Don’t Call Me A Writer

Enter imposter syndrome

Another rejection today. Sometimes because I already know how it ends, I don’t even want to open the email. They all sound the same to me now: “While we are grateful to have had the opportunity to read your work, we're sorry to say it isn't a good fit for us at this time.” I delete the email, update the status on my Google spreadsheet from “pending” to “rejected,” and try to move on. But it stings, especially when you’re offering such personal art.

Failing is a way of being free.

Ada Limón

I wonder if my six lit mag acceptances last year were freak accidents, beginner’s luck. These days, I battle imposter syndrome, especially when I log into Twitter, which is filled with writers “thrilled to announce” this good news and that acceptance. I’m happy for them, I am, but I feel like I’m stuck on the bench.

I’m thrilled to announce… I met with the writer whose glorious manuscript I’m beta reading. I’m thrilled to announce I wrote this one-handed on my phone while I held the baby. That I haven’t lost my temper with my five-year-old this week. That I finally wore the Anthropologie dress I bought on a whim four years ago. That I am keeping more than one houseplant alive.

Life continues around us as we write, no matter the quality our writing or how many words we write or how many acceptances we log. Our definition of writing success is up to us.

<3 sara