music Seen” by Pat Rooney
6. “Cave Art” by Nathan Tobler
7. “Thankless” by Cynthia Liu
8. “Rise, River, Rise” by Taylor Brown
9. “Variation with Fan” by Karen Novak
10. “The Hugging Machine” by Nancy Lederman

Honorable Mentions

• “Terms of Haunting” by Caroline Hall
• “Tapestry” by John Garvey
• “Short Story/Fiction” by Susan Eastham
• “Olive Theory” by Serrina Zou
• “My Family Tree” by Mary Upton
• “The Raccoons” by Kyle Wong
• “Mama’s Baby” by Haley Bebout
• “His Forest” by Meredith Gebhardt
• “Rejection Letter” by Ty Green
• “Gold and Bones” by L.J. Longo
• “Dream Journal” by Sunthorn Capellini
• “An Ordinary Guest” by Tamar Mezvrishvili
• “The Bad Luck House” by Cath Bibeau
• “Bloom” by Gwendolyn Bellinger
• “Boys Like Us” by Siavash Saadlou
• “Downed” by Gabrielle Glaslyn
• “Mourning Dove” by Christine Roy
• “Smile for the Camera” by Jessica Junqua
• “The Quiet Howl” by Garin Demirjian
• “My First Body” by Baird Harper
• “The Divide” by Ferrell Jennings
• “Time and Time Again” by Ryne
• “Johnny Appleseed” by Katie Harms
• “The Blue Road” by Robert Ziegler
• “Reaching For The Sun” by Elizabeth Conte
• “The Good Mother” by Dana Rodney
• “Aliens Are Us Shelley” by Jones Clark
• “So Long as the Earth is Spinning” by Sharan Yaso
• “Liberty” by L. M. Filarsky
• “The Gingerbread Boy” by Lide Dawson
• “Lost and Found” by Bruce Jay Baker
• “Lifeline” by Natalie Moore
• “Rooted Jane Hershberger” by Jane Hershberger
• “Little Angels Of God” by Mark Lyn Campbell
• “Where the Walls Remember: Grete Samsa’s Unraveling—A Metamorphosis Adaptation” by Meghan Hanily
• “December First” by Katie McGuire
• “R&R” by Owen Goodwyne
• “The Neighborhood Marketplace” by Rose Sampley
• “Prairie Grass” by John Cheesebrow
• “Don’t Tell the Boys” by Jacob Mayer
• “Sapling” by Helen Vidrine
• “Wild Hymn” by Ashley Berry
• “Animal Husbandry” by Aili Whalen
• “Dirge for the Divine and Departed” by Irene Hwang
• “A Nice Girl” by Jane Corey
• “Nighthawks” by Jeremy Stelzner
• “The Conversationalist” by Rosanna Watts
• “Undertone” by M.C. Blandford
• “Who We Were Yesterday” by Josh Rosen
• “Nightlight Marianne” by Malloy Kirby

Memoir/Personal Essay

1. “The Dead Whale” by Carol Keeley
2. “Salvage Rights” by Cheryl A. Kelley
3. “Turning Pages” by Landon Porter
4. “Bleed” by Catherine Dorian
5. “The VA Destroyed My Body — and No One Will Help Me” by David Lee Condrey
6. “Friendly Fire” by Lide Dawson
7. “Crushed” by Carrie Osborne
8. “Ask Me How My Mother Died” by Liam Carnahan
9. “Center of Gravity” by Kristina Kasparian
10. “In Pieces” by Jen Shepherd

Honorable Mentions

• “First Job” by Geoffrey K. Graves
• “The Human Touch” by Sukhwinder Sukh
• “By Chance” by Darlene Junker
• “Wire Mesh and Memory: A Craniotomy Forgotten” by Krystal Renee
• “Giving Up My Ghost” by Esther Raday
• “Resting Places” by Beth Christiano
• “Couch Mom” by Stacy Johnson
• “All He Needs” by Quincy Trochue
• “Memoir Essay: Still Small Things” by Erin Schalk
• “We Were Here” by Colleen Black
• “Jew” by Jane K Stern
• “Raising Lambs” by Michelle Nicolaysen
• “Behind the Red Door” by Renee Roberson
• “Intervention: Fully Loaded” by Maddy Nye
• “Let Him Go” by Mari Harrison
• “No Questions Asked” by Lorraine Lai
• “I’m Not Normal” by Amy Jean Hetland
• “Dear Lorraine” by Michael Creger
• “Medical Jenga” by Janet Yeager
• “Puppy Love” by Kristen Wilson
• “Hungry Animals” by Ashley Berry
• “The flags we didn’t earn” by Faye Zasada
• “Turning Point” by Mary Mortensen
• “When the City Began Again” by M. Lea Gray
• “Hey Dad, It’s Me” by Don Michalowski
• “The Folder Called Not Ready” by Kathryn Johnson
• “The Subtle Art of Falling From a High Place” by Alex Tricarico
• “The Art of Falling Apart While Smiling” by Nicole Duff
• “Child’s Play” by Jerome Goettsch
• “Disassembled” by Alyssa Holly
• “Unsprouted” by Haley Russo
• “Muses Work Best When They’re Far Away” by Francesca Willow
• “Trickles” by Tracy Cranford
• “Little Owl” by Tracy Cranford
• “Shaved Heads” by Heide Brandes
• “Was His Love Worth My Life?” by Phiiip Alexander
• “Where the Hell is Ordway, Anyway?” by Philip Alexander
• “A Thing With Fangs” by Cynthia Singerman
• “Lone Staircase” by Christen Makhoul
• “Burning for Sully” by Jen Shepherd
• “Steak Tartare” by Alison Foster
• “Bad Fortune” by Janet Guthrie
• “Sweet Lemon Grass” by Jen Shepherd
• “Running With Eunice” by Carol Marks Stopforth
• “Eight Shots” by Owen Ryan
• “My Grandfather’s Fathers” by Karen Gravelle
• “How to Play Kings Corner” by Fay Falcone
• “Process: An Excerpt” by Steven R. Perez
• “Rotten Sunflowers on Grandpa’s Grave” by Chia Lam
• “The American Goldfinch” by Aimee Seiff Christian

Nonfiction Essay or Article

1. “Little Black Book” by Rebecca Victoria Blanchard
2. “A Witness to History” by Cynthia Furlong Reynolds
3. “Analyzing the Role of Photography in the Depiction of Native Americans in the 19^th Century” by Tsi’Ani Washington
4. “With Kristi in the Garden” by Ramona Scarborough
5. “Out of Many, One People: The Origins of Jamaican Ancestry” by Vilma Ruddock
6. “A Dog Leads the Way” by Margie Gray
7. “The Tangled Web We Weave” by Dana Zartner
8. “Meaningful Metamorphosis” by Julie Jacobs                
9. “The Bare Truth” by Leslie Wibberley
10. “The Holy Righteous Queen Tamar” by Angela Waldron

Honorable Mentions

• “The unsettling chic is our modern aesthetic of ugliness” by Denis Bozic
• “Would You Be My Pen Pal if I Paid You?” by Naomi Horne
• “Of Snails and The Hundred Yard Dash” by Larry Menlove
• “Time Traveler” by Jill Sisson
• “Beethoven and Napoleon: Decomposing Symphony Number 3 ‘Eroica'” by Mark A. Fulco
• “Four Times I Fled the Flames” by Tamara Nowlin
• “Dance Movement Meets Psychotherapy” by Ember Reichgott Junge
• “The Language Of Love” by Pat Matthews
• “Holbein’s Ambassadors” by Patrick Tyman
• “Black Lives on the Titanic” by Douglas Walters
• “Underground Anthologies: Public Transportation Meets Poetry” by Emma Arden
• “Writing Like Hemingway” by Azalea Lucile
• “Gender Bias in the Polls: How Sexism can Prevent Female Leaders” by Leslie Rutledge
• “For Gentlemen Only” by Cheryl Bailey
• “The High Life: For circus artists and aerialists, something’s always up” by Kathy Bradshaw
• “Close Encounters of the Animal Kingdom Kind” by Krishna “Krash” Jackson
• “Swimming Beyond Fear” by Elaine Howley
• “Triathlon’s Spiritual Side” by Elaine Howley
• “‘Heart of the Eternal’ Opens the Second Chapter for A.J. Croce” by Sheryl Aronson
• “Showcasing Female Power in Ballroom Dance” by Ember Reichgott Junge
• “Call to Action for Social Prescribing” by Ember Reichgott Junge
• “I’m Not Going to Live in God’s Waiting Room” by Ember Reichgott Junge
• “A Powerful Presence in the Ballroom World” by Ember Reichgott Junge
• “Oui the People” by Kathy Bradshaw
• “Take a Walk on the Tiled Side: It seems that everyone is playing mahjong these days” by Kathy Bradshaw
• “Oh Generous One, Oh Noble One, Oh Hero: The Path of the Akhi in Anatolia” by Angela Waldron
• “Anatolian Sikke” by Angela Waldron
• “The Evil Eye” by Angela Waldron
• “English as both Gateway and Barrier to Legitimacy and Success in Post-colonial African Literature” by Douglas Walters
• “A Pilgrimage to the Holy City of Lhasa” by Angela Waldron

Non-Rhyming Poetry

1. “Wiffle Ball” by Gary V. Powell
2. “留下街道 [Liuxia Street]” by Yan Zhang
3. “Another Supermarket in California” by Judith Chibante
4. “What Kind of Fool” by Alison Luterman
5. “Untitled” by Michael Olson
6. “16^th Street Flight” by Kent Neal
7. “Day Trip” by Paul Tifford Jr.
8. “Horsie—A Sestina for Mommy” by Kendra Aya
9. “Human Binoculars” by Todd Friedman
10. “Where Water Meets the Sky” by M. G. Field

Honorable Mentions

• “The New England Aspect” by Jeffery Allen Tobin
• “Snow on the Brain” by Paul Tifford Jr.
• “Ordinary Birds” Erin Murphy
• “I Need To Be Something Worth Losing” by Jacob Reisinger
• “A Garden of Penitents” by Redd Ryder
• “A Used Up Year” by D.T. Christensen
• “Passages” by Paula J. Lambert
• “Spring Light” by Stephen Burns
• “We Discover Fire: Elkhart Indiana, 1962” by Julie Novak-McSweeney
• “A História da Criação” by Lauren Michelle Finkle
• “Nice Clothes” by Brian Evans
• “A Class for Almost-Mothers” by Adele Evershed
• “Bluebeard: A Sestina” by Serrina Zou
• “A Night at Fort Stevens” by Brian Evans
• “ippississiM Backwards” by Michelle Alexander
• “Riding from Synesthesia to Metaphor on a Bicycle Built for Two” by Stephanie Saywell
• “Deadweight” by Rebecca Buller
• “Sophomore Year” by Rebecca Buller
• “The Post Office” by Rebecca Buller
• “what to do when your ex-husband stops by for your last signature on legal forms” by Kathy Lenney
• “The Bird of Your Life” by Alison Luterman
• “Grief Potatoes” by Alison Luterman
• “El Tapatio” by Paula Wagner
• “The Pepsi Guy” by Kimberly Shaw
• “The Sun Does Shine in the Ghetto” by Elizabeth Smith
• “We Love Uncle Mengele” by C. Lynn Shaffer
• “The Tip of the Wip” by Ockert Greeff
• “Into the Last Nights” by Ockert Greeff
• “All the Way to This Heavy Tree” by Ockert Greeff
• “Dance Studio on the Assabet” by D.T. Christensen
• “Toward an Understanding of Summer” by D.T. Christensen
• “Yellow Grass” by Ayla Walter
• “The Tyranny of Maps” by Dennis Todd
• “R2-D2” by Kay King
• “Green” by Suellen Wedmore
• “Mastered the Art” by Jane R. Snyder
• “Two Doors” by John Gibson
• “on anxious attachment” by Leta Rebecca Cunningham
• “I Speak” by Mel Diyarza
• “i stood on america’s shoulders and looked up at you” by Dean Gessie
• “A Reading from the Book of Sidewalk” by Jill A. Melchoir
• “Jumping From a Cedar Lake Pier, circa 1970’s” by Rebecca Evans
• “What She Does with Fire” by Meg Taylor
• “Witness to a Murder” by Michael Shoemaker
• “The Net” by Emily Portillo
• “a force of nature” by Dean Gessie
• “It Is Still Good” by Anissa Lynne Johnson
• “13^th Street” by Lyn Caldwell
• “Oh, How He Washed, and How She Pitied” by Magiel Ockert Greeff

Rhyming Poetry

1. “Plaints of the Old Git” by Peter Hankins
2. “Servant by the Sea” by P.D. McMilian
3. “Barn Cats” by Linda Lee Bowen
4. “The Black Mare” by Jorge Rojas, MD
5. “Third Grade Redemption” by Victoria Mary Fach
6. “If You Come to a Gathering of Trees” by Judith Chibante
7. “Where Lost Cats Dance” by J.R. Roland
8. “A Looking Glass Tribute” by Janet S. Qually
9. “The Time of Mud” by Kurt Luchs
10. “Heavenly Ocean Views” by Leslie Charles Stanford

Honorable Mentions

• “On Visiting Berlin’s Empty Library Memorial” by Laurie Clark
• “A Sonnet for All Our Broken Angels” by Adele Evershed
• “Aelios” by Jafar Cain
• “Nana’s Lament” by Anne Madigan Murphy
• “The Future Bird Scientist” by Shannon Miller
• “Rhyming Poem” by Falsetto Prophet
• “The Cardboard Underneath” by Christopher Williams
• “Olathe” by Amber Wommack Fox
• “Lovers of Chaos” by Elena Tolstova
• “The Latch Lifter” by Barry Childs
• “As One” by Fig Aster
• “Darkest Before Dawn” by Stephen Torrens
• “Buried” by asha anand
• “Sturdy Joe Sonnet” Paul Tifford Jr.
• “Father’s Lullaby” by Grant Moore
• “The Moon is Always Round” by Landon Porter
• “The piano in the alley” by Hagai Perets
• “Hair Like That” by Rocky Lepliin
• “Our Stain to Lament” by Jennifer Roberts
• “The Tale of Fanny McGree, No One as Famous as She” by Briana Melton
• “Daddy’s Smile” by Tamiko Nesbitt
• “The Longest Goodbye” by Holly Emery
• “The Porch Lady and Her Feral Friend” by Katrina Soto
• “The Ship” by Labertha McCormick
• “Seed Corn Should Not Be Ground” by J.W. Rose
• “Resolution” by R. Spencer Dooley
• “The Box” by Aimée Doyle
• “On The Night You Were Born” by Terri Michels
• “All that Glitters” by P.D. McMilian
• “Inside” by Freeman Ng
• “Parody of Hush Little Baby” by SunYeong Still
• “Reign of a Cloud” by Matthew Wenzel
• “Bells On The Wind” by Kimberly Shaw
• “The Chair Beside the Window” by Rhys Evans
• “The Chicken’s Wedding” by Julia Griffin
• “A Necklace of Words” by John Wagner
• “Disappearing” by Villanelle Kurt Luchs
• “myths” by Michael Miller
• “The Dream of Crossing the Water” by Mary Brennan
• “Did You Call Me?” by Mary Brennan

The post Announcing the Winners of the 94th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition appeared first on Writer's Digest.

See the full list of winners here!

When did you start writing?

Pretty much from the moment I had the fine motor skills to grip a pencil and form letters. I started off in first grade writing elaborate fantasies in my journal about what my dog did when we left the house. As a kid, I’d write books to give as gifts to my cousins when we went to visit them over the summer. I wrote short stories and humor pieces for fun in high school, majored in English and Creative Writing in college, and got to work writing a collection of short stories after graduation. Basically, I never had a shot at doing anything else.

What do you like most about writing in the short short form?

Half of good writing is editing. How can you say what you mean—no more, no less? The constraints of the short short form force you to get to the point and sharpen your prose until it’s precise and deadly. Plus: everyone’s attention spans are so dilapidated these days, you’ve got a much better shot of a reader actually making it to the end of your story if it’s bite-sized.

Where did the inspiration for “A Beautiful and Everlasting Moment of Pleasure” come from?

I was reflecting on a trip I’d taken to Vegas and just how surreal a place it is: the giddiness, the headiness, the buoyant feeling that something wonderful is about to happen at any moment—and also the griminess, the hollowness, the endless tease that never seems to come to fruition. I ended up exploring that double-edged feeling through the lens of a relationship between two people stuck in a toxic cyclical pattern with one another, a dynamic that keeps approaching what feels like love or connection or pleasure but never quite reaches it.

What did your drafting and revision processes look like for “A Beautiful and Everlasting Moment of Pleasure?”

I got pretty much the entirety of the story down in one sitting during a writing session at a local cafe. (That’s another joy of the short short format: being able to hack up a full story in a moment of inspiration and then get straight to polishing it.) The version that won the award actually changed very little from that first draft—I made a few tweaks to tighten and clarify things after running it by my workshop group, but this one came out “fully formed, ready to run,” as Ada Limón put it. 

Do you have a history of entering writing competitions?

Absolutely—like any self-respecting writer, I’ve got an Excel sheet that’s a tribute to the dozens of “no’s,” “nice no’s,” and “shortlists” I’ve received over the years. This was my first real win!

What interested you in entering WD’s Short Short Competition?

I was flipping through the back of Poets and Writers Magazine looking for contests and submission calls that aligned with what I was working on (I’m currently revising a linked short story collection about a bunch of college misfits—think Overcompensating meets A Visit From the Goon Squad by way of Mary Gaitskill). I saw just how many outlets were looking for stories with low word counts (3,000 or less), whereas most of the stories in my collection are over 3K. So I set myself a challenge to write something shorter than my usual work so I could try submitting to some new places, and this story popped out at exactly 1,000 words—the word limit for WD’s Short Short Competition. It felt like fate so I submitted it, promptly forgot I’d done so, and was so incredibly shocked when I received the acceptance email, I was convinced it was a very elaborate phishing scam. 

What advice do you have for other writers out there?

Keep writing, even if it’s just scenes and fragments, because the more you do, the more random pages you’ll have to stumble back on weeks or months or years later and say, “Wait, I wrote that? That could be something…” Keep a journal; use it to keep track of interesting things you notice so you stay attuned to the world. (You will want to remember the jacaranda tree that exploded all over your car, the smell inside that dive bar you stumbled into, the precise color of the sky the day after it rained.) Form or join a workshop with other writers—share your writing with them even and especially when it’s scary; learn how to give good feedback in a way that’s honest, helpful, and kind; and learn how to receive feedback without spiraling, getting defensive, or losing touch with your own instincts. Also, remember that a creative process is as powerful, finicky, and irrepressible as an ocean wave; even if you’re in a creative “low tide,” trust the process and remember that high tide is always coming back around.

A Beautiful and Everlasting Moment of Pleasure

by Hanna Bahedry

Any minute now, the pleasure is coming. Any minute now, around the corner, the pleasure is coming. Any minute now, you’ll be turning the corner and the pleasure will bump right into you or the pleasure will be turning the corner and you’ll bump right into it; any minute now, you and the pleasure will collide and send a tray of fluted champagne glasses flying; any minute now, you and the pleasure will collide and send one or both of you into the hotel pool and you’ll both be sopping wet and everyone in their deck chairs will cheer; any minute now, you and the pleasure will collide.

It’s Las Vegas, because of course it is. This is where the pleasure lives, but just around the corner always. Here is where the pleasure is circulating, but always away from you like a waiter on the casino floor. Here is where the hope lives, not just the hope but the absolute certainty that something magnificent is bound to happen, is right on the verge of happening, that all you need to do is close your eyes and stumble faithfully around the next blind corner to find it. The less you do, the better, actually. The magnificent thing is fated, it is on a course set straight for you, you are the Google Maps destination that the magnificent thing has plugged into the phone on its dashboard, and all you need to do is be here and wait for it to find you.

 Outside, it’s airless like a breath stolen straight from your chest. The heat and the diesel fumes combine in the city’s cocktail shaker like a drink no one wants, a drink left in a plastic-handled neon travel mug on the corner of an intersection wider than a pilgrimage. Under the sun, the asphalt cracks and the linoleum splinters and the paint peels like skin in long strips.

If outside is airless, then inside is all air, airheaded and heady, a balloon cresting a high ceiling like a tongue against a mouth’s roof, everything high high high, too high for gravity, too high for the earth to turn, too high for the clock to strike. Every watch stopped at 00:00, every pair of hands sky high and stuck there forever.

You don’t wear a watch. You wear black and not that much of it. You circle the casino floor like you are inevitable, and every flashing light, every winning shout, every tuneless slot machine jingle is for you. You wait at the bar. You are always waiting here, but that’s OK. Here you know that the pleasure is coming, that the magnificent thing is always already on its way to you. The bartender is making your drink, and then she is handing it to you.

When he arrives, he’s wearing black too: shoes, pants, shirt, jacket. No tie. He kisses you. He smells like the diesel cocktail from the streets outside. He has been working all day while you sat by the pool in the saline heat with a bright blue cocktail longer than your forearm. He takes a sip from your drink, takes your hand and presses it to his lips, to his heart, which you cannot see but which you assume is somewhere just under the black shirt, the chest hair, the silver chain.

He does not ask you how your day was, and you do not ask him how his day was. He asks you what you want to drink, and he orders two, and he looks into your eyes as if he loves you. It is the way he always looks at you, and it has always scared you because you do not know if what you are and what he is seeing are the same thing. When he looks at you like this, his eyes become bottomless, and you cannot tell where they lead.

He is smooth, so smooth, but underneath the smoothness, there is something spikey and ragged, something that sizzles like a live wire. When the smoothness wears away (which it always does), you know you will get burned. You are covered in these burns already, burns he kisses better once he’s done making them, covered enough to wonder if love is meant to require so much Neosporin. But for now, he is smooth, so smooth. His thumb is at home on your knee, and he is laughing when you laugh. You both have a second round and a third round, and when you get up, the room tilts on its axis like the whizzing eyes of a slot machine. His hand is at your elbow, your back, your waist, and the carpet is red and gold and everywhere.

He waits outside while you hack in the lobby bathroom, champagne and spit on the ends of your hair, which you wet clean in the sink. The mirror is huge, and you are inside of it, and you are gorgeous, even with your champagne and spit-wet ends, even and maybe especially with the hollow look in your eyes. When you are alone with yourself, the hollow thing inside your eyes you do not want to acknowledge gets louder and louder, and so you push back through the swinging door into the casino, which is always louder than your thoughts, the casino which always wins.

He is waiting there, and his eyes are sparkling with the bottomless thing that scares you. His arm is around your shoulder, guiding you through the lobby and into the elevator, where you watch both of your faces in the mirror on the ceiling. Sometimes you think you are always watching because you are waiting for what you are seeing to change into something that does not scare you. You watch for as long as you think it should take to change, and then you keep watching.

The hallway is long with many corners. An empty room service tray, there. You could order room service. You could do anything you want. That’s the whole point, that’s the whole point of coming here, all the infinite options for pleasure, all the infinite options. The door beeps red, then green.

You kiss standing up inside the room, near the door, away from the beds. He kisses your neck. You’re dizzy. You’re crying and you’re not sure why. He is kind, he is always kind when it happens, like a part in a script he knows how to play. Sometimes you wonder if you cry so you can get to the part where he is always kind. He’s running a bath, sitting on the white edge of the tub with one black sleeve rolled up, cuff wet like the ends of your hair. You know in the morning, he will be angry, that the bottomless tunnels in his eyes will close, and when you go to touch him, he will push you away like a punishment, but tonight he is kind. He undresses you and puts you in the tub and undresses himself and sits at the other end. You tell him you are sorry (which is true), and he tells you it’s OK (which isn’t). But he is tender with you now, and it is so easy to believe him.

When the water gets cold, he wraps you in a towel you wish was softer. You hold each other in the bathroom until your skin is sticky with dried soap. You always wish this part could last longer, but already his eyes are beginning to close in that way they do. In the morning, they will be all the way closed, and you will reach for him, and he will turn you away, so tonight you get under the covers and back your body up against his so you don’t have to watch it happen. Maybe it will be different this time when you wake. Maybe his eyes will be open, and when you look into them, you’ll see all the way down to the bottom, and what you see there will not scare you, and he will see you, and it will really be you. You think it should be possible. You think about it so often, sometimes you trick yourself into thinking it has already happened.

Any minute now, the pleasure is coming. Any minute now, you and the pleasure will bump shoulders at the bar, will reach for the same gilded button at the elevator bay, will beeline for the same blackjack table, and put your hands on the same empty chair. Any minute now pleasure’s car will pull up alongside yours on the highway with the windows down, any minute there’ll be a knock on the hotel room door and pleasure will be on the other side of the peephole, any minute now the lever will pull and the lights will flash and pleasure will come pouring out like dirty change right into your ready open palms, any minute now you and the pleasure will collide.

The post Hanna Bahedry: 25th Annual Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Awards Winner appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Out of many great entries, WD editors selected the following 25 winners:

1. “A Beautiful and Everlasting Moment of Pleasure” by Hanna Bahedry

2. “Scratch” by Gordon B. McFarland

3. “Toward the Thermosphere” by JL Perling

4. “The Piano” by Jenna-Marie Warnecke

5. “The Creation of Art” by Jenna-Marie Warnecke

6. “Initiate” by Coby Kellogg

7. “The Way Back” by Eric Jacobs

8. “At the Lochshore” by Sarah Dollacker

9. “Revival Reatha” by Thomas Oakley

10. “The Western Reaches” by Caitlin A. Quinn

11. “Vivid Warm” by Richard Jespers

12. “Red Bird (or, Eleanor at the End)” by Juliana Delany

13. “Witness Marks” by J.M. Lake

14. “My Father the Telepath” by Sophia Hyland-Wolzak

15. “The Bobby Pin Box” by Carol Elizabeth Larson

16. “Nature’s Decision” by John Arthur Lee

17. “What Wasn’t There” by C. Piper

18. “Something for the Children” by Katie Wills Evans

19. “Side-Step” by Laura Guilbault

20. “Echoes of Silence” by Nicole Disney

21. “An Infinite Capacity” by Mark D. Mrozinski

22. “An Odd Number” by Coby Kellogg

23. “Open Secrets” by Tim Lynch

24. “Dinner Date” by Jenna  Merritt 

25. “Choices” by Minh-Tam Le

The post Announcing the Winners of the 25th Annual Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Competition appeared first on Writer's Digest.

See the full list of winners here!

I’ve said it before, but choosing the winner of the Writer’s Digest Poetry Awards is one of my favorite things to do each year. In 2024, there were more than 700 entries covering a range of forms, subjects, issues, and themes. In the end, I selected Judith Chibante’s “Naïve Beauty” for the First Place Prize of $1,000, publication in Writer’s Digest, and a 20–minute consultation with yours truly.

Chibante, who has been writing “since Mrs. Thompson’s English class in high school” before going on to teach for four decades herself, previously finished in the Top 10 for this competition multiple times, and her perseverance paid off this time around. For me, her poem “Naïve Beauty” was a sonic delight focused on natural beauty.

Here’s a quick Q&A:

What are you currently up to?

I have not yet published a full-length book, and would like to shape the current manuscript I’m working on in that direction. That, of course, means more prolific writing, which is a major focus right now. Why not write a poem a day? (WD features a path for this.) Or at least a week? I continue to need to challenge myself on this.

What inspired “Naïve Beauty”?

An in-depth study of Gerard Manley Hopkins gave impetus for the form, but the ideas are from my own discoveries about creating the new—what hadn’t been in the world until I brought it into Being. When I was a young girl, I made a pillow out of felt and yarn; even though I had used a pattern, I remember the euphoria to look at that pillow and realize it had never “been”
before—now it “was.” This poem expresses the power—and, I think—the magic of making a new entity: finishing the hat in Stephen Sondheim’s words.

And … that making saves us. Any one of us at any moment may need redeeming. From what? From the ordinary, from past slovenly or half-realized effort, from self-doubt. Perhaps these are the “sins” (if any) of the artist.

If you could pass on one piece of advice to other poets, what would it be?

You are as much an artist as Monet or Beethoven—their reputations were created by others embracing and lifting their art. Their own creative process is the same one you tussle with. You paint in the language of images and description and fresh observations. Put everything down on your “new canvas” (it’s only blank until you come to it)—that three-word refrain repeatedly playing in your head, the inspirational turn of phrase from Call the Midwife (e.g., “We are each other’s wealth and our greatest good fortune …”). Keep a running log on your tablet to catch yourself—and others—being brilliant; use it as a personal source to mine.

Also, seek out poems that speak to you to learn “by heart”—your heart. Mine is stirred by poems of poets as diverse as Charles Baudelaire (“Be Drunk”) and Jane Kenyon (“Happiness”). In this way, you build a body of high language that becomes a background to draw from for your own efforts. Once poems are living in your heart—those of others, as well as your own—you can access them at 3 a.m. or standing in the grocery check-out line or sitting in another waiting room. And they make for a deep and rich anteroom for meditation.

The post Judith Chibante: 19th Annual Writer’s Digest Poetry Awards Winner appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Ground Zero

by F.A. Battle

I had an uncle who used to say that if the world ended while he was alive, he wanted to be at the heart of the destruction. When the asteroid slammed into the ocean or the nuclear bomb blew off half the continent, Uncle Esau wanted to be right at ground zero.

It wasn’t that my uncle had a death wish. It was more a desire to avoid the despair that comes after such a horrific event. Broken bodies and bloody aftermath. Naked orphans roaming the streets. Desperate, starving survivors, stabbing each other over the last honey bun in the bodega. “Who wants to deal with all that mess?” my uncle would say between bites of stew beef, rice, and collards. “Just take me out with the first wave.”

My mother always cooked for an army because, on top of feeding her own family, her older brother had a knack for showing up just as the food was ready. “What you got cooking up in these pots, girl?” Uncle Esau would ask, as he ambled toward the stove, plate and fork already in hand. She would yell at him for digging in her pots without washing up first. He would huff about it but always went to wash his hands. Then he’d fix his plate and the two of them would bicker, laugh, and gossip about their other siblings while he ate.

When the conversation turned to Armageddon, as it always did for some reason with Uncle Esau, my mother would mumble, “Here we go with this shit again.” Then, she would find something to do in another part of the house. But I loved it. I would sit at the kitchen table and drink in every bit of his dark wisdom about the world’s end.

Because he was my uncle, and I was a child, I was prone to agree with him on the whole post-apocalypse thing. There would be no military rule or refugee camps for me. I would be proud to get taken out on the front line, screaming like a bitch along with the rest of the moron army standing in the street, gaping up at the million-ton space rock careening toward our faces. Hypnotized by the scarlet hell boiling down on us instead of running our asses for cover. The few! The proud! The instantly fried! Sign me up, dammit! I’ll be the one melted right into my shoes.

Over the years, I’ve gleaned a great deal of strength from Uncle E’s philosophy and those endearing childhood chats about death and cataclysm. I’ve faced many trials with his voice echoing in my mind — Stand tall and take it head-on, girl! or If it don’t kill ya, it’ll make ya stronger, and who can forget the classic, If it kills ya … ah well.

But today, I am alone in this theater lobby, and all that big stand-strong-and-take-it-like-a-woman talk is barely a whisper in the distance. I’m locked on the pair of eyes just beyond the concession stand. They’re burning a hole through me. These mahogany pools, set ablaze with flecks of gold and emerald — are far more dangerous than any space rock. More deadly than any bomb or weapon of mass destruction. I’m hypnotized into paralysis. I’m a pathetic twitching mass with no will of my own. And contrary to my uncle’s wise teachings, every part of me wants nothing more than to run for cover.

If I could muster the will to move my legs that’s exactly what I would do. If I could suck enough air into my lungs to run out of this lobby and back into the street, then I would be so gone. But my legs are numb. My breath has rattled to a stop. And my heart is slamming against my chest, telling me to move forward or die right in this spot.

Twenty years. That’s how long I’ve known my husband. Married for 10 years. We have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl.

Am I happy?

Knowing that my kids are cherished and cared for by two loving parents makes me happy.

But am I happy?

I like my job. I make a decent living. We live a good life.

Girl! Are you happy?!

No. I am not happy. I want to be. I should be. I have tried to be for a very long time. I slip on the happy-wife mask and wear it for as long as I can tolerate. But then, my skin starts to itch, my head spins, and the mask slips away. Beneath, is a face I don’t fully recognize.

And now, here I stand at ground zero about to get pulverized by those eyes. Because I should not be here. But there’s no other place in the world I want to be. I am what? Gay? Bisexual? Lesbian? Queer? None of them feel right to my ears, so I use them all interchangeably, but only with myself. To everyone else, I am Mommy, Wife, Sister, Friend, Co-worker.

To everyone except her.

To her, I am simply Felicia. And this Felicia…this unmasked, wide-open Felicia is Beautiful. Passionate. Intense. Sexy … So deliciously different that I am unlike any other woman on the face of the planet. She tells me that in words, but she doesn’t have to. I can feel it in the caress that sends currents of electricity through my entire body before her fingertips even land on my skin. And in the way her lips claim my own for themselves. Both soft and delicate then deep and passionate, locked in kisses so sweet I can taste her for days after. The same lips that now smile at my approach, brush my cheek, and whisper my name, as I melt right into my shoes.

Let the bloody aftermath begin.

See the full list of winners here!

The post Ground Zero: Writer’s Digest 5th Annual Personal Essay Awards Winner appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Want an opportunity to win a WD award? Keep checking our competitions page for upcoming competitions.

1. “Ground Zero” by F.A. Battle

2. “They Say if You Name the Thing, it Helps” by Allie Dixon

3. “A Stroke, a Recovery, and a Marriage Revised” by Charlotte Troyanowski

4. “How to (not) get into an Ivy League School” by jlee

5. “Letters from Far Away” by Jean Palmer Heck

6. “The Verizon Guy” by J. Shepherd

7. “A Baker’s Dozen: Thirteen Perspectives on Anorexia” by Deborah Svec-Carstens

8. “Ode to an Ugly Urn” by Katrina Gallegos

9. “Delivery Notes” by J. Mackenzie

10. “Didu” by M. Talu

11. “The Hunt” by Elinor Horner

12. “Cardinal Virtues” by Robin Clifford Wood

13. “Treasures from the Sea” by Renee Srch

14. “A Clash of Cultures Around the Dinner Table” by Genine Babakian

15. “AFTERTHOUGHT ON AN EPITAPH” by Melanie Verbout

16. “Because the Night belongs to Mothers” by Hope Loraine Cotter

17. “My Name Isn’t Michelle” by Nicholle Harrison 

18. “Historian of Silences” by Jonathan Odell

19. “In the End” by Mark V Sroufe

20. “Man Enough” by Christian Escalona

21. “Across the Gulf” by Annie Barker

22. “On Fathering (What You Didn’t Know)” by John Cheesebrow

23. “My Name is Not Sally” by Celia Ruiz

24. “An Abortion, a hysterectomy, and Black Sweatpants” by Lynne Schmidt

25. “Aging, Angst, & Anxiety” by Stephanie Baker

Check out the latest Writer’s Digest Competitions!

The post Announcing the 5th Annual Personal Essay Awards Winners appeared first on Writer's Digest.

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While Lucy Day has a lot of interesting and surprising things to share about her almost 10 years of self-publishing, at the top of the list might be this: She started her writing career being traditionally published.

“I found with a traditional publisher—this was years ago—that it could take 18 months or more after a manuscript was accepted to actually see it finished, and that’s an eternity,” she says with a laugh. “I really love that with self-publishing, I create my own timetable, and I can generally publish faster than that. The first Lucy Day book was published in September of ’22, and now the fourth one [came] out [in February].”

But it’s not just how quickly she can get the works out to readers that draws her to self-publishing. She says, “It’s empowering to learn all the facets of self-publishing, all those nitty-gritty details, and that it’s possible to do all that—or a lot of it—yourself. And to do it well and publish the same caliber books that traditional presses are doing.”

Along this vein, she says that she “just never really understood that stigma of self-publishing not being as good as traditional. I think there are a ton of amazing books out there that are self-published. And I think we’re lucky that we live in a time where it’s relatively easy to self-publish.

“There are a lot of people out there with a lot of important things to say and amazing stories to tell, and they don’t have the same resources that a lot of other authors have. It’s really hard to find an agent and get in with a traditional house sometimes. Then it can take years to finally get a book in print. It’s a gift to be able to self-publish, and I think there’s a lot of amazing authors out there doing it.”

That pride in quality is what elevated her novel, One Sweet Holiday, to the top of the Writer’s Digest 12^th Annual Self-Published E-book Awards. This grand-prize win netted Day a prize package of $5,000, a paid trip to the Writer’s Digest Annual Conference, and more.

While she finds self-publishing rewarding, it comes with challenges. Day says the biggest challenge for her is marketing. “It’s a challenge to gain visibility when you self-publish. … I feel like the landscape in marketing is the thing that is always changing. And I just want to be able to engage with my readers. I find that it’s sometimes hard to do that through social media just because, especially now, it seems like there’s so much noise. It’s really hard to cut through! [laughs] But I would say that that visibility and that engagement is the most challenging thing. … Marketing can take a whole lot of time and, frankly, I’d just rather spend that time writing.”

How does she overcome these challenges? She turns to her community of writers and self-published authors. “A friend of mine and I went into this self-publishing vein together, and she and I had strengths that complimented each other. So, we had learned a lot over the years about editing, formatting—I’m a graphic designer, so the cover design, I felt confident doing myself. … I am fortunate to have a couple of close friends who also work as editors … several of us will trade services essentially. I’m lucky to have a network of people who I can trade those services with. [But] if I didn’t have friends who could help me … that would be really hard to navigate around.”

It was her community that inspired the story of One Sweet Holiday. Although this is the third book of the Jasmine Falls Love Stories series, one of Day’s friends challenged her to write a holiday romance—something she’d never tackled before. She took up the challenge and decided to add in other romance genre elements she loves: someone new comes to a small town to give people a fresh perspective; opposites attract; a female entrepreneur who is finding her path. And she says, “My late mother loved Christmas, everything about it. The more I worked on that story, it just became kind of a love letter to her too.”

We also discussed how community can give writers confidence—and that confidence can be the make-or-break-it of a writer’s career.

“I have this friend and writing coach, Camille Pagán, who’s been a huge influence on me in terms of mindset. And this is something that we talk about together a lot because, you know, now I feel like I can either tell myself that writing’s hard and I can toil, or I can tell myself that writing is easy and it’s going to be fun. Those thoughts directly affect how I feel and how I write. So, it’s a little bit woo, but it’s about the science of mindset. … I choose to have fun when I’m writing. Now it often comes more with ease than it used to, but there are definitely moments where I get stuck, and sometimes, I just need to take a walk, get out of the house and clear my head, let ideas percolate and come back to them later. But ultimately, I just trust the process now. I know some parts are going to be harder to write than others, but I’m confident I’ll get the story where I want it to be in the end.

“It took me a long time to get to that place. I’m not saying it happened overnight. [laughs] But once that confidence started to grow, it’s like, ‘OK, I know how to tell a good story. I can trust myself to shape this the way it needs to be.’”

Part of that confidence is in knowing where your strengths do not lie. Being able to discern this can set a writer up for success. Day says, “I’m always happy to hire people who do the things that are outside of my wheelhouse because I have learned the hard way that it can be not the best use of my time to try to learn too many things or to do things that are really just not in my expertise. [laughs] Book tours, for example. I always hire somebody to handle tours for me because that’s not something that I’m very good at, frankly. And that’s just how I approach it. If I come upon a task I need done that I know I’m not going to do it well enough that I’m happy with it, I’d rather hire somebody who is really good at it and hire the most professional people I can to help.”

When asked what advice she has for other writers, her answer is simple but profound: “Trust your gut, and choose a path that aligns with your goals and your intentions. Don’t be afraid to take the leaps that will allow you to grow. Just show up for yourself every day and have your own back—to me, that has been a game changer.”

Check out the current Writer’s Digest Competitions!

The post Lucy Day: 12th Annual Self-Published E-book Awards Winner appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Irene Te always knew she wanted to self-publish her YA romance novel, This Place Is Magic. “I knew from the beginning that I didn’t want to query this project,” she says. “I never even attempted it. It wasn’t a story that fit neatly into any boxes, and if it was difficult for me to position and pitch, I felt it would be difficult for an agent, too. And since there were so many elements I wasn’t OK with negotiating, I chose to self-publish. I saw it as the best way to stay true to the story I wanted to tell.”

Her instincts proved right, earning her the top prize in WD’s 32^nd Annual Self-Published Book Awards, but this also dispels the notion that self-publishing is merely a backup plan for authors if traditional publishing isn’t working out. The benefits of self-publishing—writing the story the way she wanted to, going against traditional romance tropes—far outweighed those of traditional publishing for Te to begin with; and now, the validation of winning Grand Prize is something she hopes teaches others the legitimacy of self-published books.

WD spoke with Te about why she entered the competition, the inspiration behind This Place Is Magic, and more.

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Congratulations on winning Grand Prize! What made you decide to enter our competition?

Thank you! I chose to enter this competition because I consider Writer’s Digest to be a reputable and reliable source of support for anyone who writes. I felt that winning—even an honorable mention—from a WD competition would be a great thing for me as a writer; I also felt that it would help me continue to dispel the misconception that self-published books are not worthy of critical acclaim on the same level as books that are traditionally published. I don’t think I’m the only self-published author who feels like no matter how much effort, care, and craft I put into my work, it’s still dismissed as lesser quality because I didn’t choose the traditional route to publication. It was nice to receive validation that I’d chosen the right path for my book. Winning an award from a respected industry publication like Writer’s Digest could help my book reach more readers.

Tell us about This Place Is Magic. How did the idea come to you?

The fictional K-pop group in this book has been around since 2017, starting out as a list of characters in a Google doc. Pretty much all my projects take a long time to simmer. Case in point, I didn’t return to the idea of writing about K-pop until early 2023, when I saw an Instagram post featuring an idol on an evening walk. He had his back turned to the camera, just strolling through some neighborhood in California. Initially, I was drawn to the aesthetic: the dark blue of the sky, the streetlamps, the billowing white shirt. It felt hopeful and carefree, but also kind of sad. Someone so famous would have a hard time taking a walk anywhere without being recognized or interrupted. Even the casual nature of this picture was, at heart, a kind of performance. It seemed exhausting.

I kept scrolling after that, but there was something about the image that just stayed with me. I started looking at all the other posts by idols in my feed and totally overthinking each one. I thought about how crazy it would be for someone to find a random K-pop idol wandering down the street outside their house. Why was he even there? What if he’d gotten lost? And then, the question that led me to my protagonist: What if he wanted to be lost? What if this character was running away?

Something I think you capture really well is the banter between characters. Charming, charismatic dialogue is critically important to a successful rom-com. How did you go about creating the unique voices for each of the characters?

In my experience, a character’s unique voice is directly tied to who they are as a person. I spend a lot of time thinking about where a character comes from, whether they’d be wordy in their responses or very brief and to the point, and if they have any phrases that they use a lot. Then I come up with “rules” for how each character uses language.

The fun part of banter and conversation between characters, for me, is watching the interplay of all these different “rules” in action. Some characters never interrupt. Others do nothing but interrupt. Some characters never curse and one character curses constantly. When you get them all interacting together, I think the dialogue has no choice but to be lively.

Were there any surprises in the writing process of This Place Is Magic?

The biggest surprise was how easily the story fell into place. It was the rare project that seemed to be writing itself. Although he’s the quietest and most undemanding protagonist I’ve ever written so far, Eunjae really had a story he wanted to tell me.

If you could share one piece of advice to other writers considering self-publishing, what would it be?

I think the best thing you can do for yourself as a writer is to cultivate a willingness to learn. Remain open to the idea that there’s always more learning you can do. This means studying craft, but also taking feedback and figuring out your unique process. Take the time to improve your skills. To me, learning is an investment in yourself. 

Enter the 33rd Self-Published Book Awards now!

The post Interview with Irene Te: WD’s 32nd Annual Self-Published Book Awards Winner appeared first on Writer's Digest.

[See the complete winner’s list]

Choosing Week

by Ruth Scharff-Hansen

The black sheath dress that the Council picked out for me makes a crunching noise as I walk down the corridor to my first trial. It is too plain to give any hints as to what I might have to endure this Choosing Week.

I just graduated from what many would consider the best university in the world. A city full of dreaming spires, crumbling sandstone, and statues of problematic men who funded our ornate institution by trading drugs and weapons and people. It was austere. But the benefit of a serious education is that my path now seems clear enough. The professors I worked under are well-respected, and I am sure that the Council will take their recommendation whole-heartedly when making my Choice this week.

The elders say that Choosing Week is a relatively recent practice. Back when our country used to be prefaced with the word ‘United’, all young adults had the illusion of free will. But that illusion crumbled along with the economy. Suddenly, masses of fresh graduates all vying for the same jobs found themselves crushed under the weight of student debt, with no way to pay it off. Meanwhile, necessary positions that weren’t considered as desirable remained unfilled. The government, which evolved over time into the Council, decided that talent needed to be redistributed. They took this distribution into their own hands.

Now, don’t get me wrong, there is still some remnant of autonomy in the Choice. When you’re 5 years old, you share your future hopes with the Council, and this childhood nonsense is regarded as the first guiding point in their decision. And again when you finish school, whenever that may be, you work with your teachers to recommend a second option. This is generally the more realistic and thought-out possibility. Rarely, the Council will select a profession completely outside of these two paths: I know of a medical student who became a model! But most of the time, especially when you went to a university like mine, the Council avoids ruffling any feathers. They make sure artists get to make art, musicians get to make music, and bankers get to make money, and that’s that.

I’m going to be a lawyer. Adults have told me this since I was little. Apparently I have “a way with words” that should be put towards “something useful.” I’ve been groomed in this vision for years: from internships at law firms to heading up the debate club. It’s an easy slam-dunk for the Council. On the second day of Choosing Week, I will show them what a day in my life as a lawyer will look like. They will observe before coming to a decision this Friday.

Before I get to prove myself, though, I must make it through the first day. Today is a day to “live my childhood fantasies.” Like many of my peers, I do not remember what I told the Council a decade and a half ago. A distant dream picks at me—one full of tall stories and old books—but the feeling I get in my gut is dangerous, and so I suppress it. Now I dread to think what waits for me behind the heavy brass doors at the end of this hallway. It could be a herd of giraffes if I said I wanted to be a zookeeper. It could be mounds of unmolded clay if I had wanted to be a sculptor. Or perhaps I wanted to be a unicorn. What would that even look like?

I take a deep breath. Part of me wants to throw this day away, but I know the punishment for not taking the process seriously is imprisonment. And another part of me—a quiet part—wonders what I hoped for before I was taught the right way to hope.

The metal doors creak in their hinges as I walk through the threshold. The room is completely bare, save for a microphone and a selection of instruments in the middle of the padded floor. Immediately, I decide to leave the guitar and piano alone. I can’t play. Opposite me is a massive mirror: double-sided glass. They’re watching.

“Emily Hudgens.” A voice rings through the room, and my heart beats out of my chest. I assume a Council member is speaking to me from behind the mirror. Should I say hello back? Would that be inappropriate? It’s unnerving hearing such booming words when I can only see my own trembling reflection. I shift from foot to foot, fidgeting, as I wait for my instructions. “Rockstar.”

My stomach turns. Rockstar? I’m about as tone-deaf and talentless as they come! Why on Earth would I have wanted to be a rockstar? I briefly recall a late-night television show I fixated on when I was little, but still, this is a ridiculous task. I can do nothing but gape and force myself to remember that, as always, quiet obedience is my only realistic option.

“Sing.”

Shaking, I step towards the mic. But not for the first time, I’m angered that I need to go through this charade. There is a career out there for me that everyone knows I will excel at. Why should I bother with what might have once made me happy? Why pretend that we get to contribute to this choice, when even my goals were born from pressure? What should I sing, what should I sing? I lean down and echo the song I’ve performed in assembly every morning since kindergarten. The national anthem.

It comes out flat and harsh.

“Sing something original, Emily,” the voice behind the glass chastises. There’s a little laughter in it, and my face burns bright red at the embarrassment of my obvious failure.

“Original?” I repeat dumbly.

“Make your own song.”

I chew on my lip for a moment. I’ve never been very musically inclined, but you may remember that I allegedly have a way with words. The syllables catch in my throat, and when I choke them out, they’re tuneless, falling short of the chirpy melody I’m going for. But hey, at least they rhyme.

“I wonder what would happen
If I was just a teenage girl
If I let go of my worries
But held on to the world.”

I pause, hoping they’ll tell me it’s enough. But I’m only met with awkward silence, and so I scramble to craft another line. I’m getting agitated now, and perhaps a little too bold with my semantic selections. The words are starting to sound less and less like a rock song and more and more like slam poetry.

“If I let myself rant
About those who did me wrong
And didn’t feel an inch of guilt
About not singing this song.”

It’s a risky choice, but several voices chortle at the end of this verse.

“I wonder who I’d be
If I let myself slip
Into the world of adolescence
Where no one’s got a grip!”

They laugh out loud when I take a sardonic bow.

“Thank you,” I say.

Suddenly, I am very grateful that the single-sided glass prevents me from seeing the faces of my audience, for I can hear their pens scratching furiously against paper on the other side of this divide. I try not to wonder what it is they’re writing. When I write, when it’s quiet, and no one is watching, I only ever scribble so intensely when I am seized with inspiration. What did I do that would warrant that?

After an excruciatingly long pause, I clear my throat. “Um, am I excused?”

“Yes, Emily.” The voice says. “Be ready for your second trial this Wednesday.”

I want to tell him that I was born ready, but not only would it be blasphemous to speak to the Council that way, it isn’t true. I was made ready. I dip into a shallow curtsy—a peculiar thing to do, given that our country hasn’t had a monarchy in decades—and back out of the room in a hurried half-run.

When I get home, I tell my family how I bombed. They laugh and pat me on the back. My older brother, who made it through his childhood hurdle of marine biology before becoming an engineer last year, actually cries because he doubles over so hard.

“At least I didn’t kill a fish during my trial!” I quip back.

“It was an accident!” He protests.

I am assured that all will be okay, because I will be a lawyer anyway. I’m stuffed full of casserole and words of encouragement before I am sent to bed, feeling slightly annoyed. I’m not sure why: They mean well. It’s hours before the Council-mandated curfew, and a few of my friends are going out to celebrate the start of Choosing Week, but I don’t have it in me. I was defiant today. The Council may reward my boldness, but they may punish it too. 

When I take the same walk down the same corridor on Wednesday, wearing the same outfit in a gray color, I don’t have the same butterflies in my stomach. In fact, I don’t really feel much at all. I make my way through the motions: the room is set up like a mock trial, and I craft a watertight skeleton submission that I slip through the letterbox on the side of the room for the Council’s review. I then deliver a short speech, and though I am standing by the same microphone in the same room with the same audience, I am a different Emily Hudgens today.

No one laughs or applauds. I am dismissed, knowing I have done a cookie-cutter job.

The end of Choosing Week doesn’t conclude in a flourish like you might expect: Our country doesn’t have the resources. There’s no ceremony, no elaborate tradition, no rousing speech. There’s a thin, white envelope that comes in the mail on Friday, stamped with the official ink of the Council and addressed to one Emily Hudgens, 212 Primley Road. I know from my brother’s experience last year that I will be told to immediately report to my new position. After all, the whole point of this process is that the Council needs workers, as soon as possible.

The paper feels damp in my hands, like it has passed through many fingertips in order to get to my family home and deliver my fate. My brother leans over to open the letter himself—he says I am doing it too slowly—but my parents swat him away, though I can tell they are just as eager. They watch with baited breath as I read through the message.

It’s only four lines long.

It states my name.

It thanks me for my (forced) participation.

It states the address of my new workplace.

And it announces my position.

My parents don’t have time to ask questions, too stunned by what I have read aloud, before I hop in the car to drive to my new everyday spot. My hands shake on the wheel. As the glass doors of my office revolve, I think of the medical student who became a model. I wonder if she felt as alive as I do now.

“Hey!” One of my colleagues calls out as I make my way across the floor. “There’s the new girl who can rhyme!”

I tip my head at him with a broad grin. A way with words. The girl next to me chatters about how they heard all about my little show on Monday, and I can’t help but feel that the Council has rewarded me, after all. I remember how I hoped before I was taught the right way to hope.

There’s nothing on my desk but a fountain pen, a stack of empty pages that I itch to fill with dreams, and a name card that admits what I have been too scared to admit all along.

“Emily Hudgens,” the sign reads. “Writer.”

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