Contests are going to be the death of me.
My dear hubby is in Canada to watch his horse race, and I have been alone for several days. This is good because I am almost done with two manuscripts. This is bad because when I get bored, I get myself in trouble. By “trouble” I mean that I looked through my RWR and found a couple of contests to enter.
I really don’t enter very many. The main reason I contest is to target certain editors. The Heart of the Rockies, for example, got Murphy’s Law in the hands of an editor at St. Martin’s. She placed me second. In this case, I am after an particular editor who I would really like to see my stories. So, while Jeff has been away, I entered two contests trying to get more of my work in that wonderful editor’s hands.
I’m pleased with the success I’ve had in contests so far. I’m not one to pat myself on the back often, and I’m not saying that to be coy. I have a few “issues” in the confidence department. But of the few contests I’ve entered, I’ve been lucky enough to have three different manuscripts final in less than a year. That makes me feel good about my work. Other people believe I have talent. Well, people other than my mother, my sister, and my friends. 
The reason contests will kill me is because the instant I dropped the Priority Mail in the box, I began to fret. These things take MONTHS to get the results, and the Type A in me doesn’t wait well. (Who’d have thought?) Now the waiting game begins. I’ll buzz to their websites — probably every day — to check for postings I know won’t be up. I’ll watch the caller ID. Waiting is agony.
I don’t intend to be a contest queen, but when a good one rolls around with an editor I’d like to get to know my work, there I’ll be.