When the Scribe Nonfiction Prize for Young Writers competition was announced I remember thinking: YES. I was excited about the prize because I was excited about nonfiction, and excited about young writers. I didn’t know what I would enter but that seemed okay. I put a reminder in my iPhone to enter the prize. It looked like this:
So I was writing a lot, but I wanted to write more. I was working on a book and some short stories but it didn’t feel like enough. I kept trying to think of things I could enter into the Scribe prize but they all seemed too large or too boring or just not fun. I don’t know. Then something happened:
These two kids were screaming at each other on the tram. I’m talking: GIVE ME THE FUCKING IPAD SDLKGHSLDGHLSDHGLSDHGS sorta stuff. This mum was next to them eating a Big Mac and drinking an orange juice and being like, ‘Craig, have some of this OJ, matey. Seriously, it’s heaps good for ya.’ Except Craig kept being like, ‘Shut up, Mum,’ and then, ‘GIVE ME THE FUCKING IPAD, FUCK,’ to his brother. And the little kid kept being like, ‘Aww, nah, nahhhh,’ and eventually Craig kicked his brother in the shins and took the iPad. He sat in front of me and went on Facebook. I looked at the mum and she did this sorta shrug thing. Then she said , ‘Facebook.’ She said, ‘I don’t mind Facebook.’ She said, ‘At least the kids are reading, ya know?’
So that got me thinking about Facebook. And about how maybe it could be used as a publishing platform. There were other people like Heiko Julian and Rachel Pattycake Bell I’d been following for a while. They were publishing these wild poems on Facebook that made me be like: man, I wish I could write poems like that. They seemed to be doing so much. I thought about doing a series on Facebook. I thought about uploading short stories to Facebook — except then I felt like I was finally getting somewhere with my book, and when you feel like you’re finally getting somewhere with something it’s important to stick at it, I think.
So then it was September. Two months until the prize closed. I’d started getting coffee (back when I could drink coffee and not get panic attacks) with my friend, Will. I’d told Will about growing up in The Woodlands outside of Houston, Texas. I’d told him how it was this suburbia mostly rich from oil money. How it was really conservative and mostly white and Christian. I told him how I didn’t really like talking about The Woodlands because it made me feel sad; because of not fitting in and being shy and other things. I felt like an idiot. He said, ‘I don’t know. Maybe that’s exactly what you should write about.’ So I did.
I decided to write about my childhood in America so that maybe I could understand some things I hadn’t before. I did this September-long Facebook series called ‘30 Memories From Growing Up In Texas’. Each morning I woke up and wrote a memory in the notes section of my iPhone. Then I uploaded it to Facebook. Then I did that thirty times. Then September was over. I felt happy with my work. It felt honest. That was all I really cared about: that it felt honest. I thought about Will. I thought: I guess that’s all it really takes sometimes. Just listening to someone who might not know any better than you. Just listening and being like, well, shit, and trying something new.
But then it was October. The prize closed in thirty days and I had nothing to enter. I thought about longform essays. I thought about the world, geology and rocks. I thought about my dad saying, ‘Attention to detail’. I had nothing. I mean, what did I know about rocks?
But then one night while playing basketball under a mostly full moon a couple blocks down Canning Street from my house I thought how my transcribed memories were long-form nonfiction. And I realised my memories would make up my Scribe Prize entry. And in that same moment I realised that my memories were also a part of my book. That the Texan memories could run parallel to the Melbourne narrative. And I giggled like, ‘!!!!!!!’ Because I could see it working. How they would complement each other. How the novel was missing something and how I figured it out. It was right in front of me. And I felt extremely happy. I don’t have a photo of how happy I was but I do have a photo that my Swedish friend took of me four years ago after I think I figured out how to poach an egg so multiply this by like ~1,000,000 and … I don’t know. I cried. God damn.
Over the next month I edited my pieces. I added bits and took away bits and tightened bits. My thirty memories grew to thirty-four memories. I felt like I was sharpening teeth. I wanted the teeth to cut me. It felt important that they could do that.
Then I entered the Scribe prize. Some time passed. I got this voicemail at maybe 2am after I’d finished work. The voicemail said I’d co-won the Scribe prize. I kept thinking: what? I literally couldn’t stop shaking. My entire body: shaking.
It seems insane to me that I would ever win a prize for anything, let alone something I love doing, but here I am, writing to you. I feel so lucky and fortunate to have won this prize. I feel… I feel ⎯ my book comes out next year. Because of this prize I get to say that. I’m working so hard on it. Putting the final edits on it. And I can’t wait to show you. Oh god. You have no idea how badly I want to show you.
And I’m still trying to figure out how to make money from everything so I can keep eating and being a human but I am happy with what I am doing and I think that’s the important thing. To be happy with what you are doing. And I’m looking forward to the future. To trying new things. To maybe figuring things out but also probably not.
Right now there’s a mandarin in my hand and I’m thinking about promises. And I want to make a promise to you. This is what I promise: I promise that I will make so many mistakes. That when you think there are no more mistakes to be made I will make some more. And I will continue making and collecting my mistakes and putting them together. Putting everything together and smiling and calling it a life.
Now in its second year, the Scribe Nonfiction Prize for Young Writers provides a professional development opportunity to a young writer. This award, run in conjunction with Express Media, is open to writers aged 30 or under who are working on a longform work in any nonfiction genre: memoir, journalism, essay, biography, and creative nonfiction. Entries must be between 5,000 and 10,000 words.
Last year’s co-winners, Briohny Doyle and Oliver Mol, are both working with Scribe editors, and Oliver’s first book – a high-voltage, energetic work of creative nonfiction – will be published in 2015. If you are interested in entering the prize please visit Scribe Publication’s website for more information.
Entries close on 1 September 2014. Download an entry form here.
