Let’s Talk About Rubrics, Baby
Or: Why I Don’t Mess With Contests Anymore
Confession time: I used to love judging writing contests.
Seriously. There was something strangely satisfying about giving unsolicited advice without the need for follow-up, all wrapped in a shroud of anonymity. Free publicity, a sense of doing good, the illusion of authority? Chef’s kiss.
But these days?
I stay far, far away.
Because once you’ve seen behind the curtain enough times, you start to notice things. Things you can’t unsee. Things that feel increasingly hard to excuse.
The Problem with the Rubric
Most contests run on a rubric system. That sounds fair in theory—standardized scoring! Consistency! Objectivity!
Except… it doesn’t actually work that way.
A bad rubric punishes subtlety and rewards surface.
A bad rubric turns nuanced storytelling into a checklist.
A bad rubric misleads authors about what “good writing” actually is.
Let me give you an example.
A submission with elegant emotional depth, internal narration, and layered character development gets dinged for not “clearly stating the conflict in paragraph one.” Meanwhile, a submission that’s overwritten, on-the-nose, and heavy with info dumping scores higher because it hits the checklist. And the judge isn’t allowed to say otherwise—because the rubric says what it says.
Binary Thinking Kills Craft
A lot of these rubrics were built with the best of intentions. But they fall into the trap of binary categories. Did the author show voice? Yes or no. Is there conflict? Yes or no. Does the character arc exist in these five pages? Yes or no.
This is not how writing works.
Good craft isn’t about ticking boxes. It’s about balance. It’s about knowing which tools to use—and when. Some of the best writing I’ve ever read broke the so-called “rules” because it served the story. And yet, those same submissions would’ve tanked on a rigid contest rubric.
Worse, many rubrics collapse multiple concepts into one line item.
“Character depth and stakes (1–5).”
What does that mean? Which part are you judging? If the sample pages are strong but the synopsis is weak, what score do you give? What’s the author supposed to take from that?
Scoring Systems That Don’t Make Sense
Most rubrics ask judges to rate things on a 1–5 scale. And here’s the psychology behind that: uncertain or novice judges will default to a 3. Every time.
You end up with submission packets full of middle-of-the-road scores—not because the writing was mediocre, but because the scale was too vague to feel confident using.
It’s not useful. It’s not reliable. It’s not even educational.
And for the author on the receiving end? That feedback feels final. As if those numbers represent something universal. As if “3 out of 5 on stakes” means you didn’t do your job as a writer.
Let me be very clear: it doesn’t. It just means your packet didn’t conform to someone else’s incomplete framework.
Outdated Craft Advice, Recycled Forever
This is maybe my biggest frustration: most contest rubrics are built on outdated (or just plain wrong) craft theory.
They’re based on “rules” that were taught ten or twenty years ago. They haven’t evolved with the industry. They’re stuck in advice that never made room for voice-forward writing, nontraditional arcs, or emotionally driven narrative.
They penalize experimentation. They reward predictability. They favor form over substance.
And worse? They convince brilliant writers that they’re not good enough.
So, No—I Don’t Judge Contests Anymore
Not because I don’t love helping authors. I do. It’s why I built House of Braus. It’s why I offer free consultations and detailed editorial feedback. It’s why I teach the craft, not just correct it.
But I don’t believe in systems that confuse more than they clarify. I don’t believe in pretending objectivity when nuance is the entire job. And I don’t believe in rewarding shallow execution just because it’s easier to quantify.
So if you’ve ever gotten confusing, discouraging, or contradictory feedback from a contest—please know it wasn’t about your story.
It was about the rubric.
