I hate retirement.

Not retirement from teaching. (Snorts a laugh at that notion.) I didn’t start teaching until I was thirty. Retirement from the classroom is decades and decades away. Besides, I still like teaching. I found out over this long weekend that teaching is good for me. It keeps me from compulsively checking my email.

What I miss is contesting. I gave myself a year to enter — mostly to see if someone other than the members of my critique group would appreciate my stories. Allow me a quick pat on the back here. I finaled five different stories in nine different contests in that year. I achieved more than I’d ever imagined or hoped for.

But I miss the expectation of wondering if I would final. I miss the adrenaline rush that came whenever I did. And I miss the reassurance that comes with knowing other people think I have talent. This is a cruel business with more people telling you what you do wrong than what you do right. Any pat on the back a writer can get is valuable to helping her keep her motivation and an eye on her ultimate goal.

Along the way, I’ve made friends. Some through thank you notes I sent where the judges contacted me after the contest. Some through working with coordinators. Contests have allowed me to network with other writers. I’ll miss those opportunities.

I’m bowing out because I proved my point and because I have the debt of two college educations. Love you, Laura and Kevin! While contests are nice, I simply can’t afford to be a diva. I’ll just have to publish the old-fashioned way. Sending out stories and pounding the pavement.

But I miss it more than I realized I would.