Some folks out there might be aware that I was nominated for the 2013 iteration of the Horror Writers Association’s Bram Stoker Award for best Short Form Fiction (don’t ask me; their nominating system makes the Nobels look simple). Which allows me to tell my favorite joke of recent vintage–well, recent to me, anyway. It could’ve come out of “Greatest Jokes of Lascaux Cave, Vol. 6,” for all I know. I don’t get out much. ANYWAY, Ahem: “The Nobel Peace Prize. Boy, I’d kill for one of those.”
Like I said, I don’t get out much.
Right, the Stokers, and my nomination thereof. Which came as such a stunning surprise to me that you could’ve knocked me over with a #2 Ticonderoga. Well, long story short and sad — I lost. Which wasn’t surprising — certainly not in the same way that the nomination was initially.
I honestly don’t know how I stack up in the noms v wins categories; probably no better or worst than most. But it seems to me, as it must to everyone, I guess, that the balance is a bit on the disappointing side. Over the past 30-odd years I’ve won an Emmy and a Howie Award. I’ve been nominated for a second Emmy, an Annie, a British Fantasy Award, a Hugo, a Nebula, and a Stoker.
Oh, well. Like the man says, It’s an honor just to be nominated. And I do understand the philosophy behind the sentiment. Or the sentiment behind the philosophy. Even the ontological conundrum about which came first.
But, I’ve won a few and I’ve lost a few, and I can tell you straight out that it is a good feeling to be nominated.
But it’s a HELLUVA lot better feeling to win ..