I Didn't Win the Nebula, and That's Okay.
Here's why...
I’m finally back home in Canada after my first time at the Nebulas. Can’t say I’m well-rested, but I’m doing alright, and I’ve had a little time to gather my thoughts after what has been an incredible experience on so many levels.
Since this is my first major award nomination, I thought it might be a good perspective to share with other writers who maybe haven’t been here yet and might wonder what it’s like. So gather ‘round kids. This is what it’s like:
First you get the call. Someone actually phones you and tells you you’ve been nominated. Your first thoughts are:
Who the heck is calling me? No one ever calls anymore. Why wouldn’t they just text or email or something?
You consider not answering the phone at all because this isn’t 1985. Answering phones is just weird.
Then you think, what if it’s an emergency or something? So you do answer.
The lovely person on the other end of the call informs you that you’ve been nominated for an award. (In my case it was the great Jonathan P. Brazee and the Nebula Award).
Your next thought is: How did you get this number?
Then it clicks that you were just informed that you were nominated for this award. And you almost didn’t answer. And all this kind of stuff is running through your head while Jonathan (or whoever it is depending on your situation) has gone on to ask if you’re willing to accept this nomination.
Then you think: Who the heck would ever turn this down? Because of course in the moment you think that. It’s only later you’ll realize there are countless legitimate reasons for someone to turn down an award nomination.
But let’s say you accept (as I did). Then the whirlwind of emotions begins. And of course you can’t say anything to anyone about any of it until the official announcement is made, which regardless of the actual timespan will seem like an excruciating eternity.
I’m sharing this with you based on my experience as well as that of my fellow finalists, who I’ve been in regular contact with since that fateful day we got the news (or at least since it was officially announced). We’ve shared our thoughts and feelings throughout this process, as writers tend to do, and it’s been interesting how many of us felt the same way about so many things.
Some might think getting a nomination for an award like this will make getting your work published a little easier. It doesn’t. We have all still received many form rejections since the announcement. Some of us have been nominated for many major awards multiple times (some of us have even won) and the rejections keep coming. It’s part of the process. I don’t think any of us expected otherwise.
You might also think an award nod like this one will fill you with confidence. Maybe. But it can also fill you with imposter syndrome. You might think to yourself, I’ll never again write something this good. This is it. It’s all downhill from here. But who’s to say? I guess we’ll find out in time.
And of course there’s some stress in waiting to find out who actually gets to take home the trophy. Because let’s be real, we all want the trophy, whether we think we have a good shot at it or not. I mean, it’s so pretty with its planets and moons and galaxies. But what’s weird, is you also want your fellow nominees to get the trophy. Nebulas for everyone! Of course, it doesn’t work that way.
My friend, and fellow finalist, Stewart C. Baker (who shared his nomination with James Beamon for their game, The Bread Will Rise) had a good take on what it means to be nominated at this level. The way Stewart sees it, the difference between the winner, and the other finalists in their category, is negligible. Someone has to get the trophy, but everyone who made the ballot is worthy. And that’s a win in itself.
It brought to mind something I learned while taking Yale’s Happiness Course (online, during pandemic lockdown. It’s a free course and I highly recommend it). There was a study comparing the happiness levels of Olympic medalists. You might assume the happiest person on the podium is the gold medalist. And to an extent, that’s true. At least in the moment they’re given the medal. Afterward it can lead to pressure and other stressors, but for the most part, who doesn’t want to see their efforts pay off? Of course, they’ve now reached this peak, and there’s nowhere left to climb (or so it can seem). I’ll call this the “Now what?” effect.
Then there are the runners up. It may surprise you to learn that the happiest person on the podium is the bronze. Here’s why: the silver has trained as much as the gold has. They probably lost by a fraction of a second or a percentage point or whatever. They came SO INCREDIBLY CLOSE to winning the gold…but fell just short. The bronze, on the other hand, also trained for years, and also didn’t get the gold, but check it out—they’re ON THE PODIUM. They maybe lost by two fractions of a second. But by Olympic standards, they were way off. Never had a shot at winning. They’re thrilled that they’ve medalled at all. And they don’t have any of the stress involved with winning the gold. If they’re young enough, maybe they’ll even still have a shot at the gold in some future Olympic games. They have nowhere to go but up.
In many ways, losing the Nebula, is more like winning the bronze than the silver. It’s not a perfect analogy, but it feels close enough, at least to me. I don’t feel like the rest of us were SO CLOSE to winning and just fell short. The moment voting closed for this year’s Nebulas, the winners were already chosen, we just didn’t know who they were until the ceremony. You can’t lose something you never had. But for those of us who didn’t win, we got to be on the podium! And there’s nowhere to go but up.
I can’t speak for everyone who has ever been nominated for a major award (whatever their field). I’m sure some people are devastated to lose, and their feelings are valid. But speaking for myself, I said all along I’d be happy for whoever won. Of course I would’ve been extra thrilled to take home the trophy. That’s expected. But there’s no shame in losing to the caliber of author I was up against. What’s more, I consider the people on this ballot if not friends (though many are), certainly writers I have enormous respect for. I’m lucky to have shared a category with some amazing people, many of whom I knew from the online community already, some of whom I got to meet in person for the first time. We spoke many times over the course of waiting for the final announcement about how wonderful it was that regardless of who ultimately won, we wouldn’t have to lose to some jerk with a crappy story who didn’t deserve it.
In the end, those in my category got to lose to one of the nicest human beings you’ll ever encounter. Someone who has been around writing some top fiction for years, and who has been nominated for awards before, and finally got to take one home. R.S.A. Garcia’s story is the kind that fills you with hope for humanity. It shines a light on our imperfections, and shows us how we can instead do better. It’s funny, and sweet, and is told in the perfect voice.
I spent a lot of time over the past few months promoting my own story, but right now I want to focus on my competition, or as I like to call them, my friends and colleagues.
So start by reading R.S.A. Garcia’s Nebula-Winning story, “Tantie Merle and the Farmhand 4200” in Uncanny magazine. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
And in no particular order, the remaining stories:
Over the weekend, several of us finalists and even winners talked about our “white whale” market that we’d yet to sell to. The hands-down winner being Clarkesworld Magazine. Well, Thomas Ha knows how to win editor Neil Clarke over. That’s where you’ll find “Window Boy” a story that’s so subtle in everything it conveys that I recommend you read it more than once. At first it might be the mood and tone that grabs you, but as you read on you’ll notice that Thomas tells this story in such a way that by the end you realize there’s an enormous amount of story you somehow got that isn’t even on the page. He knocked that one out of the park. I had the pleasure of meeting Thomas’ wife this weekend. After the ceremony, she told him it was only a matter of time before he wins one, and I have no doubt that she’s right.
“The Sound of Children Screaming” is probably one of my favorite stories ever. I told Rachael K. Jones this long before the winner was announced, so she knows I’m a fan. The subject matter is heavy, but told through a trope that’s so often found in children’s fiction. The first time I read it, I literally sat back and said “whoa.” I’ve read it more than once since then and it’s just as powerful. This isn’t the first story of Rachael’s I’ve loved, and I know there’s more great stuff to come from this talented writer. She’s also one hell of a karaoke singer, so if you get a chance to catch one of her performances, trust me, you should.
Naomi Kritzer is no stranger to nominations. She was even nominated in no less than three categories for this year’s Nebulas, ultimately winning in the novelette category. In the short story category, her story “Better Living Through Algorithms,” struck me as thematically similar to Rhonda Garcia’s in that they both dealt with technology, and the way humans shape that technology with our own behavior. Naomi showed us that if used correctly, technology can help us live better lives. But she also showed us that we have it in us to improve our lives and community even without the technology. Having had the pleasure of meeting Naomi, this makes so much sense. She just exudes this calm, welcoming vibe that I think comes through in her writing voice as well. It’s obvious this is not the last we’ll see from her. Not by a longshot.
And what can I say about my friend John Wiswell, other than the fact that I hope we get to meet in the real world one day. This was John’s fifth time being nominated for a Nebula, and I don’t have to tell you why. He just rocks, as do his stories. John was actually advised against writing “Bad Doors.” No one wants stories set during the pandemic, they said. Luckily, John didn’t listen. Not only did he write the story he wanted to tell, about a character who refuses to be haunted, but he got it published in Uncanny Magazine, which is no small feat either. John may not have won this year, but keep your eye on him. This kid is going places, as they say. Maybe next year will be the year he takes home the trophy. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s for long-form, considering how well his novel’s doing. At any rate, it’s just a matter of time.
When I say I was rooting for them all, that’s no lie. Yes, it’s contradictory to want to win but to also want your competition to win. But like I said, they’re my friends. And I loved their stories too.
This brings me to something Sarah Pinsker said to me—and if you somehow missed it, Sarah is no stranger to major award nominations and wins. Sarah suggested that when you’re nominated it’s a good idea to choose another story to root hard for besides your own. That way if they win you can be overjoyed, and if they lose you can feel outrage on their behalf, but you don’t personally have skin in the game. (I’m paraphrasing a little, but that’s the gist of it). And yeah, I had my picks for each category. I won’t name names because there’s no need for that, but it did take the pressure off my own situation when I was focused on other people’s stories.
I’m honest about my feelings. And that includes being honest with myself. I said all along I’d be happy no matter who won, but the truth is, having never been in quite this situation before, I couldn’t be sure that at the moment of truth I wouldn’t feel disappointment if my story didn’t win. I can tell you now, I did not. I wasn’t nervous during the wait. And when Arley Sorg opened the envelope and read Rhonda’s title aloud, all I felt was happy for her. I immediately turned to my husband and said, “Oh my God, you were right!” because he’d been saying all along that Rhonda would win. He actually correctly predicted several of the winners this year. So if anyone’s looking for a psychic, he might have found a new calling.
So I started this by saying I feel fine with not having won the Nebula, and that I’d tell you why. Here, I’m like the bronze medalist. I wrote this story one day because it demanded to be written. I wrote it fast, but somehow it still turned out the way I hoped it would. Every inch of it spoke my truth in deeply personal ways that I can’t quite explain but that I’ll always feel when I read or listen to it. I’ve said before it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever written, and I can tell you I’ve read it since several times just for my own enjoyment. I sincerely wish for all artists that they one day get to create something that resonates so deeply with them that they get to appreciate it and enjoy it the same way other people do, without nitpicking about flaws or things you could have done differently. The Nebula trophy is a particularly pretty one. It would look lovely on display in anyone’s home. But I gotta say, there’s no greater reward for your hard work than to create something that you can step back from and say, “Okay. I did a pretty damn good job on this one.”
I didn’t plan to write “Once Upon a Time at The Oakmont.” It just came to me one morning. Way too early. Like the call from Jonathan Brazee, I almost ignored it. But it was persistent, and ultimately made it through me onto the page. When I sent it out on submission, I was actually excited about it. I submit a lot, and it’s pretty routine for me. I don’t generally have feelings about it, it’s just part of the job. But this time was different. I knew this story was different. And all I wanted for it, was that when I sent it out into the world, it would land somewhere where readers would find it. Arley Sorg and Christie Yant, editors of Fantasy Magazine, made that possible.
I began my writing journey when I was five years old. I didn’t know anything about awards then. I didn’t even technically know how to write without assistance. I was just a little kid who loved stories, and I wanted to share my stories with other people. That was it.
Last year I was on fellow SFWA member Matthew Wayne Selznick’s podcast, Sonitotum. If you’ve never listened to it, the premise is that Matthew and his guest discuss being a working writer while practicing self-care, and also defining success in the field. I told him that I felt I’d already succeeded by meeting the goal set out by my five-year-old self. I get to do what I love. I create worlds and characters out of nothing, and I put them out into the world to share with other members of my species. What’s more, a lot of people like what I’m creating.
I specifically spoke during that interview about how you had to focus on the things you could control. I even said, “I might never win a Nebula,” so I couldn’t hang all my hopes on that. To me, the awards and accolades are of course nice to receive, and often serve as indicators to other people that maybe you’re doing alright at this. But for me, I’m living my life-long dream, and that’s something not everyone can say. I’ve worked hard all my life, largely on my own since I’m self-taught, to be where I am. It has meant making some sacrifices, but it has always been worth it.
I may never become the biggest name in publishing (not that I want that, anyway) nor do I expect to sell so much fiction I won’t have to worry about money (HAHAHA). The way I’ve thought about this since the nomination was announced is like this: I wrote a story in which all you need to do is open the right door to find yourself in a different time. So I can imagine myself in The Oakmont, opening a door on 1980 and finding little me. And if I did that, I would tell her, “we did it.” I wouldn’t say, “Sorry, kid. You didn’t win this award.” She wouldn’t care about that. She would just be thrilled to know I’m putting my stories out there and people are reading them. What we creators do is literal magic. What a privilege it is to get to share this gift. Everything else is just gravy.
My advice to anyone who’s ever in my situation is this: Focus on the positives. Here are some of mine:
This year I became, and will forever after be, the first Chilean writer ever nominated for the Nebula Award. I got to make history, and that’s something I never aspired to.
I also got to watch a few others make history. My friend, Renan Bernardo, is the first Brazilian writer ever nominated for a Nebula. R.S.A. Garcia is the first Trinidadian writer to win one. Likewise, Vajra Chandrasekera is the first Sri Lankan to win one for his novel, The Saint of Bright Doors. When one person of color achieves something like this, we all win. We become representative of what others like us can do, and that’s huge. So I’m thrilled that we all got to do this, especially since I know we all grew up more often than not lacking the representation we so craved.
I got to be the first Nebula nomination for Fantasy Magazine, and while I would’ve liked for them to go out with a win, it’s still a nice feeling.
“Once Upon a Time at The Oakmont” is also a finalist for Canada’s Aurora Award. CSFFA members can vote here. Voting closes July 13, 2024.
This story will be included in not one but two “Best of” anthologies. I’ve already announced that it was selected for Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy & Science Fiction, Vol. 2. And today I can finally announce something I’ve been keeping secret for many months. It’s also been chosen by John Joseph Adams and guest editor Hugh Howey for Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2024, an anthology I’ve long dreamed of being a part of.
I finally had a good excuse to visit California, where I got to see mountains again, and use more Spanish than I have in years. I also got to meet Meghan Smith who lives in L.A. and who publishes a newsletter (Fiction to Features) that introduces film industry professionals to stories that might work well as film adaptations. Meghan has shared several of my stories, including “Once Upon a Time at The Oakmont.” She was awesome in person, and I discovered she’s a huge Anne of Green Gables fan, which since I’m a Canadian girl, immediately makes her a “kindred spirit,” as Anne Shirley would say.
Meghan Smith and I enjoying a nice tea just hours before the Nebula awards I got to see old friends I haven’t seen in a while, and meet a few I’ve only ever interacted with online. It’s no exaggeration to say they were all awesome, and we had a blast spending time together and creating little inside jokes and so on. I look forward to hanging out with them as much as possible going forward.
I got to see my videogame-loving husband, who went with me to Pasadena, fanboy over the nominees for Best Game Writing.
I got to feel the entire gamut of human emotions during the Nebula Awards ceremony.
I got to sit right next to my friend and fellow Canadian, Ai Jiang, and see her utter shock when she won the Nebula for her novella Linghun, because even though she’d previously won the Stoker, she’s so humble she didn’t expect another win. And she also let me pick her brain about publishing stuff because she’s super cool.
I got to hear nice things about my story from writers that are successful enough in this business that their names (if I were tacky enough to name-drop) would certainly be very familiar to you. As well as from readers who maybe haven’t achieved fame, but who found something in my story to love all the same, and who said they were rooting for me, and all manner of nice things that make my eyeballs glisten and warm even my icy cold heart.
I was cheered on often by unexpected sources, which is always the best.
But perhaps, most important during this whole process, is that I got to write the story my heart had always wanted to tell. I got good enough at what I do to pull it off. And even better, I get to keep doing this thing I do, and maybe even get better at it still. Time will tell. If I were in The Oakmont maybe I could break the rules and sneak a peek, but since I’m not, I suppose I’ll arm myself with patience, which is a totally underrated writing tool.
What a year.
I’d like to thank everyone who has read my story and who nominated it for this award for thinking it worthy. I don’t know who you are, but you’re all my favorite people.
And thank you to my fellow nominees for making this experience a true joy from start to finish. You are all rockstars. Alchemists that turn random letters into worlds. How incredible is that?
P.A. Cornell
This was such a lovely, moving, inspirational read. Congratulations on everything and thanks for sharing!