I can’t stand it anymore, the frustration of trying to find information on the internet. I guess you, too, have spent hours, wasted away a whole day at a time, or at least an afternoon, with Google, investigating sites that disappear as soon as you try a tangent, or once you’ve started on a path, lead you off to another one that is actually in Russia, or Lapland and has absolutely nothing to do with the information you seek.
Yesterday I had that sort of afternoon. I want to enter a couple of my stories in Australian Writing Competitions. Why don’t the promoters of such competitions give you the closing date, up front, in clear print? By the time I have investigated heaven knows how many sites, almost invariably finding that the closing date was yesterday or last week, my head’s in a mess. The one good chance that I did discover allowed me to read the winning entries from the last ten years. WOW! I can actually see what sort of material they want. Great. Now all I need to do is find the story which I’m sure will gain me the next prize if they would just let me know the closing date for this year’s entries. And if I can just remember what title I used for the last version so that I can find it again. Maybe it got lost when my laptop had a meltdown, but, a few deep breaths, quick prayers to whoever or whatever might be the patron saint, guru, karma of budding writers, and I’m sure I will have that little treasure resurrected and ready to enter.
Why didn’t I print out the lists of upcoming competitions when I stumbled upon them? Damn this paper saving nonsense. I try to be good, not use up too many trees, but this is the result. I use up my time and brains instead.
I had wondered, when receiving my returned competition entries in the past, why there were sometimes only thirty six, or maybe forty five entries, but since it is so incredibly difficult to follow their requirements, if you can find them, I suppose that explains the small numbers. It doesn’t explain why mine don’t get a mention though. I refuse to believe that I’m a terrible story teller. I can accept that, given my lack of skill with computer/internet/Google etc, I am probably living in the wrong era.
Perhaps Dickens would have managed, but would the Bronte sisters have become famous with today’s daunting technology? Can you imagine Beatrix Potter or any of the other creative souls who sat in isolated contemplation to pen the treasures from past centuries, spending so much of their precious time searching for ‘Writing Competitions’ and ensuring that they had followed the requirements for submitting to each one? No. They were busy actually writing the great stories that we now enjoy.
It’s late and I’m tired. I’ve spent the afternoon polishing that story (found it under a date, not a name, in a list from two years ago), so tomorrow I’ll get back to Mr Google and waste a few more hours searching for a form with a date on it.
Please wish me luck.