Imposter Syndrome
I
have a confession to make.
I’m
not who you think I am.
I’m
not a writer.
I
mean, to be a writer, you have to be able to create characters that the reader
can identify with. Or write stories that
people will want to read. There’s time involved. And talent.
And a half a million other things that I just don’t have. You have to be good.
I’m
an imposter.
At
least, that’s how it feels most of the time.
The
thing is, I think this is how a lot of writers feel. A lot of the stories we write are personal to
us, in one way or another. Some of us
draw inspiration from the world around us.
Or, in order to give the story some authenticity, we draw from our own
lives. We use our writing as a catharsis
of sorts, working through issues from our pasts, rewriting our own histories in
order to give us the happily-ever-after we desired. Yes, it’s fiction, but sometimes reality
slips through. Some of my own personal
experiences have made it into the books I’ve written, and I’m sure there will
be more to follow. In a sense, it’s like
baring open our soul for the world to see.
And because of that, there’s an enormous fear of rejection.
These
characters, and their situations, mean a great deal to us as writers. You often see an author talking about the
book they are currently working on, and how much they are loving their
characters. That’s because, by and
large, these characters are living with us day in and day out. They are almost literally begging for their
stories to be told, and, until they are, they take up residence inside our
head. Yes, to some degree they begin as
pieces of our imagination, but soon, they take on a life of their own, complete
with voices. In a lot of ways, they
become our children, of sorts. We
created them, nurtured and cared for them, and then sent them out into the
world in hopes that others would love and nurture them as much as we do.
But,
as a result, there’s this overwhelming sense of “Why?”
Why
am I doing this?
Why
would anyone really want to read about this?
Why
would anyone care?
But
you push through all of that to write the best damn book you possibly can, and
hope beyond anything that it connects to at least a few readers. That connection not only validates the long
hours of coffee-soaked work you put into it, but it also bolsters the idea that
you actually can do this.
I
had some fantastic help from a couple of other authors when I was writing my
first two books. They freely gave me
advise and critiqued my work long before the books reached publication. But I went to great lengths to ensure those
conversations were kept private. I never
told anyone of their involvement for a couple of reasons. One, I didn’t want it to seem as if I was
riding on their coattails for success.
If I was successful, I wanted it to be by my own merits. And, two, (and most importantly to me), if I
failed, I didn’t want my failure to tarnish their reputation. My fear of failure, of not being good enough,
has been a driving factor in a lot of decisions I have made. It has also prevented me from enjoying some
of the successes as well. As an example,
the day I released my second book, Looking
Forward, it earned one of those coveted Orange ribbons from Amazon. My first instinct was to assume it was a
fluke, or a glitch within Amazon’s systems.
There was no way that one of my books had gone on to become a best
seller. It wasn’t until months later,
when I was having a conversation with another author friend of mine, that they
convinced me that no, it wasn’t a fluke or a glitch, it had legitimately become
a best seller. I was a best-selling
author, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
I’ve
received a number of messages since beginning my writing journey (please note,
I can’t even bring myself to call it a “career” yet. In this market, you’re only as popular as
your current book, and I’m a slow writer, so who knows how long this “career”
will last). A lot have been by way of
email or private message, and inevitably the crux of these messages has been
about how much they as the reader connected with the characters. I’m not ashamed to admit that some have
brought me to tears. I have felt an
enormous sense of pride with each one of these messages. Partially because that meant I did my “job”
well, but also because, to a very large degree, these characters are different
aspects of my own personality. In liking
these characters, and their stories, they’re liking me as well.
All
of this brings me to a decision I have to make.
One that I have labored on for close to two years.
You
see, there’s an event coming up in October called GRL. It’s an acronym for Gay Romance
Literature. The event is a conference of
sorts, a place where readers and writers of the Gay Romance genre all
congregate for one giant meet-and-greet.
Readers get the opportunity to meet their favorite authors and have
their books signed. Authors get to meet
their readers as well as network with other authors, bloggers, and industry
professionals.
It
is arguably THE largest event of the year for the genre.
Registration
for this event is coming up soon, and I have to decide if I’m going to attend
again as a reader, or will I make the giant (and, quite frankly, terrifying)
leap to Author.
I
have attended the last two, strictly as a reader. I had just released my first book before the
2017 GRL, and my second before the 2018.
I was asked by a number of other authors and readers why I wasn’t
attending as an author. My answer was
always the same: my catalog wasn’t large
enough to justify it. But there was
always something else, something I left unsaid because it’s deeply personal.
You
see, while I had the absolute best time at both events, there was always one
question nagging at the base of my skull.
I would look around at all of the other authors in attendance, and,
inevitably compare myself to them. My
books and covers aren’t sexy. My stories
aren’t always lighter. My characters
often have to deal with a tremendous amount of pain in order to get to their
deserved place of happiness. So, the
question that I would always ask myself is:
Do
I deserve it?
Yes,
I’ve written books, two full length and one novella, with another full length
on the way. But when I look around that
room, I realize I don’t write like they do. I see the achievements of those other writers
and my achievements seem to pale in comparison.
I question if I’m as good as they are and do I even deserve to be there
as an author.
I
feel like an imposter in a room full of professionals.
I’m
sure I’m not the only one that feels that way.
I’m sure there are probably some authors that have been in the genre for
years that feel the way that I do. But
if that was the case, I wish I knew who they were, because maybe it would make
the decision I have to make little easier.
I’ll
be honest, I still don’t know what I’m going to do. I would love to take that leap, to register
as a Supporting Author. I would love to
attend some panels and discuss where my ideas and characters come from. I would love to discuss my “process”, such as
it is.
But
do I deserve it?
Or
am I really an imposter?
