ADDICTIONS . . .

. . . OR CONFESSIONS OF A FORMERLY LAPSED CONTEST SLUT

Once the fever gets into your blood, it's there forever. Like smoking, I wrestle with the urge to indulge almost every day.

Okay, maybe not every day, but at least once a month when I flip through my ROMANCE WRITERS REPORT, the Romance Writers of America's monthly journal. There is a listing of upcoming chapter contests near the back of every issue.

Even scanning the possibilities can be habit-forming. Actually entering can become a black hole of expense: entry fees, copying costs, two-way postage. Therefore, one must approach the use of one's limited funds judiciously. There are many questions one must ask oneself:

• What do you really want from a contest? Do you want feedback? Are you targeting an agent or an agented-only publishing house? Are you looking for glory? Something to stick on your e-mail signature line?
• What kind of reputation does the contest have?
• Are the categories well defined?
• What kind of feedback does one receive: score sheet only or are the judges required to make comments directly on the manuscript pages?
• Who are the final judges? Are they the people you want to put your work in front of?

The first rush comes when trying to polish your entry, getting the most information in those first 10/20/30 pages without violating contest font/margin guidelines and still ending on a compelling hook. I try not to wait until the week before the entry/postmark deadline looms, but many others do. "I'm on deadline!" adds to the thrill. Then one rushes to the Post Office before it closes in order to get that postmark. Postage on the self-addressed-stamped return envelope first, then bundling your baby in Tyvek and waving goodbye.

At this point, entering a contest is like being pregnant. The first rush is over and now you wait. And wait. Or enter more contests to keep the adrenaline levels high. As the due date draws near, you start noting on your daily calendar, "2 more days until XYZ finalists are announced." And you wait.

Sometimes, as happened to me a few weeks ago, your life is focused on something else (like your kid landing a great role in the school play) and the contest coordinator calls you a couple of days early to let you know you're a finalist. This is the best. It's unexpected, out of the blue. I've had this happen several times in the past. On at least three occasions, one of the Chromos had the phone line tied up, and I learned my good news via voice mail.

But more often, one hovers over one's computer, waiting for an e-mail which may never come. You see the list of finalists appearing in various forums (my favorite is the Contest Alert loop).

Then another phase of waiting begins: the return of your scored entries. It could be a week, it could be months. It's a crap shoot. There's no target date to put on your calendar. You abandon your computer in order to stalk your postman/woman and haunt your mailbox. Every time you see a Tyvek envelope, you cringe and feel excited, kind of like being in labor. You want to know: did the judges really think your baby was ugly enough not to final?

Most judges offer thoughtful, insightful comments. I always read the comments through quickly, then wait a day or so to read them again. I've been known to take the comments from multiple contests and superimpose them on a draft of the story, then revise the work accordingly. I spent all that money for the feedback. It would be foolish not to consider it.

If you were talented/lucky enough to final or semifinal in a contest, that waiting process begins again. You have a date when the finalists/winners will be announced. This frequently coincides with the chapter's annual conference, which of course you are too poor to attend as you spent all your spare cash on contest entry fees and postage. Again, you hover over your computer, checking the chapter's website for the winners. You wonder why someone in the chapter isn't leaving conference festivities to post the information. Don't they know you need your adrenaline fix?

I stopped entering contests a couple of years ago. I had nothing new to enter, I'd landed an agent, and I was pleased with the contests the work had finalled in. A lapsed contest slut.

But as work progressed on my next book, the siren call of the chapter contest started singing in my blood again. I talked it over with my agent, and together we decided which contests to enter, based either on the final judge or the contest reputation -- which would garner "good press."

"It's okay this time," I told myself as I stocked up on attractive thank you notes. "I have a real plan. I'm not just entering for the sake of entering."

Until I printed out entry forms for a sixth contest. Fortunately, good sense prevailed. I already have an agent, the editor is not someone who publishes what I write, and the third judge . . . let's just say we are not simpatico. Yet I kept those entry forms until the day after the deadline passed, because I am a contest slut.

There ought to be a Twelve-Step Program for Contest Sluts trying to overcome the addiction. Publication doesn't work, because there are a whole set of different contests for the published author.

Hey! There's an idea for a workshop for next year's RWA National Conference.