‘I wouldn’t be able to be the writer I am if I hadn’t studied it for a long time and learnt to be edited.’

Revision is when you first get to recognize the distance between what you wanted to write, what you thought you were writing, and what you actually did write. That recognition often makes you want to throw up.

Competitions

Children’s Novel (minimum 15,000 words)
1st prize: £5,000 for women who have not yet had a novel published. The winner and four finalists will be offered manuscript feedback by The Literary Consultancy, as well as pitch training and introductions to literary agents and editors.

Short Story (300–3,000 words)
1st prize: £5,000, plus publication in Mslexia magazine, along with three other finalists. The winner will also be offered a week-long writing retreat at Gladstone’s Library and mentoring by an editor at Virago Press. This augmented prize – one of the biggest in the UK for unpublished short stories – is made possible by funding by Arts Council England.

NEW for 2018: Novella (10,000–40,000 words)
1st prize: £1,000 for women who have not yet had a novella published, plus guaranteed e-publication by Mslexia.

Flash Fiction (100–300 words)
1st prize £500, plus publication in Mslexia magazine, along with three other finalists.

‘My best advice is to young writers is: follow your curiosity and passion. What fascinates you will probably fascinate others. But, even if it doesn’t, you will have devoted your life to what you love. Also, try to invent your confidence. When you’re trying something new, insecurity and stage fright come with the territory. Many wonderful writers (and other artists) have been plagued by insecurity throughout their professional lives. How could it be otherwise? By its nature, art involves risk. It’s not easy, but sometimes one just has to invent one’s confidence.’

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You look ridiculous if you dance. You look ridiculous if you don’t dance. So you might as well dance.

Keep a diary, but don’t just list all the things you did during the day. Pick one incident and write it up as a brief vignette. Give it color, include quotes and dialogue, shape it like a story with a beginning, middle and end—as if it were a short story or an episode in a novel. It’s great practice. Do this while figuring out what you want to write a book about. The book may even emerge from within this running diary.

The things you find so important – the attention, the prizes, the approval – yes, they matter, and never so much than when they disappear. But I’m old now, and I’ve walked a long and rocky road, and what really mattered, what should matter most to you, is the rare and gorgeous experience of reaching out through your work and your actions and connecting to others. A message in the bottle thrown toward another frightened, loveless queer; a confused mother; a recently dejected man who can’t see his way home. We get people home; we let them know that we’re here for them. This is what art can do. Art should be the arm and the shoulder and the kind eyes – all of which let others know you deserve to live and to be loved. That is what matters, baby. Bringing people home.

Write what should not be forgotten.