Competing concerns

The smell of your own curdling sweat as the deadline approaches. The roar of the crowd in your sleep-deprived head as you press send.

They're cheap(ish). They're plentiful. They lift you out of the dark cave where you toil - unseen, unheard, unhinged - into a world of glitter and shiny things. What's not to like about writing competitions?
 
There's the months of yo-yoing emotions.

The phone rings and it's the Big Name Judge wanting to congratulate you personally on your knockout story - and, by the way, do you fancy a coffee sometime?

The phone doesn't ring and it's because your story is
a) lost in cyber space
or
b) languishing next to the shredder in the pile of The Damned.

There's the bridled joy of hearing that really lovely people you cannot avoid have had the success that could have been yours, if only you didn't know so many darn writers. Because that's how it works. Seriously. It's a cosmic thing. Research has shown misanthropes increase their chances of success a hundred fold.

And then, once in a millennium, it's your turn and writing competitions are irrefutable proof of your place in the writing world. 'I am shortlisted, therefore I am.'

Of course, it's never enough. Even if you win, you won't be able to stop thinking about all the stories that are prettier than yours; the ones that will get bigger and better prizes.

But when the dust has settled, you''ll be back. Like the dog who knows he'll get a rap on the snout when he snaffles that untended sandwich. You just can't help yourself.