Ever played It? Great game. (Don’t worry, this blog is not about me watching you.)
Imposter in the sense… you’ve been kicked in the teeth, ignored, and consigned to the waste bin of people’s previous opinion. The old you they prefer to remember, and keep as a projection in the cage of their mind.
(‘Insert’ smiley emoji + sunglasses, here.)
Yep, not alone.
A stark change of career into a creative field is like performing a complex magic trick in front of a familiar crowd. (Thank-you, Phil Dunphy.) The audience is both surprised and sceptical… (quietly) observant, but also, anticipating the “I-CAN-see-the-rabbit” of your wardrobe malfunction. (Knew it! Told you!) Sometimes, even your closest cheerleaders forget their pom-pom’s, and you blow your own whistle to begin a race of indeterminant length… trying to avoid the countless miles of sticky cement.
Writing as a career is all these things and more. Your world is your words; one’s you hope you can craft to perfection to connect, engage and resonate with the reader on a deeper level. Some people love your work, and some people hate it! The 5 stars buoy your spirits, and the 1 stars, serve to remind you there are 16 personalities in the Myers-Briggs test… and you won’t dovetail to them all! But when that nagging self-doubt, and low self-esteem creeps in – oh, boy! – it’s hard to believe you’ll ever exit the fast-drying cement (now spraying into your eyes for good measure).
It’s here, the writer’s path becomes a lonely foray into peoples’ expectation, and it isn’t always easy transforming the incursion of your words/ideas into pleasure in the reader’s mind.
Recently I listened to a brief interview with Samantha Harvey, about the process of writing and winning her Booker Prize novel: Orbital.
Samantha discussed how she entirely gave up on the project after 5,000 words, explaining her perceived unworthiness at tackling a “space” concept. Then she left the manuscript alone… for ten years! Only when she re-read it and saw the conviction in her writing (not the space knowledge), did she recommence, and thank goodness she did. I found it to be a quietly compelling, poetic commentary.
It’s lovely to see a Booker Prize novel with 3.9 stars on Amazon, and 3.6 Goodreads. I can see how some people simply won’t get it. It’s an acquired taste. There’s no aliens, gamma rays, or substantial peril… just the meditative solitude of space. Take me there, slowly. I accept the invitation.
Maybe Samantha felt like an imposter, or maybe she didn’t, but sometimes you can feel like your imagination isn’t worthy to tackle an idea, and that’s troubling. But I very much agree with Samantha – when you feel that conviction in what you’re writing – for me, it’s both magical and unstoppable. You feel the story, as inherently unexplainable as that is, and you’re swept up in the furore and excitement.
If you’re not sure you’re worthy enough to write, can I please “resolutely” encourage you to sack that thought right off! It doesn’t matter who you are, and where you came from, your words will matter to someone. If people point their fingers, and accuse you of being the imposter, remember, being the imposter is bad ass, because people are (quietly) recognising in you that you possess the courage and insight to see things differently.
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