This book that I’ve been working on for several years is finally getting released. I have a lot of fear associated with it. What if people read it and they hate it? What if no one reads it at all? What if my Impostor Syndrome is not a syndrome at all but it turns out that I am, legitimately, an impostor?
There is a lot of heart that goes into writing. No matter what kind of writing it is, when you put thoughts out there for someone else to see, you are sharing a bit of your soul. Have you ever written a text that you wish you could unwrite? Have you ever posted something only to feel that you are being misunderstood or, often in my case, perfectly understood only to realize no one else agrees or even cares? Now imagine 340 pages of that over the course of several years. My stomach churns at the idea of people I know reading my book, seeing something of my heart and brain, and then dismissing it. It’s the primary reason it has taken me this long to publish. It’s not that I haven’t written anything – my first novel was completed more than 25 years ago. I just never thought I was good enough and I definitely didn’t want someone to tell me.
This book isn't just something I created. In so many ways, this book is me - or at least part of me. For example, there is one particular passage in which the narrator describes her bland appearance by relaying an anecdote regarding her best friend thinking her eyes were brown when they were, in fact, blue. Unerringly, every beta reader and editor who looked at this novel commented on how funny that was and also a clever way to describe her personality and relationship with others. No, it wasn’t clever. This actually happened to me and yes, I do think it’s really funny. As most writers do, I drew from my own experiences when crafting my narrative. I’ve never been in the situation Nell is in, but that doesn’t mean it’s all fiction. Therefore, when I put this book out there, I'm putting out so much more than words on a page.
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