My latest story, “When the Sled Hits the Light Post,” won first place for the March contest with my local writers’ guild! This silly story is the true tale of how my parents took my sister and me sledding after an ice storm, and my sister broke her collarbone.

I have a weird history of getting third-place prizes, but first… this is a bit newer. It’s silly because I don’t usually measure success by awards, and I’m often suspicious of them (while simultaneously appreciating them and continuing to force myself to enter).

My inner critic likes to ask: What’s wrong with anyone who would praise my writing?

But I have a feeling that every writer has some level of that living deep within their bones.

My husband laughs at me when I get all weird and confused while working on a piece of writing and improving my skills. When I got the news about the latest win, he reminded me that Woody Allen said, “I’d never join a club that would allow a person like me to become a member.”

At least I haven’t hit that level of self-loathing.

I’m taking the win and trying to tell myself that maybe, just maybe, after all these years, I have become something of a worthy writer. Maybe readers actually do enjoy my work.