So I didn't win

So once again I tried for the Sci-Fi London 48 hour flash fiction challenge, and I didn't win.

I'm being a sore loser. I won in 2014, and it gave me the confidence to take writing seriously. I'd already penned the first draft of a fantasy novel then, and winning made me think that whoa, I might actually be all right at this whole writing thing. The subsequent annual challenges gave me the chance to shoot for the skies, again and again.

But the stakes grew, as the competition grew fiercer, and try as I might, I haven't won. Again.

I want the prizes, the recognition, the publication, the formal public acknowledgement that I am a good writer.

But you know what? If I were in the hunger games scenario, I would have been in district one or two, where coming from a privileged background, you set yourself up for ultra high standards, and get unhappy when you don't meet them.

I'm not backing off. I'm not lowering my personal standards for myself. I know I'm a good writer, and I'm working on a pilot series for a tv show right now, whilst half way through writing a regency mystery novel. 

What does this tell me? That winning or not, I'm a writer. And what do writers do? 

We f***ing write.