No Winner's Bonnet for Sonnet
My teenagers knew that I was not playing chauffeur Saturday night. We were ordering pizza, staying in, and listening to Prairie Home Companion, waiting to hear their mother’s sonnet read. Only 4000+ entries. I had a chance, right? One poem would win a new bed and three dozen roses.
I imagined Garrison, in that wonderful voice, reading my poem aloud. I knew just how he would say each word, where he would pause for effect, what words he would emphasize. I visualized a Saturday-morning call from him, inviting me to the show to read my own poem. Of course I’d attend, but I’d humbly decline reading my sonnet in favor of hearing the words formed perfectly by Garrison.
He didn’t call. No matter. He certainly didn’t want to give the winner away. We chewed our pizza quietly and listened. The minutes ticked by. Mine was not read. My name was not mentioned. Saving the best for last, right? At the end of the show, Garrison chose the winner of the bed. My bed. My bed of roses. But someone else would be sleeping in it.
“Well, baby, that’s it,” my husband said as he turned the radio off. “Turn that back on!” I demanded. “It’s not over. He may have forgotten one.” We listened until the final word.
Was my ego bruised? Absolutely. Did I consider that 32 finalists out of 4073 gave me but eight tenths of a percent of a chance? Somebody had to win.
Why do we enter contests? Who are the winners? Writing contests are subjective, but overall, are contests of skill, not luck. Yes, writers do take it as a negative review of their work when not chosen. But real writers keep writing. Consider what the world would have lost if the following writers had not persisted:
Dr. Seuss’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, was rejected by 27 publishers. The 28th publisher sold 6 million copies.
The Atlantic Monthly returned a submission with the note, “Our magazine has no room for your vigorous verse.” The returned poems were those of Robert Frost.
And this rejection note: “I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language.”
And those are just a few examples. So, then, to all of us who were not finalists in this contest or in any other, persist. Maybe one day we will hear Garrison read our work. Or be invited as guests because he is an admirer of our work, of the craft we continue tirelessly day after day before crawling into ordinary beds each night with no scent of roses in the air.
(C) Donna Marie Books and Donna Marie Merritt. To see my children's books, go to www.DonnaMarieBooks.com.
I imagined Garrison, in that wonderful voice, reading my poem aloud. I knew just how he would say each word, where he would pause for effect, what words he would emphasize. I visualized a Saturday-morning call from him, inviting me to the show to read my own poem. Of course I’d attend, but I’d humbly decline reading my sonnet in favor of hearing the words formed perfectly by Garrison.
He didn’t call. No matter. He certainly didn’t want to give the winner away. We chewed our pizza quietly and listened. The minutes ticked by. Mine was not read. My name was not mentioned. Saving the best for last, right? At the end of the show, Garrison chose the winner of the bed. My bed. My bed of roses. But someone else would be sleeping in it.
“Well, baby, that’s it,” my husband said as he turned the radio off. “Turn that back on!” I demanded. “It’s not over. He may have forgotten one.” We listened until the final word.
Was my ego bruised? Absolutely. Did I consider that 32 finalists out of 4073 gave me but eight tenths of a percent of a chance? Somebody had to win.
Why do we enter contests? Who are the winners? Writing contests are subjective, but overall, are contests of skill, not luck. Yes, writers do take it as a negative review of their work when not chosen. But real writers keep writing. Consider what the world would have lost if the following writers had not persisted:
Dr. Seuss’s first book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, was rejected by 27 publishers. The 28th publisher sold 6 million copies.
The Atlantic Monthly returned a submission with the note, “Our magazine has no room for your vigorous verse.” The returned poems were those of Robert Frost.
And this rejection note: “I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language.”
And those are just a few examples. So, then, to all of us who were not finalists in this contest or in any other, persist. Maybe one day we will hear Garrison read our work. Or be invited as guests because he is an admirer of our work, of the craft we continue tirelessly day after day before crawling into ordinary beds each night with no scent of roses in the air.
(C) Donna Marie Books and Donna Marie Merritt. To see my children's books, go to www.DonnaMarieBooks.com.
This is a wonderful article. Thanks for the info.
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