Entering writing contests, or indeed sharing writing in general, requires a certain amount of ego. One has to decide, as I clearly have, that what one writes not only holds value but could and should<\/em> be shared with others. My writing is good! My writing has value! Others will enjoy what I say! And I know I have that ego because it gets bruised when my writing group points out parts of my works in progress that aren’t perfect. Is that the point of a writing group and review partners? Yes. Does it hurt when they point out something that I thought was great anyway? Also yes. I have to mute while they give feedback so I don’t immediately go on the defensive. (Muting in a video-conference setting during critiques is good practice in general anyway so you can get good feedback.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n Which is why I find it very ironic that my ego also refuses to acknowledge that people will enjoy and esteem my writing in a contest setting. That first Rumpelstiltskin story I mentioned? When I received second place for it, I was pleased and thrilled but also reminded people who congratulated me that the contest wasn’t very well publicized so they probably didn’t even have many entrants. Hey, might’ve just been two of us in the first place. I thought it was a good story but I still didn’t acknowledge that it was good enough to have won on its own merits. It had to be a small contest or I wouldn’t have had a chance clearly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That thought process did not stop in high school. I’ve placed in several contests since then (I’ve added an awards and publications section to my website so you can see them there). And each time I’ve noticed a tendency in my personal responses that I can best compare to Groucho Marx:<\/p>\n\n\n\n I placed in the LTUE contest and, after my initial “Oh wow!” incoherent sounds (this is how I cope with excitement apparently), my thoughts went to “Well LTUE is kinda small, they may not have gotten too many entries” which is silly because I saw the amount the contest moderators got several years ago when I was on the committee. I don’t think it’s gotten smaller since then. (The judging was anonymous, I checked, and I don’t think there are many people on the committee now who would’ve remembered me anyway; no cheating I promise.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n I placed at Lakefly and did the same thing. Giddy squeeing then “Well, I bet this is a tiny convention so they must not have gotten many entries.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n Well, this is the biggest contest I’ve been in or placed in and my brain is still<\/em> trying to convince me that I won because they must have gotten a lot of bad stories or very few entries. And look, yes, a lot of people with the ego to put their writing in the world do not match said ego with the quality of their writing (might be me but that’s hard to measure) but there are also people who have the opposite problem where they undervalue the quality of their writing. And those people still enter! And also there are people who are<\/em> good at writing who enter. And I placed anyway<\/em>! <\/p>\n\n\n\n Which is to say that imposter syndrome is a strange thing. I feel like I’m sneaking in even though I’m winning with merit. I don’t have advice if you’re in the same boat, except to say “you’re not alone, you’re not the only one feeling this, and maybe sometimes we have to sit back, smile, and admit that we did pretty good.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then maybe make happy choking sounds that make our spouses concerned that something terrible happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Intellectual Property of Elizabeth Doman![\"Black](\"https:\/\/elizabethdoman.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/groucho-marx-quote.jpg\")
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