Gatekeepers and Cheerleaders...

It's time, once again, for the monthly Ramble. No Weekly Update this time, just me and some paragraphs banging on about whatever. Exciting, yes? This week, the topic is Imposter Syndrome. Or rather the fleeting feeling of joy when it's kicked into touch. First of all, let's get down to brass tacks. Imposter Syndrome is... 

'"a psychological occurrence in which an individual doubts their skills, talents, or accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a fraud"

Bloody gate keepers.

That's what it says on Wikipedia*, anyway. Put simply, it's when you feel like you're winging it, 24/7. Back when I had a proper job, I don't think I experienced it. Not because I was annoyingly cocky, but because various gatekeepers along the way had happily waved me through. The recruitment process for my PGCE and the interview panel at the school that employed me, for example. If I was a crap teacher, they wouldn't have let me crack on. As a result, I got on with the job without considering it much. (It's easy to say that eleven years later, now the pressure of stupid lesson observations and nonsense OFSTED inspections are a distant memory.) Not that any of it matters now. Because Imposter Syndrome has most definitely arrived. 

It makes sense really. Teaching myself how to write and publish a book is still the most brilliant thing I've ever done, but because there are no gatekeepers, I have to gate-keep myself. I have to be my own critical eye. I have to be the arbiter of my own standards every single day. And ultimately, that means I assume I'm shite most of the time. It's the best way. Thinking everything I do is brilliant, is never going to help. No, the best thing to do is to rubbish any and every attempt at writing that I make. Look, I never said it was a mentally healthy place to be. 

Feeling like I'm winging it, is standard. It's been standard for years. And that's OK. Feelings of inadequacy are just part of the deal. But sometimes, every so often, I get a break from the insecurity. Sometimes I feel like I know what I'm doing.

It's happened twice recently. First of all, a friend of a friend, who's coming to the end of his own novel, got in touch. He wanted some advice about what comes next, so our mutual friend suggested we meet up. We did, had a great chat about writing and life in general, and I passed on some things that might be useful. Later, I thought about it. I'd given him a bunch of info that I'd pieced together over years. Whether it was about editing, front covers, formatting manuscripts, publishing imprints, ISBNs, or even the emotions involved in the process, I had a bunch of experience to pass on. Having never been trained for what I do, it was a bit of a revelation that I'd been the 'expert'. I drove away from the meeting, having had a lovely afternoon, and with a massive, throbbing ego. Until later, when I had a word with myself, but you get the gist.

The second thing that happened, was I read my completed first draft from beginning to end. This is the first draft of Book 4. I've been working on it since February, and I finally got to the end. It currently weighs in at 65,000 words and it took me five and a half hours to read (including time for note-making).

Here's the thing. It's not good. Not yet. It's waffly and meandering. I need to tighten up a few key plot lines and the ending needs more oomph. But blimey, it was a joy to read. My lovely characters that I'm emotionally invested in, have a marvellous time working out the next part of their story. There are highs and lows, I laughed out loud and got choked at the poignant bits. Even though I can see there's a shit-tonne (technical term) of editing to do, I still felt the rosy glow of achievement. It lasted for the rest of the day. I know what I'm doing and I feel confident that at some point, it's going to be a great book.

Obviously, the glow faded. Pretty much by the next day. By then, I'd started to make notes about what to change first, and found myself getting bogged down in the hugeness of the task. But I still had that day. The day I felt like I wasn't winging it.

Goooooooooo.... NICKY!

Being my own boss can be great. The autonomy to decide what to do next, along with full control over the end product is supremely satisfying. But at times, Imposter Syndrome can reach debilitating levels. It's important to make sure that, as a boss, I support well-being within the workplace. Taking the time to notice when I feel confident with what I'm doing, helps with that. Even when it lasts all of five minutes. If I have to be my own gatekeeper, I should definitely be my own cheerleader too.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*It's a full reference-date at Writer's Ramblings. Here's the study where that definition came from.