In my first draft I buried the “lede,” so I’ll get it right out there: Endurance won a very nice Science Fiction/Fantasy award from the Golden Crown Literary Society. It comes with a very nice cash prize, too. I am, of course, thrilled.

Endurance was also a finalist for the Ann Bannon Popular Choice award, but did not win. That didn’t surprise me, since being a popularity contest, it’s bound to go to the authors with the most books, biggest fan base, best name recognition. I have none of that. Fair enough. (But it was a finalist!)

It’s easy to pooh-pooh awards. They are subjective, after all, just like any reader’s opinion. It most certainly is an honor to be nominated or to become a finalist. Of course it feels better to win. The thing about writing, however, is that it’s very private and solitary. You don’t stand before an audience of hundreds or thousands and hear applause when you finish. You don’t get to take a bow or give an encore. Recognition, when it comes, dribbles in piecemeal by way of reviews (which may or may not be favorable) or friends’ kind words (which may or may not be true).

The Golden Crown Literary Society (GCLS), if I recall correctly, formed in 2004 to give greater visibility to lesbian writing—updated to the more-inclusive women-loving-women or sapphic (because trans women are women and just move along if you think otherwise). Too many queer awards were focused on men, and, more recently, large presses. Those of us who are indie or with small publishers are pebbles dropped in the ocean, small voices in a huge crowd. So even “small” awards matter.

You may not have heard of GCLS, but judging by the crowd at their annual conference and awards ceremony (this year in Denver), it has passionate followers (there’s no longer a “membership”). This is every writer’s dream—readers who care enough to show up, whether to buy a book, attend a conference, post reviews, come to readings.

I haven’t been able to get over my introversion to attend one. Maybe someday.

As part of my acceptance speech, beautifully read at the ceremony by award-winning audiobook narrator Abby Cradon, I said, “To the fragile ego that is this writer’s, this recognition means so much.”

Indeed, this fragile ego has been bolstered by this recognition. It’s hard to be a writer. These days, it’s even harder to be a queer writer (well, that’s always been harder). I’m nearing the end of writing Endurance’s sequel, and there have been moments, too many, where I thought to myself, you know, you don’t have to write this book. You could just stop now. No one will really notice.

So far, I’ve always overcome those harmful thoughts. Too many writers don’t. After one or two books, for whatever reason, they stop. Finances, family, who knows what gets in the way and keeps them from writing. I mourn these losses. Our stories matter. You never know who you will touch with your story, and too many queer writers, or BIPOC writers, or women don’t get the encouragement that energizes them to keep writing. What stories have we missed? What stories will we never see? Whose life story could reflect our own, where we go, Wow, I’m not the only one! Hey, I can do that too!

I write stories I want to read, hoping someone else will like them too. That alone is usually enough. But, damn, it’s nice to win an award!

All about Endurance.

More about GCLS.