Recently I had a friend email me (yes, contrary to popular belief I do actually have friends). She was in wound licking mode, having received contest scores on her submission that blew a cannonball right through her writerly sails. I hate it when that happens. Why do we give so much power to nameless "experts?" Why do we live and die by the criticism of others?

And why do we assume the best writing will win an award in the first place?

Here's the deal, folks . . . writing is subjective. That means what one person loves, another will hate. That's how art is. I can look at a piece of contemporary vomit on a canvas and walk away feeling like I've just viewed the results of an artist who slugged back one too many beers. But others will look at the same picture and feel all warm and squiggly inside, and it just might inspire them to pick up a paintbrush themselves.

Before you go hanging the Negative Nelly name placard around my neck and lock me in the stocks, I'm not naysaying against contests. Awards are great, but the vast majority of writers never win any. As in zero. As in el big fatto zippo. Nada. None. Just because you lose a contest doesn't mean you're a crappy writer. All it means is that you lost a contest. End of story.

Awards are not your validation that you're a writer. Your written story is your validation that you're a writer. Go ahead and lick your wounds, but then get back out there and write.