The 2022 Bristol Short Story Prize was won by Diana Powell for her story A Cure for All Our Ills. The story, along with the other 19 shortlisted stories, is available in our Volume 15 anthology published by Tangent Books.
Diana lives in West Wales and her work has been published in several anthologies and journals. We took the opportunity to find out more about her winning story and her writing.
What does winning the BSSP mean for you and your writing?
When Jessica announced the winner of the Bristol Short Story Prize and said my name, together with the title of my story, ‘A Cure For All Our Ills’ it was completely unexpected and I couldn’t believe it. I said this to the other writers and guests afterwards and I’ve said it ever since, though I’m not sure if anyone believes me…
But it’s true. How could my story, set just up the road from my house, in rural West Wales, a ‘folk’ tale, told in simple language, be chosen as the top story out of over two thousand international entries?
I was thrilled to be longlisted. I always think and say that. To make a longlist means your story stands out in some way – it is good enough to catch the readers’ or judges’ eyes. I was even more delighted to be shortlisted – the top twenty out of all those entries. My story would be in the anthology. Everyone shortlisted, everyone in that anthology should be proud of themselves. It is a great achievement.
But… somehow… I won. And I’m still in a state of shock!
What does it mean for me?
Writing is a difficult business – lonely, at times. I live miles away from any Creative Writing centre, there is no short story network; no-one to critique my work. It is also cruel, sometimes. We are told rejection is part of the process, but it is still not easy. It took me a long time to accept this. You work hard on a story, devote yourself to it heart and soul, and then send it out into the world, and then… nobody likes or wants it. Some don’t even reply. Some say things that make you think your writing is worthless…
And that is why the smallest acceptance in a journal, or a ‘mention’ in a competition, is truly appreciated – it provides validation for your work. What you have been doing is not a total waste of time, your story is good enough to be read by others (if that is what you want; some say they just write for themselves, but for me, the reader is an integral part of the process). These successes are a balance to all those rejections you receive.
And so to the Bristol Short Story Prize. The prize is one of the most highly-regarded competitions – the number of entries it receives is testament to that, as well as the messages I received ahead of the award ceremony, saying ‘Good luck, Diana, it’s a big one!’ (Nobody ever listens when you tell them you are happy to be shortlisted!) The entries go through a rigorous procedure – your story is read by several readers, for approval, before moving on to the judges.
The judges are experts in their fields and a good mix. This year, we had Tom Drake-Lee, who is associate agent at the DHH Literary Agency; Irenosen Okojie, an acclaimed, prize-winning writer in both short and long form fiction who has an MBE for Services to Literature. Jessica Taylor is the co-owner of Max Minerva’s Bookshop in Bristol and is also a sales manager for Penguin Random House.
The shortlisted stories are published in a widely-promoted anthology, together with author photographs and biographies, together with an Introduction and back-cover blurb, praising the achievement of keeping this beautiful form alive. The successes of past winners and shortlisted are advertised on the website. The winner is featured on the website for the whole year, and there is plenty of social media posting and praise.
All this is extremely useful to a writer, because, rightly or wrongly, publicity and promotion are necessary in this day and age. A prize such as this gets you noticed, which can, hopefully, lead editors and publishers to consider your work. But, far more than this, there is something else, which, for me, at least, goes back to a word in my first paragraph… belief.
Winning the BSSP gives me much needed self-belief. It gives me confidence in my work, and helps me to keep writing.
Irenosen Okojie’s comments about my work are included in the Introduction to the anthology. She hails it as: ‘A brilliant, hypnotic piece from an exciting voice. I had the feeling of holding my breath through this story. From its powerful, palpable opening, I was immediately invested. The use of tension, the exploration of religion, of a sacred space becoming dark and unknown propels this world forward. Every word on the page is earned.’
I shall treasure these words always and remind myself of them, and of the win, when I feel disheartened, because my writing isn’t going well or I’ve had yet another rejection.
And I’ll remember that feeling I had when Jessica Taylor announced my name – how I felt I was floating on air and everything was unreal. But it was real. It did happen. I won the Bristol Short Story Prize!
Thank you so much, all at the Prize, who made this writer’s dream come true!
Your winning story was inspired by a legend local to you; how much influence does Wales and Welsh history and culture have on your writing?
Most of my work over the last couple of years – both short stories and longer fiction – has been set in Wales, often historical or stemming from folklore and myth. But the last short story I wrote was set in the American west in the 1830s, and my most recently published story (besides the BSSP) was a tribute to Derek Jarman. In other words, I will write about anything that sparks that lightbulb moment in my head, saying ‘ah, there’s a story there! In fact, in a break with the old writing ‘rule’ I am far more inclined to follow ‘write about what you DON’T know.’
The stories in my collection featured, amongst others, a shopaholic American widow, a French artist’s model, and the painter Edvard Munch, (I have written several stories based on artists or works of art).
I like to think of my stories as an exploration of the human condition, taking me (and the reader) to anywhere in the world, at any time – as long as there are interesting people to be found.
And I believe that imagination is the key to writing. There should be no restrictions, limiting your work to who or what or where you are.
And yet… Wales is in my blood – the landscape, the people, their stories, even the language, although I don’t speak it. The landscape, particularly, enthralls me. I love the Black Mountains, where we used to live. I love north Pembrokeshire and its coast, where we live now. And ‘A Cure For All Our Ills’ is the third story I’ve set here, in addition to a commission I have been working on recently, about holy wells in the area. I love the north of the country, the mountains and the myths that surround them.
And so Wales draws me back and in. At the moment, I am writing a novella based on a part of the Mabinogion, reclaiming it for the women, as has been done recently with Greek goddesses.
Having said that, the short story that keeps on nagging at me to get it written is another inspired by a work of art, set in Paris in the Franco-Prussian war. And there’s another one, also to be set in the American west. And…
… but my next novella, after this one, is going to be back to Welsh folklore in a contemporary situation.
Which, I think, means I am influenced, very much at times, but it’s the value of the story, its resonance to me, which matters most in the end.
How quickly did the story come together after you found out about the well and its supposed healing power?
The story started in lockdown, when my husband and I dragged our bikes out and started cycling a mile or two from our home. On one ride, we spotted a church a few fields away from the road, in the middle of nowhere. Back home, I looked it up online and found it was St. Edren’s, or Edrin, and was now a private house. One site related the tradition of the well and its reputation for curing rabies, or ‘madness’ and how this healing power was transferred to the churchyard’s grass, once the well dried up. I immediately thought there was a story in this, but at that point, didn’t know what.
I’ve been playing with different points of view lately – going for ‘you’ (which I like very much), and the first person plural. I loved Jo Lloyd’s ‘The Invisible’ (winner of the 2019 BBC award) and its use of ‘we’ so decided to try the same thing with this story – although in fact, it comes from inside the mind of one of the girls. The girls – I’m not sure where they came from (I often find this with a story – how aspects of it come from nowhere, while others are planned or researched). It is set at an unspecified time, but a time when women were often classified as ‘mad’ for female disorders, or if they ‘broke’ the social norms of that age, as constructed by the men. So here, I settled on birth out of wedlock, homosexuality and severe menstrual problems.
And these ‘ills’ must be cured, even if that cure is more like a punishment – in this case, having to eat the grass which had been trampled by cows, with, of course, corpses lying beneath. They are very much the victims.
In the first version of the story (and this was a complete version, not a draft), the ending suggested that the girls stepped off the church tower together.
I do rather have a habit of killing off my characters. There is no deliberate intention here; it is just the inevitability of the course of the story. In my collection, ‘Trouble Crossing the Bridge’ roughly half the stories end in death of some kind.
And so it seemed to be with the girls again… only … I wasn’t happy. I didn’t want this for Esther, Lizzie and Sarah. It wasn’t right. I was so fond of them, and what had happened wasn’t fair. The feminist in me wanted them to somehow ultimately benefit from their penance, and come out on top.
And then my thoughts returned to the original folklore, with its use of the well, then the grass, to cure rabies, a killer disease. What if rabies came back to the area? What if it turned out to be true that eating the grass protected against it, so that only the girls, and a few others, were safe?
And it was only when I added this new conclusion that the story came together, and I was really pleased with it.
How many drafts do you typically go through before you are satisfied with a story?
I would say that I usually go through five drafts before I am satisfied – though the last draft will be simply reading the work out loud (I think this is very important, because even though I write for the page, I need to hear the words spoken, to be sure their sound is right, and of the flow of the piece).
After I get an idea, my first draft is where I write anything down around that idea. This may include research, if I’ve had to research a subject – and I often need to do this, if they are those subjects I DON’T know – and there may be plenty of words and information that I don’t use. Then I need to find my voice – or rather that of the main character – point of view, I suppose. I often find I can’t begin a story properly until I’ve got that voice. In fact, I have a few stories in my head at the moment (see question 2), which are rather stuck there, because I’m not reaching the right one. This is why I am especially pleased that Irenosen Okojie mentioned my ‘exciting voice’ in her judge’s remarks. She also referred to my ‘powerful, palpable opening.’ As well as the voice, I also have to have the right opening before I start.
So when these are in place, that’s my second draft on the way. But, at that point, I may have no idea where the story’s going. There’s a quote by author Aminatta Forna, which says ‘A story is like taking a thought for a walk’ and that’s what I’m doing, because I don’t necessarily know how this is going to end. But as I go along, the rest of the story will come to me, and so during the third draft the story will be almost complete.
Then there’s the editing (though I also edit as I go along) which can be anything from punctuation to an addition of something else I’ve thought of, or taking something away – which can be quite difficult, though sometimes necessary.
And finally, there’s that reading aloud… and I hope I’m happy with my story at that point, because it’s usually taken me quite a long time to get there!
You’ve also had longer fiction published; in which form do you prefer to write?
I’ve had a novella published, and there’s another due out next year (I’m never totally happy with the distinction between novellas and novels, but I won’t go into that now!)
And I have written longer works, one of which is, I would say, second draft right now. I’m not sure when, or if, I’ll get back to it.
But I love short stories and I hate not having one ‘on the go’. So, in fact, even when I’m writing a longer piece, I’ll have a story playing around my head (more than one, sometimes), and on occasion, I’ll have to abandon the longer work to get that story down.
There’s more immersion in a novella, or novel and this can be a pleasurable experience – to be lost in your setting, along with your characters, dreaming as you go along. For ‘The Sisters of Cynvael, I was, in my mind, in the Cynvael valley in north Wales, in the sixteenth century, breathing in Welsh folklore and re-imagining it. I really enjoyed that.
On the other hand, one of the things I love about short stories is the variety of the form, the subject matter, the themes (just read the BSSP anthology). I love trying different forms – I’ve written two stories, based on mathematical formulae and I’m hoping to do another. Then there are my art-based pieces. Since I love looking at art, I have great pleasure in these. I can’t visit an exhibition without getting an idea for a story and I very much enjoy the research I have to do – a pleasure in itself.
I love the fact that one minute I can be writing about Armageddon, the next, about Nefertiti; or… skip-trawling, or twitter-trolling. Anything.
But at the heart of all these are the characters. And I am so interested in the way people work that to be able to explore so many through my stories – that my stories give me the opportunity to do this – is why, I think, I probably prefer this form.
When did you first know you wanted to be a writer?
I believe my desire to write came from my childhood love of reading. I was the child who always had her head in a book, was always up in her own room, lost in the worlds portrayed within its pages. I loved the physical object – the smell, the feel of the pages, the covers. I spent all my pocket-money on buying them. And I think, as I grew, I just wanted to make one of my own – have one with my name on it. Having said that, in my teens I went through phases of wanting to be a doctor and a lawyer, and was, in fact, studying sciences as well as the arts at school. But I settled on English in university and wanted, then, to be a journalist, but marriage and family happened. Still, I started scribbling, and kept the dream of that book going. And got there in the end!
One thing I would like to say to all those out there, scribbling away, hoping to get published – keep at it. Don’t give up. Be resilient, though I know it can be very hard. Sometimes, it’s a question of timing. ‘Now’ might be your time – or perhaps it will be later. You just never know – you might, one day, be the winner of the Bristol Short Story Prize!
Which other writers do you admire?
I greatly admire the late Hilary Mantel, who had the power to bring whole worlds alive, both in the big picture and the smallest detail. When I’m struggling to describe something, I tell myself to try a new angle, which is what Hilary Mantel always did.
I aspire to write like Carys Davies and Sarah Moss, who write short novels or stories, with sparse, simple language, while saying everything that needs to be said. I think this is also true for a lot of North American writers. I used to read Anne Tyler’s novels, constantly saying ‘yes, that’s it, exactly that,’ although I have to say I haven’t enjoyed her more recent books as much – whether it’s her, or me, I couldn’t say.
Another sad loss was Carol Shields – I thought her ‘Unless’ was a perfect book.
I wished I could write something similar.
I love Zoe Gilbert’s ‘take’ on folklore. Wonderful writing!
I’ve recently discovered Yiyun Li’s stories and I’m sure I’ll learn from these.
In the past, I read every single thing that Doris Lessing wrote, both loving and admiring her work.
I seem to have mentioned only women, which isn’t to say I don’t like male writers. Old favourites are D.H. Lawrence, Conrad, Faulkner, Thomas Hardy.
And the books I enjoyed most lately were all by men… ‘The Sweetness of Water’ by Nathan Harries, ‘Apeirogon’ by Colum McCann, ‘A Thousand Moons’ by Sebastian Barry.
So it’s not a ‘strictly by women’ thing.
And I also find that you can admire, but not like – appreciating aspects of the writing, but simply not taking to it, as a reader. But I’m at an age now, when I stop reading, even if the writer is regarded as one of the best. Yes, it is a worthwhile exercise to read as a writer, and this can work well with short stories. But with novels, it is very hard to keep going, if you don’t engage with the story.
Admiration can only take you so far!
Diana’s winning story plus the other 19 shortlisted stories are available in our latest anthology from Tangent Books and can be ordered from bookshops.