THE HARRY BOWLING PRIZE
and what it has meant to me
Not All Tarts Are Apple 
My first novel, won the inaugural HARRY BOWLING PRIZE, and frankly, nobody could have been more astonished than me. I'd started to write the novel when my brother was terminally ill far away in Canada and finished it soon after he died at the age of 50. His illness and subsequent death had spurred me on to fulfill my lifetime's ambition to write a novel for two main reasons; I wanted create a kind of memorial to him by writing about a special time and place in our childhood, and his death had brought the notion of mortality into sharp relief. I had always wanted to be a writer, but had lacked the confidence, and I realised that if I deferred it any longer, I may just run out of time as my poor brother had done.
To complicate matters, I was chronically ill myself and had already had to give up my career as a teacher to children with special educational needs in Hackney. My self-esteem had plummeted to an all time low when I could no longer earn my own money. Initially, I had managed to make a modest living writing for partworks but sadly, when the recession came, partwork publishers stopped commissioning new writing and that career disappeared virtually overnight. I was very poor and very dispirited.
Then I wrote my first book and hope dawned when I was able to interest an agent in it. She sent it to every publisher with a heartbeat and although they all said they liked, or even loved it, no one could find a spot in their lists for it. I was bitterly disappointed, but I did sit down and write another, this time with multi-stranded plot lines, as suggested by some of Tarts's rejectors. This book also did the rounds, again to some very flattering rejections. One publisher even read it several times before finally deciding to pass it up. Then I must admit, my already flagging confidence hit the pits and although I tried to write at least two other novels, they fizzled out from lack of conviction.
Then the Harry Bowling Prize came along and changed all that. Initially, I was going to submit the second novel, the one that almost made it, and I actually had it in the envelope when I suddenly changed my mind. The only rules for the competition had been that the novel should be unpublished - so both qualified on those grounds - and should be set in London. Again, both qualified. However, Tarts was set in Soho and the other one was set in Willesden Green, and it occurred to me that Soho was a much more interesting and well known area of London, whereas non-Londoners would have serious trouble recognising Willesden Green, so I swapped them around and the rest, as they say, is history.
When the invitation came to attend the prize giving at Soho's famous Groucho Club, I was thrilled to bits, but I made up my mind to enjoy the trip, because I really did think I didn't stand any chance of actually winning. So when the book was announced as the winner, I sat there like an idiot, utterly unaware that they were talking about MY book. It was only when my friend shrieked in recognition of the title that the news filtered through. It appeared that not only had my book won, but with a unanimous jury. I couldn't have been more astonished and delighted.
I understand that Harry Bowling was a delightful and generous man who, had he lived, would have been very happy to have helped aspiring writers to achieve some success. So, if you¹re thinking of entering, DO IT. Harry himself would urge you on, and I can honestly say that the prize rescued me from poverty and gave me the opportunity to publish four novels so far. I am presently writing my fifth and I also have two other prospective projects in the pipeline. So thank you Harry Bowling, his widow Edna, his agents MBA and his publisher for giving me and many others this wonderful opportunity.
