A Different Kind of Brain Weasel

hate when someone’s mad at me because I did something wrong.  I mean, we probably all do, right?

But you know what I hate even more?  When someone thinks I did something underhanded, but I didn’t.

I’m going through that situation right now–someone believes we did something underhanded, which we did not.  But the way they are talking about it is very much “You’re horrible people!” in tone, and it’s making me nuts.  (I’m being vague for self-preservation reasons; it’s better to not discuss details right now)

It’s bothering me so much that I can’t handle this one–I’ve had to turn it over to my wife to deal with, partly because she’s better at this kind of thing, but mostly because I’m so deep in the doldrums about it I’ve lost the objectivity.  I probably would cave and do something conciliatory to make them happy, but that would not only set a bad precedent but which could make things worse.

Impostor Syndrome, My Old Friend

One hopes, when one is an “aspiring” writer, that once one gets within sight of being published, impostor syndrome will go away.

No such luck. Here I am with a contract, and the stupid brain weasels are still very much wrapped around my brain.

I just sent in my author homework.  And now I’m utterly convinced the editor and other staff are going to be rolling their eyes, convinced they made a bad deal and they need to do whatever they can to rid themselves of this idiot.

It’s nonsense, I’m sure.  If there are problems with what I sent in, I’m sure they’ll let me know and work with me to fix it.  But even knowing that, I keep expecting the worst.

The thing with Impostor Syndrome is that you can’t let it paralyze you.  Sure, feel inferior.  Go ahead and believe that you’re a terrible writer and nobody will ever like your work.  But don’t let it stop you.  Tell your brain to shut the hell up and get back to work.  Eventually, you’ll come out the other side and recognize the BS for what it is.

And then be prepared to do it over and over and over again.  I do it all the time as a teacher, and as a writer. It stinks, but what else are you going to do?