MITCH  STURGEON
Author and Blogger Living With MS

For every acceptance speech delivered, whether it be from an actor, an athlete, an accountant, or a memoirist there are two, three, or four acceptance speeches never spoken because their author didn’t win. These little scraps of paper, these well-practiced verses in people’s heads, end up forgotten, discarded, and silenced, whether their content was mind-numbing or profound.

Individuals selected as award finalists typically don’t prepare these acceptance speeches out of an abundance of confidence or vanity, but rather, necessity. Nobody wants to sound like an idiot during their brief moment in the spotlight. In fact, some people may even aspire to humor, insight, or cleverness (although too few aim this high). Some level of preparation is prudent should, miracle of miracles, one’s name be called.

In a May blog post, I announced that my book, ENJOYING THE RIDE: Two Generations of Tragedy and Triumph, had been selected as one of three memoir finalists for the Maine Literary Awards. I don’t know if I was more surprised or thrilled. The winners would be announced at a ceremony on June 13.

In the interim between announcement and award ceremony, I assessed my chances. The other two finalists wrote compelling books. So, although I had come to believe I probably wouldn’t win, a couple of days before the ceremony I decided that I ought to prepare just in case. I made some notes that I could refer to at the podium. I’m just not one to trust myself to ad lib.

I would open with some thank you’s. Humility is a must:

It takes a village to write a book like this one, so thank you, village people. You know who you are. Next, I would like to thank the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance not only for these awards but for everything they do to support writing in Maine. And finally, huge thanks to my wife, Kim, who supports my efforts in so many ways. 

This could lead right into a humorous anecdote: 

Funny thing about my wife. I wrote so much about her in the book that she’s become a bit of a folk hero, in one particular demographic. When I speak in front of book groups, they are often composed of women aged 55 and higher. More than once when I’ve made my grand entrance into one such a gathering, accompanied by Kim, I’ve expected a level of adoration commensurate with an accomplished writer. Instead, they ignore me, and fawn all over Kim. Go figure.

Then, if I was feeling supremely confident, I might play the “what if” game: 

One other quick story — last week my friend Roger asked me, “If you hadn’t come down with MS and stopped being an engineer, would you have ever become a writer?” 

“Hell no,” I responded. “I was headed a hundred miles an hour in another direction.”

Then I would expound upon this observation: 

Roger’s question presents a conundrum. I must admit that not everything about having MS has been bad. I fulfilled a childhood dream by becoming a writer. I can’t think of any work I’ve done that has been more rewarding than helping others cope with adversity. Words fail to express the joy in my heart when folks tell me I’ve made a difference in their lives. 

But I’m not one of those “everything happens for a reason” people. Let me be brutally honest. MS sucks, and, if given the option, I’m afraid I would take the easy way out. I would undo all my good deeds just to be healthy again. 

I wouldn’t be able to end on such a serious note, so I might close this way: 

But nothing magical like that is going to happen, and I’ve become adept at living for the moment. At this moment, I am absolutely thrilled to receive this award, and I would say that tonight I’m not only enjoying the ride; I’m rocking this ride. 

Thank you again.

I printed the whole thing out on one piece of paper, and I would decide in the moment which parts I would use and which parts I would leave out, depending on the vibe in the room.

There were 17 categories of awards, and memoir was the last one presented. This gave me ample opportunity to evaluate what was working and what wasn’t in others’ acceptance speeches. Only one winner referred to notes at all. So, I decided not to bring up a piece of paper. I would go from memory.

Instead of benefiting from all the acceptance speeches I listened to, I adjusted my plans about 16 times, twisting myself into such a tangle that I had no idea what I was going to say if my name was called.

In the end, circumstances rescued me from myself. Someone else won the memoir award. He wasn’t present, but his surrogate gave a nice acceptance speech. I was at once disappointed not to win and relieved not to have to wing it in front of such an esteemed gathering.

The whole experience was quite gratifying, however. Being named a finalist will bring me and my work some notoriety, and I will be able to help more people because of it. At the awards event I met so many nice people for the first time and firmed up some fledgling relationships. The writing community is full of wonderful folks.

Because of this little essay, my draft acceptance speech has seen the light of day and will not die a lonely death like most acceptance speeches. And, although I may not have won, on that rainy night in June of 2019, I did rock my ride.