Guest Blog: JM Langan on Imposter Syndrome

I am just finishing editing my fourth novel.^[1] And I hate it. I hate everything I have written and think I am the worst writer in the world.

I come to this same point every time. Imposter syndrome hits me hard and boots me around the head. I spend months thinking of ways I could improve it, make it better, but the words just come out wrong.

The one thing I am fairly confident of at this point is that everything I’m feeling is fairly normal. 

Did I fall a bit in love with a couple of my characters? Yep.

Did I do things with them that I would never dare to do in real life? Yep.

Did they take me with them on their journey, so I was completely at their whim? At times, yes.

My beta readers are excellent writers, as is my editor, and they will offer brilliant feedback, which will help me sculpt and craft my novel into something better. Unless it's all utter crap...?

What if it is utter crap? What if no one ever wants to read it? What have I been doing with my days, apart from making my carpal tunnel worse? 

Don't get me wrong - the highs, when it is going well, are brilliant - at one point I referred to it (my novel) in my head, as my magnum opus... I know, I was in the moment! Don't judge me.  

I worry that I may have twiddled with it too much and ruined it, like those painters on Portrait Artist of the Year. They get a fantastic likeness to their sitter and then suddenly, in the last few minutes, they lose it. Have I done that? Lost the essence of it with twiddling, faffing and general discombobulation.  

Damn it. Who would do this to themselves, and yet it's an itch I have to scratch. 

And yes, I love it. I love writing. I love letting my imagination flow and fly and drift into the dark places, the light places, into my characters' minds and hear them speak my words. It is a privilege to find the time and space to do this, and sometimes it is good to reflect on that as well. Yes, imposter syndrome is alive and well and living inside my brain, but nowadays, there is a little confident thing that is punching imposter syndrome in the face and saying, ‘She is good at this!’

And so, I continue to type the words out of my mind onto the page. It may make me cry, scream, laugh hysterically and then rock quietly in a corner while my cat bothers me, but the end result is worth it… I think? 

And with each novel, my writing improves. Practice does make perfect. (It is definitely not perfect.)

^[1] I have actually written six novels, but one was the prequel to About Charlie and will never see the light of day and the other I will return to and re-write at a later date.