THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY 22 - IMPOSTER SYNDROME

Today’s prompt:

Think of a story that’s keeping you stuck—it might be a story about a friend or family member, a co-worker, or even yourself (some version of “I’m not loveable” or “I can’t trust people” or ‘Nothing ever works out for me,” etc.). Now imagine the story from the point of view of every other “character” in the story. How would they tell it? How would their version of the same event differ from yours? What can you see now that you weren’t willing or able to before? How does including their points of view add complexity and nuance to the storytelling? How does taking responsibility for your role in the story make the story far more interesting and compelling to the reader?

Imposter Syndrome, or “Are My Pants on F**kin’ Fire?”

When I read today’s prompt, I was reminded of a video I saw on Facebook called Cute House that made me laugh out loud. Take seven minutes to watch it now. I’ll wait, don’t hurry.

The following piece is inspired by that video. If you didn’t take time to watch, the piece will still make sense, but it won’t be as much fun. (C’mon, people: you’re stuck at home. Make time for fun.)

Scene: Interior, Book Passage bookstore in the Ferry Building, San Francisco

Talented Author Friend: I’m so pleased to welcome you to the launch party for local author A.H. Kim, whose debut novel A Good Family is being released today.

(Generous applause.)

Me: Thank you so much for that kind introduction, and thanks to everyone here who took time out of their busy schedules to be with me today. I know you all have better things to do with your time than sit in this tight space, masks on, six feet away from your nearest neighbor, but I do appreciate it.

Talented Author Friend: Actually, I can think of nothing better to do with my time than celebrate this tremendous accomplishment with you, and I’m sure most people in this room would agree with me. This is the culmination of 8 years of hard work – work that you squeezed in on weekends and late nights on top of your demanding job, family commitments, and community service work. Honestly, I don’t know how you did it. So, tell me: have you always wanted to be a writer?

Me: Well, I’m still uncomfortable calling myself a writer. I know people say that anyone who writes is a writer, so by that standard, I guess I qualify. But I wouldn’t presume to call myself a real writer – as in, a real professional writer.

Man in the Audience (standing up): Ahem, excuse me? I’m your agent. I represent authors whose works have become bestsellers, won awards, been turned into major motion pictures. I receive hundreds – probably thousands – of queries in my in-box every month, and I chose yours. I read your manuscript in two days and offered you representation on the third day. I spent a full year helping you revise your manuscript, which then got offers from two publishers. You think I would do all that for someone who’s not a real writer?

Woman in the Audience (standing up): I’d like to echo the comments of that man twelve feet away from me. I’m your editor. I work at a Big Five publisher. I’ve got over a decade of experience in the publishing industry. I had to put my reputation on the line by going to bat for your manuscript with my editorial board. We don’t often offer publishing deals to unknown authors unless they have an existing platform, which you don’t. The definition of a professional is someone who gets paid for what they do. And while your advance may not have been record-setting, it wasn’t chump change either. Given all that, why don’t you consider yourself a professional writer?

Another Woman in the Audience (passing her business card to the agent and editor): I consider myself a professional writer. I majored in English in college and have an MFA from a reputable program. I’ve published articles in major newspapers and magazines, and a few of my short stories have even appeared in literary journals. But I don’t have an agent…yet. I’ve never completed, let alone published, a novel. So, for you to sit up there and claim “I’m not really a writer” – it’s kind of insulting, you know? What more does your delicate ego need to consider yourself a real writer?

Another Man in the Audience (pulling off his mask, sending gasps throughout the room): You’re my friend, Ann. I’ve been following you on this incredible writing journey for a long time. I think I’m a pretty smart guy, better read than your average Joe. I’ve read every single one of your daily Isolation Journals. I’m constantly telling you what a great writer you are. So, what I want to know is: “Are my pants on f**kin’ fire?”

Me: (Stunned silent.)

Talented Author Friend: OK, then, why don’t we start this off with a short reading from your book?