Gold

Well, don’t I look a bit foolish.

Readers of my last post will remember how I was absolutely convinced that my latest book, Secret Sky: The Young Universe, had no chance of winning the IBPA Gold Award for science fiction and fantasy, despite being a finalist in the contest.

Frankly, I was on the fence about even attending the ceremony, knowing how slim my chances were.

And even when I decided to attend the ceremony, I decided I wouldn’t attend it in style. I opted to drive instead of fly to Minneapolis for the event, and I didn’t stay for the entire weekend and the IBPA’s full conference. I thought I would eat a nice dinner, maybe win the audiobook category after losing the race for science fiction, and then be on my merry way.

The pre-awards gala did nothing to raise my spirits. I found myself in a room full of strangers who all knew each other. No one talked to me. Hardly anyone even realized I was there. A copy of my book was displayed alongside all the other finalists. A handful of people stopped to look at it. Mostly, everyone just enjoyed their free drinks.

When the doors to the auditorium were opened, I picked my seat mostly at random. It wasn’t far from the awards stage, but was none too close, either. The IBPA Book Awards has a lot of categories, and neither of mine were called for a while. A couple sitting next to me at my table won gold in their category. I congratulated them. I admired their trophy. I had mistakenly believed that only certificates were going to be handed out, but the gold winners all got trophies made out of what appeared to be lead crystal.

After what felt like forever (and a nice dinner that was served as part of the ceremony) the show finally arrived at the “Fiction: Science Fiction and Fantasy” category. I crossed my fingers, then pointed those crossed fingers at the Writers of the Future anthology when it appeared on screen and said, “That one’s going to win.”

“No,” said the man next to me—the same man that had won his own gold award in the “Black/African American Communities category”. He’s an illustrator named Michael McBride, and he said to me, “No. You’re book is going to win.”

And I hoped he was right, but I couldn’t forget the uphill climb my book was facing. It was a Middle Grade book competing in an Adult category, and it was competing against an anthology that has won every year in which it has been a finalist. And this year was the fortieth anniversary collection of the anthology. Despite my constant work to make inroads with my books, I am still an unknown author. Self published, too. What chance did I possibly have against a periodical anthology that has been winning book contests for as long as I have been alive?

The Big Moment

“And the gold award goes to…”

The announcer paused, but not for long enough. There was no time for my stomach to drop or to even hold a breath. The rest was too short to even build proper suspense before the reveal came:

“Secret Sky: The Young Universe!”

What vindication! What validation! What excitement! I’ve always known this book was special. I always knew it was good enough to stand alongside any published work. I will live to see it one day sold in every bookstore in the country.

Still, it was nice to hear other people say they liked it that much.

I hadn’t prepared an acceptance speech, so I took the opportunity to tell my own story. Every regular reader of this blog already knows about the mentorship I had under David Farland, and I related the story of how he launched my career and then was tragically taken. But no one in this particular audience knew the story. Since he had served as chief judge for the Writers of the Future contest for the bulk of its lifetime, many publishing professionals now had a personal connection to me. I don’t know how long I spoke, but I left the stage a changed man.

Regardless of anything else that happened for the rest of the evening, I knew that coming to the ceremony had been the right decision. I would not go home empty handed. And I had been able to say my piece.

Many more categories got announced. Winners were revealed. Interesting enough, the daughter of Michael Kramer and Kate Reading was there to accept an award on behalf of her mother. I didn’t think I would get a chance to talk to her, until we got to the category of “Audiobook: Children’s and Young Adult”.

I always had much better odds of winning gold in this category than in science fiction. But wouldn’t it be ironic if I failed here, getting second place in the category I had thought to be the easier win? After all, I hadn’t listened to the other two finalist audiobooks. I had no idea what kind of competition I was up against. Hopeful as I was, I crossed my fingers again.

“And the gold award goes to…”

I spent the moment to remind myself that the Secret Sky audiobook was top-notch quality, and deserved to win regardless of whatever stupid decision the braindead judges, who were doubtlessly unqualified to even make such a judgment, came to.

“Secret Sky: The Young Universe!”

Vindicated again! Though, in truth, the victory belonged to the book’s narrator as much as it belonged to me. This is the reason why I was more interested in the award for Science Fiction and Fantasy. I felt I could take more credit for that win.

Yet this victory came with a boon: I got to return to the stage.

My acceptance speech this time was more cordial and humorous, though I did take the opportunity to thank Kate Reading for her support after David Farland died. Michael Kramer was the audiobook narrator for Advent 9, and his wife, Kate, responded to the news of David’s death by giving me a metric ton of information about how to self publish. Neither of my books might exist if not for her intervention. I mentioned her contributions in my speech.

Her daughter found me afterward to let me know that she texted her parents about the win. She told me that her parents love all my books. I wonder if that means they already knew about Secret Sky. I didn’t offer Michael the job of narrating my second book mostly because Michael doesn’t have a lot of experience with Middle Grade. Michael’s voice has such gravitas that it works better for serious books aimed at adults and young adults. I am, however, interested in having him narrate the sequel to Advent 9…once I get around to writing it.

After that, there were no more awards for me to win. All that was left was to sit and enjoy my victories.

The Aftermath

Few books won more than a single award. And no other books won more gold awards than Secret Sky did. Outside the auditorium, the afterparty started.

And everyone wanted to talk to me.

People thanked me for my story. Some people bought my books at the popup bookstore IBPA was running for the weekend, and they had me sign their copies. I got to pose for pictures. I got to mingle with other winners. The event was finally starting to feel like a party, for me.

And then I got to make the long drive back to Utah, armed with two award trophies, knowing that sequels were already in the works and that my career as an author was just beginning.

A New Outlook

For the longest time, I thought that my career would not involve any kind of book awards.

A lot of that comes from what I’ve seen happen to the Hugo Awards since 2010. They’re supposed to be the biggest awards for Science Fiction as a genre, yet they’ve been riddled with corruption for longer than I’ve been publishing books. Perhaps this poisoned the well for me, and I began to see awards shows as popularity contests where the insiders were always rewarded at the expense of outsiders, regardless of talent.

Perhaps that’s also why I assumed my book had no chance of winning against the Writers of the Future anthology. I never bothered entering Advent 9 in any book awards. I didn’t see the point.

After all, isn’t the real measure of an author’s success how many copies they sell, how many fans they accrue, and how much money they make. Lots of bestselling authors never won any kind of awards. It’s the actual fruits of the writing that are important. That’s what I believed.

Which is odd, because the chief judge of Writers of the Future, and my mentor, made a name for himself by winning literary awards. When David Farland was starting out as a writer, he tooled his manuscripts in ways meant to make them award-winning. He racked up as many writing awards as he possibly could, in the hopes that it would propel him to stardom.

And, for him, it worked.

Yet, even while I knew this, I didn’t think it was the right approach for me. Perhaps I was wrong.

Regardless, I’ve gotten my first taste of awards recognition. And I really don’t want it to be my last.