School Writing Competitions: Where Dreams Go to Die (or at Least Get Graded).

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Let me tell you about school writing competitions. These are events where children are encouraged to express their deepest thoughts, wildest imaginations, and most heartfelt emotions provided they can do it in exactly 500 words, double-spaced, with no swearing, no sarcasm, and absolutely no references to bodily functions. In other words, not writing.

The competition is usually announced by a teacher who has clearly lost a bet. She stands in front of the class with a smile that says, “I’d rather be audited,” and explains that the winner will receive a laminated certificate, a £10 WHSmith voucher, and the eternal envy of classmates who were too busy drawing penises on their textbooks to participate.

Now, the themes are always inspirational. “What Courage Means to Me.” “My Dream for the Future.” “How I Would Solve World Hunger Using Only Recycled Yogurt Pots.” These are topics designed to make children reflect deeply, then immediately abandon all hope of winning because they know little Timmy is going to write a poem that makes the judges cry and donate their kidneys.

The judging panel consists of three retired teachers, one local councillor who thinks commas are a communist plot, and a woman named Carol who once wrote a haiku about her cat and now considers herself a literary gatekeeper. They read each entry with the solemnity of a Nobel committee, nodding gravely at metaphors like “hope is a butterfly trapped in a jam jar,” while rejecting anything that contains the word “fart.”

And then there’s the awards ceremony. The winner is announced in front of the entire school, which is gathered in the assembly hall and smells faintly of feet and school dinners. The victorious child walks up to the stage, clutching their certificate like it’s a golden ticket to escape Year 9, while the rest of the students silently vow revenge through passive-aggressive TikToks.

In conclusion, school writing competitions are a beautiful tradition that encourages creativity, self-expression, and the crushing realisation that your best work will be read by someone who thinks “irony” is a type of metal.


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