Read our winning January Writing Challenge submissions

Congratulations to our winners!

                                          


We received so many wonderful entries to the SCWC January Writing Challenge; as always, you made it very difficult for us to narrow down the submissions and choose the winners.

What was the challenge?

To write a personal essay connecting your earliest memories of wanting to be a writer to your current writing goals for the new year.

You delivered with some wonderful reflections on what writing means to you, and how you want to go forward with your writing dreams in 2025.

Congratulations to our top winners:

1st place: Angela Paige Hamilton

2nd place: Bree Thompson

3rd place: Glenni Lorrick

Read their inspiring stories below.

"The Day Before the Day I Became a Writer"

by Angela Paige Hamilton

January 28, 1986
Cape Canaveral, Florida

Millions of Americans, including thousands of school children, watched the Space Shuttle Challenger lift-off. On board was America’s first-ever civilian to travel in space, a teacher from New Hampshire named Christa McAuliffe. As the seven astronauts walked out to embark their space craft, a crowd of happy onlookers cheered and waved American flags.

And then, the unthinkable. Just seventy-three seconds after lift-off, the shuttle exploded.

The crowd of family and friends gathered to watch the shuttle take off now sat in a stunned silence, transfixed by the plumes of white smoke mixed with traces of a fiery orange against the backdrop of brilliant blue sky.

Seconds passed. Disbelief and shock slowly turned to horror. Newscasters stuttered, unsure of what to say.
Our nation went into mourning the loss of the seven astronauts, who just that morning smiled and waved as they walked toward the concrete pad where the shuttle sat waiting, its nose pointing heavenward.

January 29, 1986
Harrisonburg, Louisiana

The next day, my 8 th grade English teacher, Mrs. Swayze, gave the assignment: Spend ten minutes writing about the space shuttle tragedy.

While journal writing was not an unusual assignment, what happened in the next ten minutes was quite out of the ordinary. In fact, those ten minutes are burned into my mind so deeply that I still think of them often. Perhaps I remember it with such clarity because the heaviness of the silence

in that classroom was so different than anything else I had ever experienced. No one whispered. No one passed along a note. No one shuffled their feet. The only sound was that of pencils scratching across paper.
And in that quiet, I recognized a shared sadness among my classmates, perhaps even with all of America. 

For the first time, I understood the meaning of the words “national tragedy.” My heart ached with grief but not just for the astronauts who lost their lives, but also for my nation. It seemed to me that in that explosion, we had lost a tiny slice of America.

I recall writing how the Challenger and those on board seemed to represent us all. The words
flowed from my pencil ...

“The space shuttle carried seven astronauts on board. But they were far more than just astronauts. They were men and women; husbands and wives; fathers and mothers; sons and daughters. Among them were whites and blacks and Asians and Latinos. There were doctors, engineers, pilots, and a teacher. There was even a man with the last name Smith. They were seven ordinary citizens who represented all of America, and because of that it feels as if the tragic explosion happened to us all.”

A week or so later, my English teacher announced that three of the Challenger essays would be published in our tiny school’s monthly newspaper. To my surprise, mine was one of those essays chosen.

January 2025
Lafayette, Louisiana

On the top shelf of my closet is a box that contains all the items saved from my childhood. The collection of 4-H ribbons, newspaper clippings, dance recital programs, and school certificates tell the story of who I was before I grew into an adult. And somewhere, deep in that box of treasures, is a copy of that old school newspaper.

Every few years, when I go in search of some long-lost childhood memento, I come across that two-page school newspaper. I always take a moment to reread the words that my thirteen-year- old-self wrote on that January day. Tears well up in my eyes as I am transported back to that 8tb grade English class and the lessons I learned.

That morning, I learned writing can be cathartic to the soul. Until then, I was not aware that writing could be healing. Putting words on paper gave a weight of importance to my thoughts and feelings, helping me process the tangled web of emotions flooding my soul. Since that long- ago January morning, I have never again gone through any sort of life upheaval (whether big or small) without writing about it.

And I learned something else about writing that day. I never knew written words were a way to connect with others. It was the first time when something I wrote was published. Until then, the only people who read the things I wrote were my teachers or perhaps my mother. Now, my writing was printed and given to every student and teacher. In the days after, many different people told me how they felt comforted by the words I had written. Until then I never knew how gratifying it was to have others identify and relate to my own thoughts just by reading my words.

I would love to tell you that this was the day I knew I wanted to be a writer. It wasn’t. But, as with all writers, the very act of writing seemed to be in my DNA. And so, I couldn’t help but write. Long letters, funny emails, scribblings in notebooks, half-filled prayer journals, and even the very occasional article for some tiny publication. Around the time my oldest child was born, I turned to blogging. Yet, I never once thought of myself as a writer.

It wouldn’t be until my 40 th birthday that I felt the calling to write for God. It would take another 8 years before I had the audacity to even think of calling myself a writer. This past year I published my first book so now I suppose I am truly a writer, even though my paying job is the same as Christa McAuliffe’s, a teacher.

In my job as a 6th grade English teacher, I spend my days teaching kids how to write, which is (as I have learned) not for the faint of heart. The daily grind seems to be the mundane task of reminding students to put periods at the end of their sentences. But every so often there is a magical day, when the room is silent except for the sound of pencils scratching across paper. And then I remember that January morning nearly 40 years ago when I learned firsthand the power of writing.

Januarys always remind me of God’s call on my life to write for Him. It’s not just another new year, but the anniversary of a day that changed my life. You see, to the rest of America, January 28, 1986 was a day of national tragedy. But for me, it will always be the day before the day when I became a writer. And each January, it is my prayer for the new year that God would fill me with the urge to write for His glory.

"Someone, Somewhere is Still Guiding Me"

by Bree Thompson

"Someone somewhere has heard me speak." 

I remember the words like they were written yesterday. Those words make up the first line of a poem I wrote in 6th grade (over 20 years ago). When I showed my mama, she encouraged me to share it with a local paper and with our school publication. I was nervous, but at her insistence, I did it. They both published it, and I was shocked. I had always enjoyed writing and language, but it wasn't until I wrote that poem and received a journal as a gift from my 6th grade ELA teacher telling me to "persevere" in my writing that I truly thought about it seriously. I asked my mama what that big p-word meant, so she told me, and persevere I did.

That poem was written from my little 11-year-old heart, and it was about how God is there for us and will never leave us. As I've grown in all walks of life, and my writing has certainly improved, I feel like that poem is such a fitting starting point. Most of my current goals as a writer involve using my gifts to help others. I have always been better at writing my thoughts than speaking them. The best writing inspiration for me has come from 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 when we are told God comforts us through our troubles so we can comfort others. My hope is to use my experiences to help others cope with theirs. God carried me through the 6th grade and all my preteen worries; He carried me through the worst year of my life thus far in 2022; and He continues to carry me now. My walk as a writer is already laid out because He made the way. I will continue to follow that path for as long as possible.

"Someone somewhere has seen me when I was invisible." 

This line comes later in the poem, but I've since learned that when we feel like no one sees us, God does. I've come to trust that in my writing as well; when I feel like it's all for naught, God has a purpose and a plan for my writing, and it will be seen by those who need it, when they need it. I only need to pick up the pen and write. God will do the rest.

"Thank you, Mrs. Durant!"

by Glenni Lorick

“Glenni,” said Mrs. Durant, “you’re a very good writer. I would like you to work on our school newsletter.” I glowed as I listened to her sincere words of praise. I loved my ninth grade English teacher and was thrilled that she considered me a good writer. I was 13 and full of ideas that I couldn’t wait to put on paper.

Eight years later I was a recent college graduate thinking that someone needed to write a book for Christian girls heading to college. I remembered Mrs. Durant’s encouragement and began writing, College: a Big Step for Daddy’s Little Girl. I finished it in 1982, well before the days of a computer in every home. I wrote it using my typewriter and kept the pages in a large manila envelope. I asked a couple of friends to read it and give me feedback. Unfortunately, one of them never gave me my book back. I was crushed.

Over the following years, I wrote songs, articles, and curricula, edited and published a magazine, and found many opportunities to use the gift God had given me.

Around 2005 I felt the Lord leading me to write a faith-based manual for breastfeeding mothers. I entitled it As a Mother Comforts Her Child. I finished it in 2006 and began looking for an agent. The day Carolyn called me, I felt like I was living in a dream. She liked my book and wanted to represent me. Several weeks later she called to tell me that Thomas Nelson was interested in my book, and she was entering into negotiations with them. Then a week later she called me back and told me to pray hard. She explained that the publishing industry was going through some big changes, and they would be eliminating at least 1/3 of the books they had planned to backlist.

I prayed fervently and earnestly; nevertheless, I got the call I dreaded. They had dropped my book. Carolyn felt like we were at a dead end, and I just felt despair.

Several times in the next 16 years I talked to self-publishing companies, but they wanted so much money to publish my book, and I simply couldn’t afford it. So I continued writing my blog and creating helpful content for mothers and babies.

I owned a breastfeeding boutique from 2007-2019. However, in January of 2020, I was ready to sell it so I could focus on my hospital job and my grandchildren. The Lord impressed on my heart that it was time to revisit my book. So I rewrote the parts that needed updating and gave it a new title, Fed By Design. Then I paid a local graphic designer to format it for publication. Finally in April of 2023, I published it on Amazon.

I was a published author! As I saw my sales pick up and realized my book was making a difference in people’s lives, I knew that Mrs. Durant had been right. God gave me a gift, and I needed to use it for His glory.

One Sunday in August of 2023 I sat in church listening to my husband preach on Matthew 14 where Jesus came to the disciples walking on the water. As the sermon began, my mind wandered to the recent biopsy I had taken from a suspicious spot on my arm. It had been over 10 days, and I began to fret. It was melanoma. I waited too long and now it has metastasized. I’m going to die…. NO!! Lord, I will not let my mind wander. I will focus on You and on this sermon!!

As I listened attentively to Keith preaching about faith and fear, belief and unbelief, the Lord spoke very clearly to my spirit. “Your next book will be Pardon Me, Your Unbelief Is Showing, and this one will be published traditionally.” It was completely out of the blue, because I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to create a devotional to go along with Fed By Design.

I went home that day and began writing. The outline came together immediately, and I wrote almost daily for 9 months. Then one day, it was finished. I began praying about finding a publisher. Just a few days later I learned about The Southern Christian Writers’ Conference and signed up to attend. A new friend helped by creating a spiffy looking one page introduction sheet for my book, and headed off giddily to my first writers’ conference. I got in line as early as I could and signed up for the first available slot with a publisher. He was a lovely, encouraging person, and even asked me to send him my manuscript. My heart

exploded in praise when I left that meeting. I just knew that this was God’s answer to my prayer.

The weeks turned into months without a word from him, so I ordered The Christian Writer’s Market and began contacting agents. One finally answered me with a two-word response: “Too short.” Too short???? Lord, how can that be? You gave me this book and helped me write it, I cried. His response was clear: the book isn’t not done. Keep writing.

So here I am back to the place where I started my writing journey in ninth grade, filled with thoughts and ideas that I can’t wait to put on paper. My goal right now is to spend at least 15 minutes out of each day adding to my book, although some days fly by without me having written a word, and other days I have a couple of hours to spend focused on this wonderful task my Father has given me.

Mrs. Durant passed away a few years ago. But someday when I see her in Heaven, I’ll give her a big hug and thank her for setting me on this wonderful writing journey!

~~~~~

Congratulations again to our three top winners--and thank you to everyone who submitted.

Want to enter our February challenge? We'd love to hear from you!

The February challenge is to write a story that tells us about a favorite sweet treat. The story can be true (maybe it's a favorite dessert you remember form childhood, or a romantic sweet shared with a loved one), or it can be a fictional one (create a story of any genre--mystery, romance, suspense, historical, children's, or any other). Use your creativity in any way you see fit.

Email your submission to scwritersconference@gmail.com with "February Challenge" in the subject line. The deadline is Feb. 20.