Apparently it's competition season, or something. There are currently three big, reputable competitions that I know of open; get to work, because it's anybody's game. And when I say, 'anybody's game', what I mean is, 'anybody who's a really good writer'. Don't go scribbling teenage angst poetry on the back of a fag packet and send it in, because it won't win. Don't blame me, I'm only trying to save you a bit of hassle.
The Bridport Prize, which describes itself as "the richest OPEN prize", is being judged by AL Kennedy and has categories in short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. It closes on 30th June at midnight so get to work. No, June is not "ages away". It's a strong competition, so you might like to spend day and night obsessively writing and rewriting your work between now and then.
The Manchester Fiction Prize is also now open, under the direction of poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy. This is an extremely serious and literary competition so you will want to be serious and literary too. Again, the rewriting. It closes on Friday 11th August. So that gives you an extra five weeks over and above the Bridport Prize to spend day and night obsessively writing and rewriting your work.
Lightship Publishing is running a first chapter competition. The prize is bloody brilliant (a year's mentoring from Tibor Fischer, Simon Trewin of United Agents, and Alessandro Gallenzi of Alma Books). Lightship's patrons include Hilary Mantel and Sir Andrew Motion, oh my days, so get to work. The closing date is June 30th, please insert your own joke about writing and rewriting because I've used all mine up.
Currently reading
They Knew Mr Knight Dorothy Whipple
A Mercy Toni Morrison
Man In The Dark Paul Auster
Short story writer & novelist. K Blundell Trust award-winning Author, Saboteur Award winning editor (Remembering Oluwale), fiction editor at Strix Magazine. Director of the Northern Short Story Festival.
Showing posts with label bridport prize. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bridport prize. Show all posts
Friday, 18 March 2011
Friday, 14 January 2011
Around on the internet: news, facts, competitions
Get with it, January: give me your gloom, your grey skies, and the ever-present threat of snow. Slippery pavements, icy ground, imminent local authority cuts and job losses, and BRITAIN'S TRANSPORT CHAOS.
Never mind, readers. Here are three reasons to be cheerful:
"In America, it appears that certain ink-friendly literati are so into their books that they're getting tributes to them engraved on their bodies." Read the story and goggle in disbelief at the fact that people are willing to get tattoos in order to get free books. Just join a library, you buffoons.
Lightship publishing has launched a first chapter competition. The aim of the competition is to encourage new writing talent, since there's little encouragement to be had in these tight times (BOO YOU DAVID CAMERON). They're hoping to find some of Britain's brightest literary talent, here, and there hasn't been a new writing competition this exciting for a while. The whole thing is Andrew Motion-approved, and Tibor Fischer is one of the judges. The closing date is in June this year, so get your nibs a-squeaking and get to work.
In other Hot News, the Bridport prize is open for 2011 entries. The judge this year is the completely smashing AL Kennedy.
Happy new year, everyone!
Never mind, readers. Here are three reasons to be cheerful:
"In America, it appears that certain ink-friendly literati are so into their books that they're getting tributes to them engraved on their bodies." Read the story and goggle in disbelief at the fact that people are willing to get tattoos in order to get free books. Just join a library, you buffoons.
Lightship publishing has launched a first chapter competition. The aim of the competition is to encourage new writing talent, since there's little encouragement to be had in these tight times (BOO YOU DAVID CAMERON). They're hoping to find some of Britain's brightest literary talent, here, and there hasn't been a new writing competition this exciting for a while. The whole thing is Andrew Motion-approved, and Tibor Fischer is one of the judges. The closing date is in June this year, so get your nibs a-squeaking and get to work.
In other Hot News, the Bridport prize is open for 2011 entries. The judge this year is the completely smashing AL Kennedy.
Happy new year, everyone!
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
Bridport Prize
It's summer. My car is hot. The dress code at work means no visible tattoos, and therefore long sleeves. While my colleagues drift about wearing cute cap-sleeve blouses, I'm tugging at the neckline of a little cardigan. (But do they have a large tiger crawling up their shoulder? No, readers, they do not. Therefore, on balance, I win.)
Yes, it would be smart to buy shirts. They're comfortable, they're cool. They let the air circulate. But like any other right-thinking individual, I resent spending money on clothes that are only to be worn in the workplace. That, dear readers, is why I rock up at my desk, with oft-worn threads hanging loosely from my elbows, and the seams of my trousers running threadbare at the thighs. I consider it my role in the workplace to play the part of the eccentric, crumpled hobo. This is also the reason my colleagues daily send me hilarious emails saying things like, "Don't worry, SJ, I've got an iron you can borrow".
Instead of buying appropriate workwear, I insist on wearing knitwear, which is also the reason why I come home most days smelling like a teenager after a Motley Crue concert. Summer is less good for writing than winter. The light reflects off your laptop screen and there's less romanticism to be had in writing in shorts and flip-flops than an aran jumper and a pair of fingerless gloves. It's a bit like cheating: if you can't see your breath solidifying in the air in front of you, how can you possibly expect anything you write to be any good? If you write in the afternoons and evenings after work, like I do, it's more or less a given that you can smell somebody's barbeque through the open window. The smell of charcoal and charred meat reaches your nose, and hark! - there's the sound of chinking beer bottles. Who on earth are these people, these so-called "neighbours", and who do they think they are, going around having so-called "fun"? DON'T THEY KNOW I'M TRYING TO WRITE A NOVEL??
All this can mean only one thing: it's Bridport Prize season. This year, there are categories for short fiction, flash fiction (1000 words or less!) and poetry. For those of us who are a bit wordy around the edges, it's also one of the more generous of the short-story competitions word-wise: 5000 words or less! Any subject!! Get your pens at the ready, it closes in two weeks (the 30th June). Judge this year is Zoe Heller.
Currently reading
The Long Firm Jake Arnott
Pratt A Manger David Nobbs
The Corner (yes, still)
When The Door Closed, It Was Dark Alison Moore, Nightjar Press
Yes, it would be smart to buy shirts. They're comfortable, they're cool. They let the air circulate. But like any other right-thinking individual, I resent spending money on clothes that are only to be worn in the workplace. That, dear readers, is why I rock up at my desk, with oft-worn threads hanging loosely from my elbows, and the seams of my trousers running threadbare at the thighs. I consider it my role in the workplace to play the part of the eccentric, crumpled hobo. This is also the reason my colleagues daily send me hilarious emails saying things like, "Don't worry, SJ, I've got an iron you can borrow".
Instead of buying appropriate workwear, I insist on wearing knitwear, which is also the reason why I come home most days smelling like a teenager after a Motley Crue concert. Summer is less good for writing than winter. The light reflects off your laptop screen and there's less romanticism to be had in writing in shorts and flip-flops than an aran jumper and a pair of fingerless gloves. It's a bit like cheating: if you can't see your breath solidifying in the air in front of you, how can you possibly expect anything you write to be any good? If you write in the afternoons and evenings after work, like I do, it's more or less a given that you can smell somebody's barbeque through the open window. The smell of charcoal and charred meat reaches your nose, and hark! - there's the sound of chinking beer bottles. Who on earth are these people, these so-called "neighbours", and who do they think they are, going around having so-called "fun"? DON'T THEY KNOW I'M TRYING TO WRITE A NOVEL??
All this can mean only one thing: it's Bridport Prize season. This year, there are categories for short fiction, flash fiction (1000 words or less!) and poetry. For those of us who are a bit wordy around the edges, it's also one of the more generous of the short-story competitions word-wise: 5000 words or less! Any subject!! Get your pens at the ready, it closes in two weeks (the 30th June). Judge this year is Zoe Heller.
Currently reading
The Long Firm Jake Arnott
Pratt A Manger David Nobbs
The Corner (yes, still)
When The Door Closed, It Was Dark Alison Moore, Nightjar Press
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)