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BY PETER SOLIS NERY
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How to win the Palanca
I HAVE been asked to judge the Palanca Awards a couple of times, informally, of course, like in a joke, “You keep on winning; maybe you should stop joining, and start judging.” All the time, I said no, joking back, “I strike while the iron is hot.”
It maybe the wrong idiom for a smart-ass come back, but to me, why should I stop writing while I’m still winning? Why should I break my winning streak? Why should I park my writing gadgets while I’m still in top writing form? Would people still be kind or nice to me when I can no longer write, when I can no longer win? What about my fans and cheerleaders?
So, I still haven’t judged the Palanca contest, but I really want to write the book “How to Win the Palanca Awards.” With 18 Palancas under my belt, including the Hall of Fame earned in 2012, I think I’m pretty qualified to write the guidebook on how to win the Palanca. I’ve actually dealt with the topic in my 2014 touring lecture “Write to Win,” that toured to 14 schools in 12 cities that included Baguio, Los Banos, Koronadal, Kabangkalan, Sultan Kudarat, Bacolod, and Iloilo.
This I have to say: There is no substitute to good writing. But to win the award, there are a few tricks of the trade. The tricks may not all work, or may not work at all, but at least you have a competitive advantage when you try. Tricks give me a dose of confidence; and sometimes, confidence is all you need. I mean, the difference between winning and not winning can be as simple as the difference between entering the contest and not entering the contest.
Say you have written something brilliant. Well, that will never win a prize if you don’t submit it to the contest. Now, say that you entered your brilliant piece to the contest. Well, it will never win a prize if you submitted it past the deadline, or, God forbid, you used the wrong font and font size. Or the wrong margin size and pagination!
I have been joining the Palanca contest for 18 years now, and believe it or not, I still read the longish contest rules and regulations at least three times every year. First, before I even encode my entry (so I can set the font, font size, margins, and pagination according to the contest requirements). Second, after I have polished my entry and I feel ready to submit. And thirdly, after I have actually submitted, just so if I discover an error on my part, I still have time to correct it. This third reading also explains why I submit my entries way, way before the deadline – like weeks before! (I’m paranoid that mails will not be delivered, or that the website will crash because of the volume of entries from eleventh-hour submissions.)
Rumors had it that years ago, there were judges who would actually bring a foot ruler to measure the margins of entries, and outrightly disqualify non-compliant entries. I can totally understand that. I mean, if a contestant cannot follow the rules of the contest, why even give him/her a chance at the prize? That would be tantamount to promoting and endorsing anarchy where anything and everything goes. Do you really want to reward non-compliant and errant behaviors?
Which brings me to the kinds of judges that the contest have. Do you know that more than half of the judges are educators, and therefore, understandably, the so-called vanguards of morality? And if the judges are academics who teach, eat, and live the Western literary canon, what kind of poetry and stories do you think will win the prize?
Between a gay story and a feminist story, can you guess which story will win? Which play, do you think, has better chances of winning: a play about AIDS, or a play about Jose Rizal? And trust me, sonnet collections have never won a Palanca poetry prize in the last ten years. And 15 of your best haiku don’t stand a chance in the poetry category, unless maybe you enter them in the poetry written for children category. And even that, I doubt very much.
Can you trust the judges? I’ve never been a judge so I can’t answer that for sure. But whether you trust them or not, you just should. I mean, the Palanca trusts them. The judges’ decisions are always final and irrevocable. But this I have to say: Trust your work more. The judges change every year, or, if not the judges, at least, their tastes.
This year, my one-act play “Tic-Tac-Toe” won first prize. Well, I think it should have won in 2011 when I first submitted it, or in 2012, or in 2013 when I resubmitted it. I think it should have won in the years when the judges have declared no winners in the category.
I gave my play a break, and didn’t enter it in 2014 and 2015. Then, I really thought that it’s a brilliant play that deserves to be seen/read again, so I entered it this year, with a very minor change: Instead of Iloilo, where the Palanca Hall of Famer Peter Solis Nery came from, I set the play in Bacolod City. And presto, my play won a gold.
So, tell me now, if I have many more tricks like these, can I write the book “How to Win the Palanca Awards”, or not?/PN
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