A Writer’s Honest Take on Contests, Scams, and Chasing the Dream

What are the odds?As a writer and author, I occasionally post a story from a prompt and feed the machine $5 for a “chance” to win a contest. I also play the lottery from time to time. Not that I have an ice cube’s chance in hell of winning, but I do it when I travel. Long car trips on flat, nothing roads are a great way to ask the proverbial “what if?”

What would I do with X millions if I won? It could happen, right? Fortunately, I know what statistics are, so I don’t get too carried away with the fantasy. The same is true for casting my story onto the Reedsy website. Often, I look at the winning story and ask, how the hell did that one win?! I think I know.

The Predators in My Inbox

Putting my own vanity aside, the same skepticism applies to the predators who comment on my books through email, asking me if I would consider allowing them to be my agent. Truthfully, I could use their pitch about my book as a cover blurb. Of course, AI wrote it, and of course, it’s a scam designed to prey on my ego.

So I ask once again: what are the odds?

I have at least five people with the first name “Lauren” as new followers on my Reedsy story site.

All of the Laurens have different last names, and each of them is tempting my ego to override my God-given good sense. They want me to hand over money so they can “take my writing to the next level.”

The Engagement Game

IMHO, if I really wanted my story to win, I’d get everyone on this blog to go over there and “like” my story. That would tweak the algorithm, and maybe then a judge might actually read it and think, “Wow, that’s pretty good.”

Again IMHO, I seriously doubt someone sits down and reads 300-plus stories, each week and carefully weigh the pros and cons of each before crowning a winner. Much like monetized social media with its clicks, likes, and comments, contest platforms probably use engagement as a tool. (If I’m wrong, feel free to comment.)

So Why Do I Keep Paying the $5?

Ever since I ran across a young woman on YouTube (I think her name was Laura) who was going through school at the time parroting what she learned in vlogs, I wanted her company to succeed. They’re a bona fide business now and offer many services. I write, and I pay the money for feedback from other writers that range from “Wow, that’s a great story!” to “You need to make your character feel more like a living person instead of a zombie.”

A Modest Proposal for Reedsy

I propose the following adjustments to the current contest model:

Introduce Written Feedback for All Entries Provide each contestant, regardless of outcome, with a brief written critique from a qualified reader or editor. Even two to three sentences of constructive commentary would deliver meaningful value.
Adjust the Entry Fee to $10 Increasing the fee from $5 to $10 offsets the cost of providing individualized feedback and positions the contest as a premium, value-added service rather than a low-stakes lottery.
Expand the Prize Pool A larger prize, funded in part by the adjusted fee structure, would attract a greater number of participants and elevate the prestige of the competition.

Anticipated Benefits

Increased Participant Retention: Writers will feel they are receiving tangible value for their investment, win or lose.
Enhanced Platform Credibility: Offering expert feedback reinforces the platform’s role as a professional development resource, not merely a contest host.
Higher Entry Volume: A larger prize purse combined with guaranteed feedback is likely to draw new entrants and reengage lapsed ones.
Stronger Competitive Positioning: Few writing contests currently offer feedback as part of the standard entry package. Adopting this model would differentiate the platform in a crowded market.

Feasibility Considerations

Assuming contest judging is conducted by human evaluators rather than automated tools, the additional effort required to generate short-form feedback should be minimal relative to the review process already underway. In practical terms, if judges are already reading entries to determine winners, capturing a few lines of impressions per submission is a modest incremental task with significant participant-facing value.

The proposed changes represent a low-risk, high-reward adjustment to the existing contest structure. By transforming the entry fee into an investment in personal development rather than a speculative gamble, the platform can strengthen participant loyalty, grow contest participation, and reinforce its standing as a trusted partner to the writing community.

A Note to My Fellow Writers

To every writer out there navigating this strange landscape with me, this one’s for you.

If you’re like me, your inbox is probably overflowing with “We love your book!” messages from “xyz Publishers” @gmail.com.

Go ahead, borrow that AI-generated blurb if it flatters you, have a laugh, and move on.

We’ve all seen them. We all know the game.

And if you, like me, still enter contests with your eyes wide open, take heart. The genuine followers you gain along the way, the ones who take the time to read your story and leave a thoughtful comment, are the real prize.

They aren’t trying to scam you. They’re walking the same road you are.There are too many of us to name, but we share something powerful in common: the desire to be the best writers we can be.

We keep showing up. We keep submitting. We keep writing, even when the odds feel long and the noise feels loud.

That shared drive is what makes this community worth being part of.

I’ve shared several tips on this blog to help fellow writers sharpen their craft, and I’ll keep adding more.

If any of this resonates with you, follow along for future posts, drop a comment below and tell me about your own experiences, and let’s keep lifting each other up.We’re in this together.

Have a blessed day!

MY Current Books

Let us speak of something that has been troubling me, and likely many of you, about the writing contest industry. It is a thing that hums beneath the surface of our submissions like a second heartbeat we have learned to ignore.

The Business Behind the “Opportunity”

Here is the hard truth, plain as the words that appear unbidden on a blank page at three in the morning: writing contests are a money-making business. There is nothing altruistic about the companies that hold them. They rely on your ego, your dreams, and your hope to willingly surrender that entry fee for a chance at recognition. The fee slips from your fingers like sand, like memory, like the last line of a poem you swore you would remember. Sound familiar? It should. This strategy is not new. The lottery counts on your optimism (and perhaps your misunderstanding of probability) to keep buying tickets. Vegas has built an empire on this exact psychology for generations. Writing contests? They are playing the same ancient game, only dressed in literary clothing, their true nature hidden behind promises that shimmer and shift like heat rising from summer pavement.

My Real Frustration: The Silence

What bothers me most is not the business model itself; everyone needs to make money. It is the complete lack of engagement with the work we submit. Our stories vanish into the void, swallowed whole, and we are left listening for an echo that never returns. Is it too much to ask for some modicum of evidence that someone actually read our stories? Even the smallest bit of feedback would transform the experience:

“Your opening didn’t hook me.”
“Did you read the prompt?”
“Strong voice, but the pacing faltered.”

These words, however brief, would be enough. They would prove that our stories had weight, that they existed somewhere beyond the submission portal, that they touched, however briefly, another human mind. With platforms like Reedsy, I understand that a five-dollar entry fee is not breaking the bank. But still, is it really too much to ask for something in return beyond silence and a form rejection? The silence is its own kind of haunting. It lingers in the inbox, in the space between refreshing the page and accepting, once again, that no reply will come.

The Bottom Line

We are paying for a service. Should that service not include at least a sentence of human acknowledgment? A single line to prove that our words, however flawed, were witnessed? Tell me your thoughts in the comments below. Am I asking for too much, or is it time contests stepped up and broke their long, strange silence?

TheTimeDok

What Are the Odds?