On My Brief View of Fame
Also posted in An Evening's Entertainment.
FAME
I have had a very brief fling with a sort of fame. Three of four years I attended the Santa Barbara Writers' Conference. Two years running, I won awards for my writing there. I got to go up on stage with several hundred people watching, and collect my award. I skipped a year, then attended the conference again.
I wrote a prose poem that year entitled Are You Listening? The poem was about the death of my grandfather. I remember, a workshop leader at the conference—my mentor, did not ask me to sit near her in the audience as she had when I won awards for my writing. I should have known something was up I suppose.
My poem did not win any awards. Nor did any other category of my work. Another fine workshop leader in writing non-fiction using fiction techniques said she had considered putting me up for another award, but a woman who's husband had died also had a piece that ultimately got an award. So, dead husband trumps dead grandfather. I have no problem with this. Her work probably surpassed mine, and deserved an award. I'd gotten my glory. Subsequently, I received a nomination for a Pushcart Prize, which is a national award for writers published in the small press. (Of course, I only got nominated by the publication, and I did not get onto the short list for the award. As such, I might as well have not received the nomination at all as far as the committee for the prize was concerned.)
I have been searching for my Are You Listening? poem. When and if I come across it, I will post it here. It used to be online but is alas, no more. Guess no one listened.
Found it. Yes, my name is misspelled.
Found it. Yes, my name is misspelled.
