Screenwriting Contests Are Mostly a Waste of Money
Part One of my new series, Stop Entering Contests. Start Building a Career.
I’m going to say something that may not be popular with aspiring screenwriters:
Most screenwriting contests are a waste of money. There. I said it.
Every year, thousands of writers spend hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars entering their scripts into competitions. They pay early-bird fees. Regular fees. Late fees. Feedback fees. Coverage fees. Resubmission fees.
And what are they hoping for? Validation.
A quarterfinalist badge.
A laurel for social media.
A reason to believe they’re getting closer.
I understand the appeal because I’ve entered contests too. There is something undeniably exciting about opening an email and seeing the words: Congratulations. You’ve advanced.
For a moment, it feels like proof. Proof that the script is good. Proof that someone sees your talent. Proof that maybe, finally, your career is about to move forward.
But here’s the uncomfortable question writers need to ask: Did it actually move your career forward? For most writers, the answer is no.
The Contest Business Is Very Good at Selling Hope
Screenwriting contests understand their audience. Writers want access to an industry that is notoriously difficult to enter. Most aspiring screenwriters don’t have agents, managers, producers, or executives waiting to read their work.
So contests offer something incredibly seductive:
A door. Or at least the appearance of one.
“Industry exposure.”
“Access to executives.”
“Your script in front of decision-makers.”
“Career-changing opportunities.”
Maybe.
But the overwhelming majority of entrants receive an email telling them they didn’t advance. Then the contest opens again next year. And the cycle repeats. This is where I think writers need to become much more skeptical. Many screenwriting competitions are not primarily career-development organizations.
They are businesses. And the writers are the customers.
The Quarterfinalist Trap
This may be the most effective psychological tool in the contest ecosystem. You advance. Not to the finals. Not to the winners. But to the quarterfinals. Suddenly, you have a badge. A laurel. Something you can post online.
And it feels good. Really good.
I’m not dismissing that feeling. Writing is brutal. We spend months or years working alone on stories with no guarantee that anyone will ever care. Recognition matters. But recognition and career momentum are not the same thing.
A quarterfinalist placement may tell you that your script connected with a reader. That has value. What it usually does not do is make producers start calling. It does not automatically get you representation. It does not guarantee meetings. It does not move your script into production.
Yet writers often treat every placement as evidence that they are one contest away from breaking in. That’s where the danger begins. Because the next contest costs another $60. And the next one costs $75. And maybe you add feedback. And maybe you enter three categories. And suddenly, you’ve spent hundreds of dollars collecting validation instead of building a career.
Contests Can Become an Expensive Ego Machine
This is the part writers may not want to hear. Sometimes we enter contests for an ego boost. I’ve done it, and every once in a while, when I’m feeling particularly down about my writing, I’ll enter a contest even though I know it will be a waste of money.
Everyone wants someone to tell us we’re good. We want to announce a placement. We want to put laurels on our pitch deck. We want to update our bio. And again, I understand it. But writers need to be honest about what they’re buying.
If you’re entering because the experience is fun, fine. If you want an external deadline, fine. If a placement gives you confidence to keep going, fine. But don’t confuse emotional validation with professional advancement. They are not the same thing.
A writer can collect dozens of placements and still have no representation, no produced credits, no meaningful industry relationships, and no clear path forward. At some point, you have to ask whether another $75 entry fee is really the best investment in your career.
The Reader Problem
There’s another issue we don’t discuss enough: Your entire contest experience may depend on one reader. One person. Maybe they love horror. Maybe they hate horror. Maybe they’ve read twelve scripts that week. Maybe they’re exhausted. Maybe your dark comedy hits them perfectly. Maybe they don’t understand it at all.
This is the uncomfortable reality of subjective evaluation. The same screenplay can place in one respected competition and fail to make the first cut in another. Case in point, when I was first starting out, I entered my second-ever script into a horror screenwriting competition, and it made it to the semi-finals that year. The following year, after doing some rewrites, I entered it again, and it didn’t even make it past the first round. Did the script suddenly become worse? Of course not. It encountered a different reader.
That doesn’t mean contests are fraudulent. It means writers need to stop treating contest results as objective measurements of talent. They aren’t. They are opinions filtered through taste, timing, experience, and circumstance.
The Nicholl Problem
For years, the Academy Nicholl Fellowships represented something different.
It was widely considered one of the most prestigious opportunities available to emerging screenwriters. Writers could submit directly, and the fellowship carried genuine industry credibility. Then the system changed.
The Nicholl moved away from its traditional open-entry model and into a partner-based structure. In the 2025 cycle, The Black List served as the public submission portal, creating a system that many writers saw as a new financial barrier between themselves and one of the industry’s most respected fellowships.
That matters. Because access matters. When a prestigious fellowship becomes entangled with paid hosting, paid evaluations, limited submission caps, and third-party platforms, the question is no longer simply: Is the script good enough?
It becomes: Can the writer afford the path to consideration?
For the 2026–2027 cycle, the Academy has expanded public access by offering submission routes through both The Black List and the Writers Guild Foundation. That is an improvement. But the larger concern remains.
The Nicholl used to represent one of the clearest and most democratic opportunities for unknown writers to put their work into contention. Now the path is more complicated, more fragmented, and more dependent on outside systems.
For writers already spending money on software, coverage, pitch events, festivals, classes, travel, and contest fees, every additional barrier matters. Prestige should not make us afraid to ask whether access is getting worse.
So Are Any Contests Worth It?
Yes. But very few. For me, two competitions stand apart:
Austin Film Festival
The Austin Film Festival Screenplay Competition remains one of the few contests I believe can justify the entry fee. Why? Because Austin is built around writers.
The competition exists within a larger ecosystem that includes one of the most respected screenwriting conferences in the country. The opportunity isn’t simply about receiving a laurel. It’s about becoming part of a community where writers, producers, managers, agents, executives, and filmmakers actually gather.
That doesn’t guarantee a career. Nothing does. But there is a meaningful difference between a contest that sells a placement and a competition connected to a legitimate industry event.
PAGE International Screenwriting Awards
PAGE is another competition I still take seriously. It has longevity, industry recognition, genre-specific categories, substantial prizes, and a track record of promoting winning writers.
Again, entering PAGE does not guarantee representation or a sale. But if I’m going to spend money on a contest, I want to know that the name carries weight beyond the contest’s own website. That should be the standard.
My Rule for Entering a Screenwriting Contest
Before paying an entry fee, ask yourself: What happens if I win? Not if you quarterfinal. Not if you receive a nice email. Not if you get a laurel.
If you actually win, what happens next? Do you get meetings? Does the organization actively introduce writers to representatives or producers? Are industry professionals involved? Have past winners built careers? Can you identify those writers? Does the contest have credibility outside its own marketing materials?
If the answer is vague, keep your money.
Where Could That Money Go Instead?
This is the question I wish more writers asked. If you spend $500 a year on contests, what else could that money do?
It could pay for professional feedback from someone whose experience you can actually verify.
It could help fund a short film.
It could pay for travel to a legitimate film festival or writing conference.
It could support a pitch deck. It could cover a year of screenwriting software.
It could help you attend industry events and meet actual people.
It could pay for a table read with actors.
It could help you create a proof of concept.
It could fund the beginnings of your next script.
Writers are constantly told to invest in themselves. That’s true. But entering twenty contests is not automatically an investment. Sometimes it’s just spending money.
Final Thoughts
I’m not saying writers should never enter contests. I’m saying we need to stop pretending every contest is a career opportunity. Most aren’t. Some provide motivation. Some provide validation. Some provide a nice social media announcement. And yes, occasionally, a contest placement opens a door. But for most writers, screenwriting contests function less like career launchers and more like expensive hope machines.
If you enter, enter strategically. Choose competitions with genuine credibility. Research what happened to past winners. Understand exactly what you’re paying for. And most importantly, stop using contest placements as the primary measurement of whether you’re becoming a better writer. A quarterfinalist badge feels good. A career is built somewhere else.
— Renee
This is Part One of my new series, Stop Entering Contests. Start Building a Career.
Over the next several posts, I’ll look at what actually moves a screenwriting career forward, how I research producers who might be the right fit for my work, how to write a strong query letter, and what to do when someone finally says, “Send me the script.”
Because finishing the screenplay is only the beginning. The next challenge is figuring out how to get it into the right hands.
As someone building an original story world from the ground up, I've realised that time is just as valuable as money.
Every hour can either move your project closer to the people who can help bring it to life, or disappear into activities that feel productive but rarely change anything.
I'd rather invest my time in learning, networking, refining my pitch, and building genuine relationships than collecting contest entries.
Opportunities often come through conversations, not certificates.
Build wisely. Invest wisely. Sell yourself smartly.
Thank you, Renee, for saying what many writers probably need to hear.
I came to the same conclusion about contests a couple of years ago, although there are a few I still sometimes enter, including Page, Golden Script and UKFF. But I decided to try VPF (Virtual Pitch Fest) instead, and I buy myself a block of pitches every year. I’ve had several read requests but no concrete results. I’m starting to think this is just a way for producers/managers etc. to make a few easy dollars by clicking the ‘No Thankyou’ button without really considering the synopsis. Would love to hear your views on this, or anybody else’s experience with it.