Cuckoo In The Nest

I recently started a new Twitter account @lilyjowriter and it got me thinking about the dreaded impostor syndrome. 

I don't know whether impostor syndrome happens in varying degrees to everyone or if it just affects some of us, but I know I definitely suffer from it. I've been doing my day job for nearly twenty years - I'm good at it, I'm very experienced and I keep up with all the current developments, but even in that arena I still see myself as not being 'enough'. Not clever enough, not confident enough, not selling myself enough. The other guys are the real deal, whereas I'm just about getting away with it, only a whisper away from Leonardo di Caprio's character in Catch Me If You Can. Hovering in the background, sweating bullets and muttering 'I concur.'

Now that I've started taking writing seriously, I've never felt like such a cuckoo in the nest. On Twitter, when I see established authors having breezy conversations with each other about the trials of publishing or even just what they're having for tea, I feel too shy to get involved. They're not even scarily famous authors like Marian Keyes or Philip Pullman but I daren't tweet my input, in case they think, 'Who the hell is this? Why would I be interested in what this random person thinks of my toad in the hole?' The fact that 'Book Twitter' is well known for being friendly, receptive and encouraging doesn't seem to make that first step much easier.

It led me to think of other barriers that impostor syndrome throws up for the unpublished writer. Like research, for example. So many author acknowledgements mention helpful people they've connected with in the name of research. 'Many thanks to DCI Tennant for her valuable insights into the workings of the criminal justice system,' or, 'I couldn't have written this book without the help of the West Cornwall Scuba Diving Association.' And so on. 

My current work in progress has a plot involving an art gallery and people working within the art world. I don't know anyone who works in this field but, even if I did, I don't feel entitled to ask them for their precious time to help me write what I can only hope will be a debut novel. 

The thought of trying to enlist the help of strangers is even worse. 

'Oh, would I have read any of your work?' 

'Erm, no, not unless you've guessed the password to my laptop.'

I just couldn't bring myself to hear their disappointment when they realise they've signed up to help a woman with what currently amounts to a time-consuming hobby.

Attending writing events and courses is another thing that gives me the willies. Online courses aren't so bad. Even if it involves critique from fellow students, it's easier to take from behind your keyboard while crying and comfort-eating chocolate digestives. But the thought of being in a room with real people and seeing their reaction to your work makes me feel a bit ill. I'd think that everyone else sat around the table was much more deserving of being there and was a literary genius in the making.

Literary festivals are another type of event that I don't feel equipped for. The idea of them is really appealing to me, in a way - an entire festival dedicated to books and those who love them. But I've never been to one. I have to confess, as much as I've enjoyed many literary fiction books, and I love an elegant turn of phrase, my tastes can be a bit more 'Richard and Judy Book Club' most of the time. I would feel very out of my depth trying to hold a conversation about the latest work of Ayn Rand, when all I want to do is sink into the comfort of my fifteenth re-read of Outlander.

I'd really love to know from any other unpublished writers whether they feel the same? And if it's a feeling that gets better the more successful or experienced you are. Knowing what I do from my day job, I suspect not. For now, I'm going to keep doing the hard work, the writing itself, and hope that one day the impostor syndrome will evolve into butterflies on publication day.

LJ