Much is written about imposter syndrome. When someone asks me what I do, I sometimes stumble over the word ‘writer’ and often followed it with a little self-deprecating giggle or downplay it by saying ‘I’ve only had one book published though.’ And I know I’m not alone. Most writers I know seem to suffer from it – there are countless Facebook and twitter threads devoted not feeling like a ‘proper writer’ and many times I’ve been at lunch or away with lovely writer friends realise we are all self-deprecating for Britain.
Well, this week something happened which made me realise that nowadays I am very much a ‘proper writer’.
The first blog post I ever wrote was for my lovely friend and fellow Sister Scribe Susanna Bavin’s wonderful blog. This was when I was very much in the querying trenches and getting an agent, let alone a publishing deal, was just a twinkle in my eye and Susanna was kind enough host me for a series of musings on my embryonic writing life. I can remember the gist – if not the words – of the first post I wrote as if it was yesterday. My then-teenage son was having some problems and I explained how difficult, how wrong, how self-indulgent it felt to be ploughing on with polishing my turd of a draft when he was struggling. And, even if I did decide to press on, my creative juices and my writing mojo had totally deserted me, so there was little point in showing up the keyboard anyway.
I didn’t write anything for week. Maybe even months. And it was only when my son was back on an even keel that I could finish editing Another Us and start submitting it to agents.
Fast forward four years and everything is different.
I have an agent. I have two publishing deals. Another Us was published in ebook in May and the paperback is out on 20th August (do all rush!!) Reader, my writing dreams came true!
And, this week, the Hesketh household is once again in turmoil. My daughter needs an operation in the middle of the global pandemic and the whole family needs to shield beforehand. (Sad that we need to shield during my son’s 21st and miss our first break away in months, but needs must.) At the moment, it’s all hands on deck sorting out food deliveries and prescription pick-ups and everything else that needs to be done before we hunker down.
This time it is different though. My edits for Book Two are due back with the publisher at the beginning of August which, as I write, is – gulp! – three days away. But this time there is no deciding my writing mojo has deserted me or that my creative juices have decided to go on holiday instead of me. There’s no deciding to do nothing for a couple of months. The edits have to be done. I can – I have to – work fast and efficiently so that I can get them done to the best of my ability – and still be there for my family.
It all feels totally different.
To be fair, I’m sure my lovely editor would be absolutely fine if I was to ask for another week or two to finish the edits. A lot of the pressure to meet the deadline is coming from myself.
But the different to four years ago is stark.
And, in some ways, it reminds me how far I’ve come.
I’m a writer.