Alice Buell Lawrence

I’m going to try a competition, something out of my comfort zone. The Freewrite 500 is coming up, and I thought I would try. It’s not that I need another Freewrite: I already own the lemon-hued one and a Traveler. This is not an ad: they make sense for my workflow. I’m trying to give up this computer thing for long stretches, treating my online time as limited, like I never know when a phone call is going to come and knock me off the modem. So the little clacky keyboards work for me.

I’m practicing writing pieces under 500 words, as the contest mandates, and it is an interesting little challenge. I wrote one this morning that I don’t know if I like or not. It’s an ethereal little thing, and there are a lot of gaps for the reader to fill in, but it might fly. I dunno. I was inspired by a thunderstorm this morning that rolled in before dawn and crafted a metaphor about the afterlife with it. 498 words. I’ll do another one tomorrow and one on Wednesday. Maybe then I’ll be ready for the contest.

I mention this because I need to be competitive. Writing is a very competitive field, and I know I need to do the work, edit the work, and believe in the work to get it out there and in your hands. The challenge? I am not a naturally competitive person.

Well, maybe that’s not true. Let me be more precise: I don’t like me when I’m being competitive. I don’t like how much winning can matter to me, so I generally remove myself from those situations. I was a seven-sport athlete growing up, to the point where I was injured playing soccer so I joined the golf team. A loss would devastate me, and I could be a ferocious teammate. Now? I’d rather play a board game collaboratively (my partner and I play Monopoly cooperatively, which drives their other partner nuts) and play slow-pitch softball while having a fun chat with the other team. It feels healthier, better all the way around. I get to be a version of myself where I can sleep at night.

I do believe in myself. I believe I am good at this, spreading these words around into patterns and swirls. That my novel will be something, that I can hold it in my hand one day or surreptitiously sign it in some bookstore. That I can create things other people will look forward to reading. That bit feels nice. It’s realizing that I have to get ahead of folks with massive social media followings, with connections, etc. I have to compete.

I don’t like me when I compete. I don’t want to let that monster out. But if it means it’s for my work, well, let’s go. Let’s bark a little and show what I can do. Let’s see what’s in the tank for this contest.

500 words? I can write 500 words.