And the Winner is... Not Me.

It's conference and award season in the writerly world again.  And I am kinda meh about it all.  Oh, I love cheering for my friends and favorite authors when they receive an award I respect, but for me?  I have no doubt that I will never win an award of any kind for my writing.

It's not that I don't think my writing is good enough.

It's not that I think I'm not worthy.  Or at least as worthy as the next guy.

It's that in the grand scheme of writerly awards, I don't count.  I don't belong to any organizations.  I don't attend conferences.  I don't schmooze.  Hell, I don't enter contests on a small scale, let alone one for a national award.  And they don't typically hand out awards to self-published authors who don't sell a shit-ton anyway.  :looks at sales data:  Yeah, no shit-tons going out the door anywhere over here.

Now, I won't say anything against awards.  If I did, people would just believe I was being all 'sour grapes' about them anyway.  Still, I'm not that jazzed.

Oh, I've entered a couple contests.  Know what would've been neat about that?  The prize money.  And the increased visibility which would bring me more sales, which would mean more people were reading my books, writing reviews perhaps, and talking to their friends about this award-winning novel they just read.

:shrug:  I don't expect that portion of the writing dream is in the cards for me.  If it did happen, that would be cool, but I also think it would be bikini weather in the fiery pits before that occurred.

I'll be happy if people buy my books, read my books, enjoy my books enough to buy the next one.  That's award enough for me.