Awards, Competitions, Prizes and Honors

When my first story for Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine appeared in 2018, I'd long been a reader of short mystery fiction, but was only newly a writer of it. Suddenly I was hearing about a panoply of awards with confusing and sometimes similar names:  Edgars, Anthonys, Agathas, Derringers…Macavitys?  Wasn't Macavity one of T.S. Eliot's cats? 

 Barb Goffman also made her EQMM debut in this issue, with Bug Apétit, which earned nominations for the Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards!

I got my first taste of glory when a story placed fifth in EQMM's annual Readers Awards - something I'd never paid much attention to. A subscriber for decades, I'd certainly never bothered to vote! Fifth, but okay! That meant somebody had read it, and liked it. Many somebodies! Then a story that is somewhat a departure for me - it could almost be classified as a "cozy," though darker than most of that genre - was suddenly in the running for a variety of prizes, from EQ's Reader Award to the Thriller to the Macavity. Schrödinger, Cat, didn't take any top honors, but I surely enjoyed the banquets and cocktail parties! And when It's Not Even Past was nominated for a Derringer, I was hooked. Derringers are awarded to short fiction writers by short fiction writers (and readers) - a true jury of one's peers!  

I began to read about all the prizes, honors, and competitions open to mystery writers. There was a lot to learn, and I thought I'd take this opportunity to share some of that info with those who might also be toward the origin end of their learning curve. 

A few notes before we begin: I have not included every prize category of every award here - rather, I've given an overview. If a description intrigues you, check it out - that's why God made websites. This is by no means a comprehensive list, but I've tried to include the biggies, especially those that particularly honor mystery and crime fiction. And I've focused on prizes and awards available to writers in the United States, working in English. When a prize or award requires an entry fee, I've so noted. 

Any errors are my own, and I'm sure there are some! I invite you to post any corrections, and to provide additional information, insider notes, gossip, and asides in the comments. 

The Agathas are awarded by Malice Domestic, an annual convention that takes place near Washington, DC. The Agathas celebrate cozy mysteries - those that do not contain explicit sex and minimize gore, violence, and foul language. Members of Malice Domestic nominate, and conference attendees choose the winners. Six categories of prizes include novels, children's, nonfiction and short stories. If you win, you get a fancy teapot and a lifetime claim to fame.  Malice Domestic also sponsors grants, competitions, and anthologies that may be of interest.  

Here's Ashley-Ruth Bernier with the Agatha awarded her short story Six-Armed Robbery from The Malice Domestic Anthology Mystery Most Humorous!

The Anthonys are awarded to  novels, short stories, children's and young adult fiction, and nonfiction. Works are nominated, then voted on, by attendees of the annual Bouchercon World Mystery Convention. This is a highly- coveted award that can provide a nice career boost. Bouchercon moves year–to-year - the next convention will be in  Calgary, Alberta, Canada. 

The Barry Award is conferred annually by the editors of Deadly Pleasures, honoring various categories of book, but not short stories. I was unable to get more information prior to deadline.

The Daggers are awarded by the Crime Writers' Association to books published in the UK.  

The Derringer Award is presented by the Short Mystery Fiction Society, recognizing excellence in short stories of the mystery and crime fiction genres. Categories are differentiated by length - flash to novelette -  and there are also specialty prizes, including The Edward D. Hoch Memorial Golden Derringer, and the Silver Derringer for Editorial Excellence. In 2025, an award for best anthology was added, although collections are not eligible.  (Anthologies are by multiple authors; collections are by a single author.) Membership in the SMFS is free, and members may submit one or two works, in one category or two. Medals are presented at the annual Bouchercon World Mystery Convention. The Short Mystery Fiction Society is entirely volunteer-run and their daily list-serve provides a wealth of information about writing and publishing - as well as the occasional insidery-tidbit from well-known writers.

Janet Hutchings, legendary editor-in-chief of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine from 1991 to 2024, was awarded The Silver Derringer in 2025. (photo, Laurie Pachter)

In 2020, Josh Pachter became the first person to receive the Golden Derringer and win a competitive Derringer (best flash) in the same year. His story, The Two-Body Problem, appeared in this issue of Mystery Weekly Magazine.

 

The Edgars are presented by the Mystery Writers of America annually in New York. The Edgars are awarded in a number of categories, from short stories and book-length works of fiction and non-fiction to theatrical genres. There are also special awards; The Robert L. Fish Memorial Award honors the best first short story of the year, The Lilian Jackson Braun Award highlights a cozy mystery novel, The Sue Grafton Memorial Award is for a series novel featuring a female protagonist, and there are also the Raven, the Ellery Queen Award, the Mary Higgins Clark Award, and the much-coveted Grand Master Award.  MWA confers two separate awards - with nice cash grants - for unpublished and published Black writers, in honor of the late Barbara Neely. Typically, publishers submit stories and books for consideration, but authors may also submit, and there is no limit to the number of entries one may make, nor an entry fee. However, authors in the short story categories must have been paid for their work, and all publishers must be on the MWA-approved list. Winners receive a ceramic bust of Edgar Allen Poe, but bragging rights are the real prize here - the Edgar is the most prestigious award specific to our industry. 

Kate Hohl at the 2024 ceremony, where she won the Fish Memorial Award for The Body in Cell two (EQMM).

The Dashiell Hammett Prize, a bronze statuette by Peter Boiger, is presented annually by the North American Branch of the International Association of Crime Writers. The prize, awarded to a traditional novel, nonfiction book, or graphic novel, is announced in the fall of each year. Submission is free, but authors or publishers must snail-mail hard copies of the work to various committee members. Details are given on the IACW/NA site.  

The Dilys Award,  presented by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association, is no longer extant. It is included here as you may see it on various resumes and websites.

The Hillerman Prize is also defunct. It is included here as you may see it on various resumes and websites.

Killer Nashville awards a number of prizes at its annual convention, notably The Claymore Prize, celebrating a work in progress, and The Silver Falchion, for published works of fiction and nonfiction, both in a variety of categories. As with most of the awards included in this round-up, there's no cash award, just a handsome medal and a very nice claim to fame. But there is a charge to submit - sixty to $100 bucks, although one free submission is included with conference admission. Killer Nashville also bestows The John Seigenthaler Legends Award upon "an individual who has championed First Amendment Rights and advocated for writers in the publishing industry."

The Macavity Awards are presented annually at the Bouchercon World Mystery Convention.  Winners are nominated and voted for by fans, readers, and mystery enthusiasts who belong to Mystery Readers International or who subscribe to Mystery Readers Journal. Categories include  several novel categories, nonfiction, and a short story award.  

 

Janet Rudolph founded Mystery Readers International. The first Macavity was awarded in 1987.

The Reader Awards presented by Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine are decided by readers' votes, and the top three honorees are celebrated at an invitation-only cocktail party held in Manhattan shortly before the Edgars ceremony. EQ's sister publication, Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, does not offer a reader's choice award, but they do co-host The Black Orchid Novella Contest, in partnership with The Wolfe Pack, an international organization of devotees of Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe. The BONA prize is a thousand dollars and publication in the magazine. 

The Shamus trophy is awarded by The Private Eye Writers of America in categories that include hardcover, paperback original, first novel, short story, and a lifetime achievement award, The Eye. There is no charge to submit a novel or story, but eligibility is tricky: the Shamus is for  works that feature a paid private eye who is not a police officer or in law enforcement. Lawyers and reporters who do their own investigative work qualify, but not amateur sleuths. 

John M. Floyd's Mustang Sally, which appeared in Black Cat Mystery Magazine, won the Shamus for best PI Short Story in 2021.

The Thriller Awards are sponsored by International Thriller Writers (ITW) and are conferred at an annual convention held in May in New York. Prizes are awarded in several categories, including best short story and best novel. Authors who are active members of ITW may submit their work directly, but are asked to check with their publisher first to avoid duplicated submissions. (Membership is free to authors who meet eligibility requirements.) NB: ITW gets so many submissions that they stagger due dates; check their schedule. The prize is a cool trophy (and a nice fluffy feather in your cap!).

 

Here I am  grinning madly before a poster with my name on it at The Thrillers!  Catherine Steadman took the 2023 prize for Stockholm.

The "Best ofs" are not exactly prizes, but being included sure feels like one! Inclusion in Otto Penzler's The Best Mystery Stories of the Year or Steph Cha's The Best American Mystery and Suspense can provide one heck of a career boost. Both Penzler and Cha invite big-name authors to co-edit each year's volume. A new anthology, The Best Private Eye Stories of the Year, edited by Michael Bracken, has just released its first edition.

Billie Livingston says of her BMSY inclusion, "It's overwhelming to find yourself in the company of your literary heroes!" 

Many small literary journals offer prizes that range from a frameable slip of paper to a significant amount of cash. Don't count them out! Yes, many do charge a submission fee, being lovingly put together on a shoestring by volunteers and interns. Professional writers have a variety of opinions about those fees. My personal view is that I don't enter any competitions I don't feel qualified to win. I don't mind a reasonable fee going to create a prize pool or even to cover publication costs. Other reputable writers have very different opinions. Regardless, winning a prize sponsored by a lit journal can lead to much greater exposure than publishing strictly "in-genre." And many lit journal editors are eager to see crime fiction and mysteries, if they are written well.

So what about the really, really big stuff?  Well, the Edgars are pretty significant in our mystery world - in fact all of the prizes I've noted here are -  but what about The Pulitzer, The Nobel, The Booker, et al? Don't laugh! Truman Capote was famously disappointed when In Cold Blood, though nominated, did not win a Pulitzer in 1966. (It did win the Edgar for best "fact-crime novel.") Though usually classified as "literary fiction" or "psychological fiction," Ann Arensberg's Sister Wolf could certainly be considered a mystery. It won The National Book Award for Best First Novel in 1981. Mysteries and thrillers are regularly nominated for the Booker Prize (formerly the Man Booker), but unfortunately only books published in the UK are eligible. Motherless Brooklyn took The National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction in 1999 and Roberto Bolaño’s 2666 won the fiction award in 2008. Numerous mystery and crime fiction novels have been finalists, including hardboiled noir by Michael Chabon in 2007.

Okay, but surely a mystery writer could never win (gasp) The Nobel Prize, right? Wrong. 2018 Laureate Olga Tokarczuk 's Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead centers on a woman investigating murders in a Polish village, and is most definitely a mystery. The Nobel is awarded for a body of work, not a single novel, but Drive Your Plow is a significant part of Tokarczuk's oeuvre. 

And a closing fun fact:  you (or your publisher) can submit your book for Pulitzer consideration for only seventy-five bucks. I know this because Lightscatter Press submitted my poetry collection, Bewildered by All This Broken Sky, in 2021.  (To my tremendous surprise, I did not win.) 

What a thrill to be interviewed by the literary powerhouse Adriana Trigiani, a great lover of poetry!

  c. 2026 Anna Scotti all rights reserved

Anna Scotti is a mystery writer, young adult author, poet, and writing instructor living in Southern California. She has been the recipient of a number of awards and honors (some noted above). She has two short stories collections coming in 2027. Find her at annakscotti.com.  

Boo Hoo, Tee Hee, She Chortled

 

As a writing teacher, I spend an inordinate amount of time urging other writers to eschew clichés. This is more easily said than done (see what I did there?) as sometimes a cliché expresses one's thoughts perfectly. Nonetheless, I'm ruthless with my students, who are mostly published writers - all talented - and can take it. No nights as black as pitch, no thinking outside the box, no being sly as a fox or brave as a lion. And for the love of God, no smiles that light up a room.

So it was with some chagrin that I found myself recently "laughing through my tears."

Yep. This is an action I've read in a thousand sophomoric short stories and novels, and even in a few poems, yet one I didn't even know could actually be done. If you keep track of happenings in the mystery world, you're no doubt aware that Down&Out Books closed recently, and my newly-released collection of stories, It's Not Even Past, died along with them, just when the reviews (and orders) were starting to roll in. Now, I've published before, but this is truly the book of my heart. Most of the stories were originally published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and the main character, Lori Yarborough, is a librarian-on-the-run in Federal WITSEC. Lori is a mostly-better version of myself - like me, sort of, but smarter, braver, stronger, better-educated, and more resilient. She's shorter and skinnier than I am, though, and a good deal younger. In fact, the version of her that lives in my head looks an awful lot like my daughter.

There's a picture of said daughter, taken by the talented Robert Tate, in which she's striding down Mulholland Boulevard in an evening gown, strong, powerful, and stern. I call that picture "Don't Tell Me to Smile," and I keep it pinned over my desk to remind me of the tenacity and potency at my character's core.

Lori Yarborough would never laugh through her tears. In fact, she brags in a couple of stories that she never cries at all. But I do, and what drove me to enact that oxymoronic stock phrase was receiving yet another order for my DOA book. When the publisher closed, I'd hastily ordered a couple of boxes of resale copies, but more fans than expected had tracked me down to order. I was saving one copy for the coffee table and one for my grandson - and that was it. So there I was, laughing ruefully but snuffling back tears, too, as I checked the author's copy carton in my closet (still empty), thinking what a fool I'd been to order so few, to choose the wrong publisher, hell, to write a book at all.

(As it turns out, a white knight publisher rushed in - yes, inspired by one of those author's copies I sent out - and It's Not Even Past will be released anew later this year, along with a volume of short stories not from the librarian-on-the-run series. My cup runneth over! But more on that when I can share all the details.)

Meanwhile, Lori's life post-collection continues. In Traveller from an Antique Land, published in EQ in May/June 2025, she hit rock bottom, living in a tent on the streets of Los Angeles. In When Bright Angels Beckon, coming in the September/October issue, she's on her feet and back to amateur sleuthing. (Cliché count: two in this paragraph, two in the graph above. I think I owe my students a mea culpa.)

Writing a returning, evolving character is tough - as plenty of folks here on SleuthSayers can attest. There are lots of details to keep track of, of course, but there's also the simple recurring question where do we go next? I gain inspiration from the world around me, particularly from photographs.

Here's a photo I found helpful in writing about Lori's days on the street. The image of makeshift shelters over the 405 in California - a freeway that runs by Disneyland and Hollywood along the sparkling Pacific Ocean, through BelAir and into the opulent valley - while small, tragic lives play out unseen above, is particularly evocative. But there are real meat-and-potato details in the photo, too. That blue tarp - who hasn't seen them on roofs and hillsides after a heavy rain? The piles of trash heaped around something that may be the form of a sleeping person, and there, heartbreakingly, a bag of food clipped out of reach of rats, as if the unhoused were camping in the Angeles National Forest guarding their food from bears.  

I'm not alone in looking to visual images for inspiration. Photographer Horace Bristol's collaboration with Steinbeck inspired the immortal Grapes of Wrath. (Though many associate that book with Dorothea Lange's iconic photo Migrant Mother, there's not actually a linear connection between Steinbeck and Lange.)

Coming Through Slaughter by Michael Ondaatje was inspired by a rare photo of jazz cornetist Buddy Bolden and his band.

The epigraph to Clarence Major's gorgeous poem, Photograph of a Gathering of People Waving, reads "based on an old photograph bought in a shop at Half Moon Bay, summer, 1999." Who would not be transported by the poet's lines, "You remember your own meadow/…your grandmother’s church-folk/ gathering on a Sunday afternoon in saintly quietness."

In my series, Lori's friends Tony and Marta Morales have three kids, the youngest of whom is Camilla, named after one of Lori's alter egos. In some of the stories, the Morales family barely surfaces, while in others they play an integral role. But it's been years since I was part of a big, loud, active family, and I need my work to be up to date. I don't want to show the oldest boy bragging about his razor scooter, only to find dirt bikes are the current thing. Do people still cook out on tripod Weber grills? Are bougie toddlers wearing spaceships this year, or jungle animals, or clowns, or dinosaurs? Google can tell you a lot, sure, but to see how people really live, go onto facebook or instagram and start scrolling. Like many parents and grandparents, I don't post pictures of children or teens online. There are too many freaks out there, manipulating photos with AI. But plenty of people do post pics of little Shiloh learning to ride a bike, of Jaden's birthday party and Olivia's sixth-grade graduation, and those photos will give you a wealth of detail to work with.

You'll find that razors are still popular (along with dirt bikes, offroad bikes, and skateboards). Yes, people still burn burgers on Weber grills, and while spaceships and jungle animals are perennially popular, dinosaurs are really back - and for girls, as well as boys. But you're not going to find much by way of clowns in your local Carter's shop. Cool Millennial and Gen Z couples are tearing out carpeting, throwing down hardwood, and painting the interiors of their homes muddy browns and greys and mauvish-pinks. For the outsides, "Millennial charcoal" is still a thing, but white, grey, and pale blue are coming back strong.

You can also get story ideas from those pictures of anonymous strangers - remember the photo of little Olivia's sixth-grade graduation noted above? Perfumes of Arabia, the first story in It's Not Even Past, was inspired by just such a photo. In a shot posted on Insta by a proud mom, Olivia is beaming, her dad's arm around her on one side, Mom beside her on the other. But who's that off to the side? Could it be Olivia's younger sister, looking up at her with narrowed eyes that seem more envious than admiring?

And to see where that went, you'll have to grab a copy of the book and read the story. I'll keep you posted about our upcoming pub date.

And yes, "I'll keep you posted" is absolutely a cliché.

Write What You Know...at Least a Bit

 

If you've been published by The Saturday Evening Post's "New Fiction Friday," you know those stories get a lot of attention. My own On Blackpoint Road made enough of a ripple that I was asked to try turning it into a screenplay. A friend and sometime client who has done well in the film biz generously offered to read my first draft, and I eagerly agreed.

I had in mind Josh Brolin and Robin Wright to play the couple on the big screen, or maybe Michael McGrady and Julia Roberts. The main characters in On Blackpoint Road, a middle-aged couple, are white because…well, because I'm white, I guess. As are, according to the latest UCLA Hollywood Diversity Report, about 90 percent of working film and TV writers.

As it turned out, my colleague liked the script, more or less, but objected strongly to my having described various supporting characters as African-American or Black, when they might have been of any race with little impact on the plot.   

I had done this purposefully. It's my idea that film and television writers - whatever their ethnicity - can help ensure that actors of color get cast in their works by specifically writing into the script that this is "a Black cop," "a tall brown-skinned teacher," "An Asian ballet dancer," and so forth, even when race is not integral to the plot. This is necessary because white, in most cases, is the default. If the writer of a script is white, and the main characters are white, most of the cast is going to be white, too, unless someone makes an effort to deem otherwise. So why not me?

But my friend said that for me to specify the race of any character unnecessarily is a kind of cultural appropriation at best, and racist at worst. That doesn't make sense to me. Why should I trust that filmmakers will diversely cast the supporting roles or bit parts in my script? Can't I help that process along by describing some of the characters as I'd like to see them?  

But he's the film guy, not me. Maybe he's right.

The main character in my "librarian on the run" series is white, like me. She's thirty-something, as I once was, and she's similar to me in many regards - social class, educational level, general snarkiness, and so on. But the stories are populated by a diversity of characters - Lori's best friends, Marta and Tony, are Mexican-American. He is from a middle-class suburban background, and she is from the hard streets of East L.A. They are like me in that they are warm, funny, reasonably intelligent, and hard-working. They are parents, as am I. They pay taxes and drink beer. Sames. They're also unlike me in many regards. Tony is a man, and a police detective. I've never been either of those things. He's fully bilingual, whereas I speak English pretty well and am permanently stalled at "beginner" in Spanish and French. Tony and Marta own a home in an upscale section of Los Angeles, and I never will. Does that make me unqualified to give Tony a supporting role in many of my stories?

Lori solves murders. The corpses,  survivors, and villains have been male and female, young and old, Black, mixed-race, Latino, Asian, and white. I'm not a criminal, but many of my characters are. I'm not gay, or Christian, or (very) elderly, or disabled, or rich, or poor. But many of my characters are. I'm not a child, though I once was, and I write about children and teenagers often. 

So what about my friend's idea that race should not be specified unless it's integral to the plot? I think that's nonsense. Every story that includes a Black character does not have to have racism, or even race, as its primary focus, though if you're writing realistically, that evil may not be far beneath the surface. In my story The Longest Pleasure, Lori (here known as Cam Baker) is stunned when Matt Larkin explains his wife's feelings about their son's girlfriend:

"Look, she was a nice enough girl, just maybe not wife material. She

 frequently had dirt beneath her nails and her hair made Nancy crazy,

 bushy and wild and half the time clearly uncombed.” He met my eyes

 and lowered his voice. “Her race didn’t help.” 

Larkin thinks he's exposing his wife's inner thoughts, but his own are on clear display. Race is not the issue here - the fact that Nancy Larkin murdered the girl is. In fact both Nancy and Tom would probably be horrified to find themselves characterized as racists. So their prejudice, while not integral to the plot, fleshes out their characters and makes them believable. 

Similarly, in What the Morning Never Suspected, Cam is helping her client's daughter plan a wedding.  The "maid" of honor is the bride's best friend - a gay man. This detail is completely nonessential to the plot. Its purpose is to make the bride real and quirky and likable, before we learn that, oh, yeah, unfortunately she may be a killer. When the killers are exposed, Cam takes a minute to feel sorry, not just for the victim, but for Mikey, who will never get to strut down the aisle with his bouquet of tulips and baby's breath. I don't need to be gay, or male - or even to have been a bridesmaid - to include Mikey in my story. He's real to me, more than a caricature,  and I hope he comes across that way to the reader, too.

I wouldn't set a story in Paris because I don't know the city well enough to do so without making a gaffe. But I spent a decade teaching in an international community where most of my students and colleagues were French nationals. So yes, I write stories that include French people as important characters, though never as the main character. I know enough to eschew the berets, striped mime shirts, and baguettes, to get my French slang checked by a native, and to keep the accents to a bare minimum. Ditto when Tony Morales exclaims in Spanish, or when Elmont Crawford, an important character in an upcoming librarian story, says "aight," or "This Delilah," omitting the linking verb "is." A very light hand is best when writing accents and dialects.

When the horror of Sandy Hook was still fresh in the news, I wrote a story from the point of view of a middle-aged woman teaching a three-year-old how to handle a gun. The genesis for They Look Like Angels was a prompt I use in my writing classes: write from the point of view of a character very unlike yourself. I'm a strong gun control advocate. I've spent too many "instructional" hours teaching kids what to do if our school is invaded by a homicidal monster. Little Marty's pistol-packin' granny is about as unlike me as one could be, despite our similarity of age, gender, and occupation. But something must have worked; Aimee Liu chose They Look Like Angels for the Orlando Prize offered by A Room of Her Own. The story was subsequently published in The Los Angeles Review and was included in an eponymous collection, which was a finalist for The Claymore Prize two years ago and will be published later this year.

It's my belief that we can - and should, and must - populate our work with characters who are unlike ourselves in many ways: in gender, or sexual orientation, or nationality, or race, or religion or politics or culture or…you get the idea. If we don't reach beyond our immediate scope to find commonality and a shared humanity, our stories cannot possibly reflect the real world - and the screenplays made from them are going to be as flat as pancakes, and a lot less palatable.

Anna Scotti's first collection, It's Not Even Past, went out of print with the recent closure of Down&Out Books. It will be available from a new publisher soon – but if you can't wait, contact the author via her website; she has a few copies available. Meanwhile, find Anna's short fiction in current and recent issues of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Chautauqua, and Black Cat Weekly.

 On Blackpoint Road - Scotti

They Look Like Angels - Scotti

What the Morning Never Suspected - Podmatic

Zen Master, Barroom Bouncer… Workshop Leader

There aren't many topics as divisive in the writing world as writers groups. Self-publishing, maybe. Submission fees. Maybe the Oxford comma. But really, many writers feel very strongly about writing groups, and I'm one of them. I hate them.

Well, except for the one I lead each week.

Which is to say of course there are good - and great - writers groups out there, but they're thin on the ground. Since most writers are not highly remunerated (at least not for their writing), many groups are "all-peer, no-pay." That means there's no leader getting paid, and no one shells out a dime unless it's their turn to pick up doughnuts and coffee. 

In theory, that's great. In practice, not so much. Leaderless workshops can be meandering and without direction, becoming gripe sessions about the vagaries of the profession rather than focused on craft. But directed workshops can be pretty lame, too.  Not every writer can teach, not every writer can edit, and certainly not every writer can embody the combination of average joe, zen master, and barroom bouncer necessary to successfully lead a group discussion. I work with adult poets and writers in a variety of contexts, and it's distressing to me how often my clients - many of whom are rather accomplished professionals, currently publishing - tell me the horrid edits they've made to their work were based upon the input of writing group peers. I've had writers cry telling me how everyone in a group piled on to repeat a single picayune criticism. And more often, I've had writers complain that everyone in their writing group loves their work, yet editors seem not to. That should be a red flag to a thinking person, but we writers are long on imagination and have a terrific ability to kid ourselves, present company included.

Writing is a solitary endeavor (sorry, TV-writing brethren; it is, for most of us). The best thing most people - even fellow writers - can offer the nascent scribe is encouragement, and perhaps a bit of camaraderie over a cup of coffee or a wee flacon of wine. So why join a group?

Writers join groups for a handful of reasons: to get feedback from others in their field, to talk craft, to have a social experience in a very solitary occupation, to connect with someone who might - please, dear God - provide an introduction to an agent, and so on. And also, I'm sorry to say, to engage in a writing-adjacent activity that allows one to feel as though he or she is officially A Writer, Writing, without actually having to put in a lot of fingers-to-keyboard time. 

As Epictetus advised us, if you want to be a writer, write. If you haven't averaged four hours a day at the keyboard all week (two, if you have a full-time day job), could be you've got no business showing up for coffee and pastries at the Saturday workshop. Your time is limited - everyone's is – and you ought to spend that afternoon at your desk, doing what writers do. You know. Writing.

But time management is the least of my quibbles with the typical group. If it were just a matter of frittering away the day without getting words on paper, we all can (and do) find plenty of ways to do that: nine-to-five jobs, significant others, children who need their dinner, dogs that need walking, gas tanks that need filling, bills, emails, e-vites, ad infinitum. Right? So the biggest problem with writing groups isn't that they glom up time that would be better spent writing. The real problem is that many - dare I say most - groups are not only not constructive, they are actively destructive. Yeah, I said it. Here's why.

Most fiction writers groups - knowingly or not - follow some variation of the MFA workshop format. Everyone emails around a few pages that the others are supposed to have read before the meeting. Then each writer reads his or her own work aloud as the others nod, or gasp, or whistle admiringly under their breath. Then they go around in a circle and each person shares his or her ideas about the piece – what's great, what needs work, and so on. (Poetry workshops are conducted similarly.) 

The writer whose work is being discussed doesn't respond to any of the comments, not even with a lifted eyebrow or a strategic harumph. They just listen. Some writers groups do allow a bit of leeway - for example, the writer may humbly and succinctly advise the group at the end of the discussion that it really was a "bridle shower" and not a misspelled "bridal shower," or that they confused Jim Higgins the parole officer with Tim Wiggins the police officer and thus completely misunderstood the story's denouement. Other groups hold so strictly to the rules that they forbid what is annoyingly referred to as "crosstalk," which is something normal people refer to as "conversation." That is, if Maria says she thinks Bob's use of metaphors is over-done and heavy-handed, Louanne cannot jump in and say that she admires Bob's abstractions and thinks the piece could use even more of them. 

A lot of idiosyncrasies of the typical MFA workshop model made sense originally. Having the writer read aloud is a CYA move for those who didn't pre-read the story, and it also tells the listener how particular bits of dialogue and oddly punctuated passages are supposed to be heard. Consider, for example, this tidbit:

John picked up the gun and moved it to the shelf. "This is dangerous," he said, smiling.

Now, at some point, either before or after this passage, the author is going to have to tell us what's happening here. Many questions could be answered if she inserted the word "angrily" or "kindly" or "sarcastically" or "firmly" after the "he said." Many more, if we knew how John is smiling: Sinisterly? Dismissively? With amusement, or perhaps with disapprobation? When the author reads aloud, the listener gets clues that may not be in the text about what the author intends, and in theory, can then provide suggestions: "I wasn't sure John was actually threatening his landlady until I heard the scary way you read that line," and so on. In theory, this tells the writer that something is missing from the words that are on the page, because after all, the author will not be there to whisper the text into most readers' ears. 

In actual practice, what tends to happen is that what is read by the eye and heard by the ear get conflated, so the writer ends up not being told that the line needs clarification. Instead, she gets positive reinforcement for what's wrong with the bit: "I got chills when you read the part where John picks up the gun. Terrifying!" Are the words actually terrifying? Not at all. But the author's intonation told us they should be. We think we read what we actually only heard. We praise the writer for what she meant, not for what she wrote.

Another problem with leaderless workshops is that honest, constructive criticism – and especially back-and-forth discussion – is often perceived as the dread "crosstalk," especially by those with MFAs. Yet another issue is that writers don't always use good judgment about which points to dwell on and which to let go. I have been in writing groups where every single participant (of eight or ten) mentioned the same misspelling or punctuation error. And I've been in groups where every single participant offered insipid comments like, "I love your writing. This is so good." 

Compliments like that have absolutely no value. They mean nothing. Okay, they do mean something. They mean "I like you and I don't want to hurt your feelings." But compliments that have actual constructive value are specific. For example, "I like the way you made us think Erin was the thief, until she threw open the door and we saw Carmen standing there with the gold dust,"  or "I never heard the word enormity used that way, so I looked it up and saw that you are right. Very interesting, thanks!"

Of course the same is true of criticisms - they are of value only when they are specific. In writers groups, criticisms are often couched as questions or as personal failings of the reader: "I wonder why the flautist was at the ballpark at 11:10, but was also at the police station across town at 11:08. I'm probably missing something!" 

That's okay – it's great to point out a plot hole or solecism, and helpful for the writer – but the fact is that writers should listen to criticism only from those who clearly like their work. Hang on, there, before you argue that you're tough enough to take it. This is not because writers are fragile hothouse flowers who should cancel people who don't appreciate their stuff. Not at all. It's because years of teaching creative writing have shown me that when someone doesn't like a piece, and the writer is in the room, the critic will struggle to find a reason to give, a suggestion for improvement, that may actually have nothing at all to do with whatever is wrong with the piece (if anything). The reader dislikes the piece at a gut level, but feels pressured to verbalize a reason, something that can be "fixed." Too often, they just pull stuff out of thin air. "It takes too long to get to the murder," or "I wanted the dog to live at the end, instead of drowning," or "something about that rainy cafe scene just seems off," are criticisms that people may come up with when they don't like a story and don't know why. And the writer gets back to work trying to please a critic who is probably not ever going to be pleased by that particular piece. My suggestion is, if you don't like the story, don't offer any feedback. If you do like it for the most part, but see something wrong, hallelujah! By all means let the writer know. 

Think of it as the old "prom dress rule" your parents probably taught you. If your best friend asks if she looks good in her prom dress, and she just doesn't, whether you answer truthfully depends on whether it's four hours till prom, or four months. Offer criticism only when it's sincere, justified, and is something that can be fixed. If you just despise stories that include friendly clowns and madcap capers, when Lamont reads his, smile cryptically and keep your mouth shut. If, however, you really like clowns, capers, and Lamont's writing style, but notice the clown sits down to lunch right after dinner on page eight, or that his dialogue bits are so long they qualify as dramatic monologues, by all means, speak up.

The biggest problem with all-peer writing groups is that everyone is equal. I know, I know, we are all equal and everyone's opinion is of of identical value, blah blah blah. Except, no. Not here. A workshop needs a leader, a person who knows more than the others about many or most of the topics that will arise in discussion, and who is able to direct the flow when necessary. If you have ever sat through a ten-minute monologue in which the "critiquer" mumbled, hemmed and hawed, repeated himself, apologized, belabored inconsequential points, and repeated what other participants had already covered in detail, you know what I mean. As a workshop leader, I sometimes have to cut people off – and I'm not afraid to do so – when they talk too long ("I know I'm running way over, but I just want to add…") or make inappropriate comments ("I love the sex scene – is that move something you yourself enjoy?") or expect everyone to wait around while they figure out something to say, rather than succinctly delivering thoughtful, pre-written notes. But the most common and egregious of all errors is that a critiquer will turn the conversation to himself: "I like your story, Glenda! It reminds me of my own story, Murder Under the  Christmas Wreath, published in 1991, in which I blah blah blah bladdedty blah…"  I will give a critiquer one gentle reminder - "Hey, Lenny, sorry to interrupt, but let's focus on Glenda's work here." And if he slides back into it, he gets ruthlessly cut off. Sorry, again, Len.

One element of the typical MFA-style workshop that can be tough to accept is the idea that writers shouldn't respond to comments about their work during or after the critiques. This means that they can only listen, allowing them – forcing them! – to hear how their work strikes the reader without their mind racing ahead, trying to gather evidence to use on the defensive cross ("I did explain that Miss Pettiwad is a bookkeeper – you just didn't get to that part yet!"). I find this stipulation tough to follow and tough to enforce, but worth the trouble, both in fiction and in poetry workshops. We're writers – we've got a lot to say. Sometimes it's really helpful to be forced to just listen.

Other rules seem simply intended to pander to the ultra-sensitive sensibility that sometimes dominates conversations about art. Trigger warnings are a nice idea, but have been taken to ridiculous extremes. I think it's acceptable – even commendable – for a workshop author to note at the beginning of a written piece, and before reading it aloud, that it contains lengthy passages of graphic violence, or a great deal of foul or offensive language, or some other truly objectionable element. That allows those who do not want to read or hear to bow out.

But to announce ahead of time that piece briefly references something appalling undermines the elements of the work that should be revealed with reading. There is a very real difference between one sentence reading, "Carolyn slid the knife neatly between Mr. Andrews's ribs, careful to keep blood from staining her pinafore," and a two-page depiction of the full, grisly details of the violent crime. The latter might justify a trigger warning, I think, but not the former. (But the latter would probably also have a gross-out factor far outweighing any literary merit.)

I've been in workshops where writers included trigger warnings for guns, knives, a bottle of pills on the counter, overeating, childbirth, a construction worker wolf-whistling, drunks talking in a bar, dog poop on the sidewalk, raw beef, and…allergies. Yes. Allergies. Like, hay fever. This is where the wise workshop leader steps in and inquires gently, "Are you out of your freaking mind?"

So, back to crosstalk and constructive criticism. If it would thoroughly crush Michaela's spirit to be told that Amani disagrees with her, Michaela may need therapy more than she needs to participate in a writing group. This is not to say that courtesy and respect for others should not be paramount in every group; of course they should. You may find Rick to be a blithering idiot, and his work best used to line the recycling bin, but there's no law that you have to say so. So don't. You can always (yes, I will die on that hill – always) find something good to say about someone's work. But the fact is, you won't normally need to. No one will mind if you just hush up and let the others talk. Most people have lots to say and really like to hear themselves say it.

So what about the good workshops out there? What sets them apart? 

The very first thing a workshop leader should do is establish ground rules. I'd suggest the basics: a sincere compliment should precede every criticism (including those couched as questions or personal failures). That might go like this: "Audrey, your story made me laugh out loud, first at the part where Doug fell off the bridge, and then again when his wife asked why he was all wet. There is something I noticed, though. When Audrey and Doug speak, they never use contractions, so the dialogue seems a bit stiff and unnatural." Note that it is not necessary to then cite every instance of stiff dialogue. The writer can consider your note later, in private, and decide whether it has value to him or her.

But hang on. What if you have a really, really great criticism but just cannot think of a single compliment to precede it? Scroll up. If you didn't like the story enough to single out something great about it, don't offer any comment at all. Really. Just zip it. Not kidding.

A second rule might be no seconding and thirding the comments of others rather than to say, "I agree with Dylan about the tone." (Do not then proceed to repeat everything Dylan said.) Be aware that each person in a workshop will not get equal time to speak about every story. That would not make sense, because by the time you get to the eighth or ninth person, almost everything has already been said. Therefore, the workshop leader should choose a different writer to start the comments each go-round.

Third, the workshop leader should let everyone know that commenting on a comment or disagreeing with a comment are perfectly acceptable – if the remarks are made with courtesy and respect. "Sorry, Bob, I don't agree with you about the dog breeds in Jane's story. Lots of people have pit bulls that are friendly," or "Tammy, it's possible that your character should say uninterested, not disinterested." However, rude or hurtful remarks will result in immediate shut down (or mic-muting, if on zoom). The leader should be willing and able to say firmly, "Doris, I'm cutting you off right there, sorry. Let's discuss it later."

One of the best workshops I've attended was a one-off led by a fairly well-known writer who announced at the start, "I'm very direct. If I offend you, sorry – if you just slip out during the break, I'll understand." He was direct, and some people did take umbrage and leave, but for those of us who stayed, wow – great learning experience in how to give and receive constructive criticism. Unfortunately, too many groups are led by writers who are too damned nice to stop the train by interrupting a speaker or turning off a mic. (I've been accused of a lot, but being too nice is apparently not one of my flaws.)

This is why I often advise clients, students, and colleagues against joining all-peer, no-pay groups. If you're considering a directed, pay-to-play group, ask to sit in on a session before you commit. I've just had too many writers receive bad advice, or get piled on by the crowd about something inconsequential, or get pumped up about something that really wasn't great, in these groups. But I'd love to be mistaken. If you belong to a fantastic writing group that has helped you become a better writer, please share details in the comments. And of course horror stories will be devoured with relish!

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Anna Scotti's most recent release, It's Not Even Past, went out of print with the recent closure of Down&Out Books.  It will be available from a new publisher soon – but if you can't wait, contact the author via her website. She has a few copies available.

Anna's latest story for Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, "Season of Giving", appears in the January/February issue of the magazine.

Get Up. Fall Down. Get Up Again.

I will admit that I, too, thought "The master has failed more times than the beginner has even attempted" was a Chinese proverb. Apparently not – most sources give Stephen McCranie, the comic book artist, credit. Regardless, it's my favorite aphorism and at this point I've probably said it more times than McCranie.

Because I fail a lot.

When I was young, I dreamed of being a lab researcher, but a stint at the National Institutes of Health put paid to that.

I still cringe when I think of the way chimpanzees were housed in tiny crates in the labs, how experiments were scrapped and living animals "sacrificed" by the scores because the scientists wanted to attend a wedding or hit the slopes.

It would have been a dream job for some – I reported directly to two Nobel Laureates. But I was miserable and gave up my plans for a career in science.

I modeled for a time and I was terrible at it. I had the height but not the élan. I couldn't wear contact lenses so I had to whip my thick glasses on and off continually for pictures. I was clumsy in heels and once stepped right off a runway. Oops.

Acting was fun and I was good at it. So were a thousand other young actors with thicker hides than mine. Failed again.

I was doing pretty well as a soft-news journalist. I wrote a snarky and very popular column for Buzz, then a hot new magazine billed as "the talk of Los Angeles." I covered parties for InStyle and scandals for Redbook and the other "seven sisters" magazines.

Then I stepped away for a hot minute to have a baby and when I was ready to get back to work, the editors who had once supplied me with a steady stream of assignments had moved on. Nobody knew my name. Failed again.

My first novel was a chapter book for kids published by Bantam Skylark. The acquiring editor left the house before Dog Magic came out. Death knell. Same for my next two books, one horror and one suspense, both from a major house, and both "orphaned" before their debuts.

When a book is orphaned, there's no one at the publishing house to schmooze buyers at book fairs, treat drinks, and fight for you to get reviews. They save those efforts for their own discoveries, for understandable reasons. The results were predictable. There's that F word again.

I abandoned writing and decided to become a teacher. With no credential and no training, I landed a job at at a yeshiva, then segued that into a spot at a top independent school. Then another. After classes, I worked on a young adult novel I called Big and Bad and How I Got My Life! Back. That book was so damned good. I knew it would be a hit and I would join the ranks of superstar YA authors John Greene and Laurie Halse Anderson. I sent Big and Bad off to one publisher, who rejected it. Then I tossed it in a drawer and sulked for the next fourteen years. Not kidding.

One day I came across the manuscript on my hard drive, read it, and liked it a lot. I polished it up and shipped it off to a contest sponsored by Texas Review Press. Big and Bad came in second but they published it anyway, and the following year it won the Paterson Prize for Books for Young People. Big and Bad got a rave review in School Library Journal, which is the go-to nearly all schools and libraries consult when stocking their shelves. Shoulda been a contender - but that dang pandemic thing got in the way. Since you're all writers, I don't need to explain. No stock, no ship, no shelf, no sale.

So. Teaching. I love teaching and I love kids. I don't love schools and I can barely abide administrators. I've been fired from more schools than some states have in their school system. In fact I've been fired from almost every job I've ever held, although a couple of times I managed to squeak out a quick I quit before they could lower the axe.

So you're picking up a theme here, right? Failure after failure, sometimes my fault, sometimes just the way the cards were dealt. But every single failure taught me something. Lots of things, actually, and I use all of those things in writing fiction and poetry.

When I was a kid, my sister and I would fight over Ellery Queen and Alfred Hitchcock when they arrived each month. (Yeah, it was a long time ago - they were both still monthlies!) I can truly claim to be a life-long fan, but it didn't occur to me to try selling a story to Ellery Queen until I was sixty years old. Sixty! According to Guardian Life Insurance, the average American retires at sixty-two - and here I was trying something brand-spanking new. Scary!

Janet Hutchings rejected my story, of course - it was all wrong for Ellery Queen. She rejected the next one, too, but then she bought Krikon the Ghoul Hunter, and then a whole bunch more.

My stories from Ellery Queen have been recorded in podcasts, nominated for awards, given prizes, published as a collection, and selected for "Best Ofs." And of course I publish elsewhere, too - sometimes in the strangest places. I've published a poem in Fungi Magazine (yes, all about mushrooms!) and a story I wrote for The Saturday Evening Post is part of the national high school curriculum of Fiji. Yep. The island nation. Don't ask. I'm just grateful.

It's a crazy writing life, this one. Some mystery writers my age have been publishing short stories for fifty years, not seven years. I'm kind of a newbie. My heart still beats fast when Jackie Sherbow tells me she'll take a story for EQMM, or when an editor asks me to write a story for an anthology, or a literary journal picks up a poem, or a university professor tells me he's teaching one of my poems or stories. I still sulk when a piece gets turned down, and I have cried more than a few late-night tears over rejections from editors I thought adored me.

I'm still trying, and I'm still failing. I've failed a lot.

And I've succeeded a lot, too.

Because that's the only way to get anywhere in this world. Try, and fail. Then try and fail again. Because the master has failed more times than the beginner has even attempted.