People talk a lot about impostor syndrome. I’ve never really struggled with it. I’ve always had that Popeye mentality: “I yam what I yam an’ that’s all I yam,”
Would being somebody different be easier? Maybe. But humbly accepting who I am has always seemed like the best operating mode. I know what I’m good at. I know where I struggle. By now, I’ve had plenty of time to get acquainted with all my personalities.
Then we had our book launch.
People walked up and asked me to sign the book I’d recently co-written, and for the first time, I felt a bit like an impostor. A friend stood in front of me, holding a book with my name on it, waiting for me to pen something pithy or profound.
Suddenly, “Enjoy the book!” seemed wildly inadequate.
I had written an entire book. Surely I could scribble out one meaningful sentence for someone I actually knew. Excellent time to discover the limits of my talent.
The first few times, I panicked. And I don’t do well when I panic.
If you’ve ever played a game with me that involves a timer or a bell, you already know this. I’m terrible. While everyone else is thinking of answers, all I can hear is the timer ticking down. Whatever useful information was in my brain has left the building.
Nobody is putting me on their Mission Impossible team if there’s a bomb.
I’m the deep, reflective thinker who wants to strategize and whiteboard. Give me time to consider the possibilities. Let me work through a few ideas. I’ll bring markers.
I am not the girl you call in an emergency. Unless you’d like to discuss how we got ourselves into this situation.
Apparently, someone handing me a book and a pen qualifies as an emergency.
This last weekend, I hosted a family reunion, and before everyone left, they wanted me to sign their books. My family was waiting to go. Books were open. Pens were ready. And there I was again, trying to summon something worthy of being permanently written on a page.
Because nothing encourages creativity like knowing someone’s husband is already in the car.
What came out was simple.
“I hope you enjoy this.”
“It was so good to see you.”
“I love you.”
“You mean so much to me.”
Basically, I had become a Hallmark card. A very limited selection. Probably near the checkout.
I wanted to write something personal and memorable. Something that would make them smile and think, Well, of course she’s a writer.
Instead, I was writing things I could have put in a birthday card. Just needed a balloon sticker and five bucks from Grandma.
But the more I thought about it afterward, the more I realized those words were true. It was good to see them. I do love them. They do mean so much to me. I just couldn’t trust that a simple sentence was enough when I was the one signing the book.
Maybe the reality is that I’m not especially quippy or witty in a rush. I have my moments, but I can’t schedule them around a line of people holding pens.
I need time to marinate. I need to think about words, ponder them, reflect on them, and sometimes change them six times before putting the original sentence back. A highly efficient process, as you can imagine.
That’s how I write. And I’m okay with that.
I’ll still feel some pressure the next time somebody hands me a book to sign. But I hope I remember that “I love you” is a perfectly good thing to write to someone I love.
Any other writers struggle with this? What do you write when someone asks you to sign their book? Do you have a few phrases ready, or do you come up with little gems on demand?
The pressure to be a good writer is strong. Even when you’re only being asked to write seven words.
I’m definitely open to advice. Preferably in writing, so I have time to think about it.
Thanks,
Sam
