With the first email on 13 March, my writerly ego to the fore, it was clear: Nobody Owns a Fire, I conceded, was a half-decent story and it just took the right judge to bathe it in the glory it deserved. And of course the Foundation needed some documentation – my residential address, my phone number, a photo of the front page of my passport for confirmation of my Commonwealth citizen status. And a high-res headshot, a 70-word bio, and a raft of consent statements.
The announcement was embargoed until 17 April, which means that none of the people I told were allowed to tell anyone else.
The next email asked for a two-minute video of me addressing some questions about my story. Not my forte, technically or temperamentally, but it was duly shot and WeTransferred.
It was only a few nights later, during one of those 3am life-risk assessments, that I thought, hang on… I just don’t get shortlisted for short story competitions, even little local ones. Well, not often. And definitely not the big ones. I opened up Nobody Owns a Fire and read it through again, my writerly self-doubt to the fore. Yep, shallow characterisation, weak plot points, over-worked themes, next to no tension … it was a dud.
And weren’t some of those requests a little intrusive? Could it be a scam? A cruel, elaborate hoax – some sewer-dwelling low-life had hacked the Commonwealth Foundation database of 7000-odd short story writers and was now in possession of our identities (including passport numbers!) AND two minute videos … and we all know what they can do with videos and AI these days.
And the embargo! To ensure that the scammer had a whole month to consolidate before the authorities got wind of it?
Yep, definitely a scam. What a mug I am. For about two weeks I was that mug, fooled by an online scam. The shame, the ignominy. The hubris!
But then, thinking further, who would scam writers? Not for money – we’re possibly the most underpaid profession of all. And we’re hardly influencers, so what use would our faces be, whatever words they put in our mouths? And another thought: the spelling and grammar in their emails was immaculate …
Maybe not a scam?
And today the Commonwealth Short Story Prize shortlist of 23 is published. Definitely not a scam.
But with those odds in mind, I’m not waiting for them to announce the winners. I’m celebrating now!
‘…during one of those 3am life-risk assessments…’ Hilarious! I so relate.
Congrats Sahi – so great to see this story get the recognition it deserves.
Thanks Tash! So I’m not the only 3am life-risk assessor? We could start a WhatsApp group!
Jen, congratulations on this wonderful news. How impressive to be our Australian rep for this competition. And I love your description of your journey through the seven stages from hubris to despair that so perfectly depicts the experience of many writers!
Thanks Libby. I was thinking about that impressive Kiwi contingent — about a fifth our population but three times as many shortlistees!
As for the seven stages, I’m not quite sure I’ve arrived at Acceptance yet. I’m still expecting an email apologising for the mix-up. And thus it will ever be, apparently.
Brilliant as ever Sahi
You are a very funny woman Ms Severn, and deserve to be showered in such scams, I mean accolades Congratulations!
Thanks Ms Lisa!
Be very proud of yourself, dear Jen, as we are of you. What an achievement, effectively becoming the Australian rep in this prestigious competition! Congratulations on having your fine writing recognised on such a stage.
Aw you, always good to have you in my corner 🙂 xx
That’s a great short story in itself!! I’ve always loved your writing and it comes as no surprise to me that you’ve been shortlisted. Well done Jen.
Thanks Tony. But where the mind takes you! You’re a creative, you’d understand. xx