Making up my mind

I've spent a lot of time this week reading other people's short stories in my role as a competition judge. I've done this before and it's always a privilege, but it's also very difficult.

How do I compare, sci-fi with romance, humour with horror? How do I stop myself choosing a story that is to my taste, but not necessarily the best written? Indeed, should I?

Then there is the question of entries that are beautifully written, but not, to my mind, stories: that is to say, they read more like extracts from a bigger piece of work. Am I judging the quality of the writing from a technical point of view or is the tale itself the most important element?

The answer to all these questions is, of course, that it's up to me. I've been asked to judge, but that only means to give my opinion; and this is the case with all competitions. So if you're slogging away submitting entries and rarely or never walking away with the prize, this doesn't mean you're not a good writer. Judging is subjective. Another panel might have picked you - and may well do so next time.

Just my opinion

I've just been listening to Art Malik talking about his role as a judge for the Costa Book of the Year, saying how hard he has found it to decide which book is his favourite. We shall find out the results tomorrow.

I've spent the morning with a lovely author who sought my opinion on the draft of his short story collection. It was a real privilege to able to read his words. However, he said he felt like a contestant on Bake Off, waiting for me to judge his showstopper!

I'm going to the awards evening of the H E Bates Short Story Competition later this week. I have entered, though I'm not expecting to win. I'm going because it's always a good do and in previous years I've met some fascinating people and, of course, heard some wonderful stories. Do I always agree with the judge's decision? No:but then, we're each entitled to our own opinion.

Chilly, but still time to Celebrate The Small Things

The flurry of snow we had this morning turned to water before it hit the ground, thank goodness, but it's still too cold for my liking. On the other hand, I do have fabulous central heating (she says, touching wood) - unlike the homeless guy Paul I was talking to on Wednesday morning. He and others like him sleep in The Cage, an area behind the library. The council will house them somewhere temperarily if the temperature drops below freezing, even if that means a school sports hall; but as he said, just because it's above freezing doesn't mean it's warm. Fortunately, there is a night shelter opening here in a couple of weeks' time. It's a drop in the ocean really, but it's a start. Remember, people, it might be a cliche, but we really are all only three pay cheques away from homelessness.

For me, in my comfortable middle class life, it's been a week of possiblities. Someone I met at the HE Bates awards night last week has invited to me to judge a competition, which is very flattering. I've also been asked to do a couple of sessions with a local sixth form on coping with exam stress. I've even had my photo taken to go alongside a guest blog I've written for the Association of Freelance Writers. Anyone who knows me in real life will appreciate what a big deal this is - the photo, I mean, not the blog. Blogs I can do: photos - not so much. Finally,  I've learned that a book proposal has moved one step closer to acceptance - still a way to go, but you never know.

Have a lovely weekend, folks.

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