A couple of years ago in the midst of the (nauseating) GirlBoss fever that swept across LI and IG like, well, a fever, I saw a fabulous post where somebody* completely (and rightfully) rejected the premise of imposter syndrome, pointing out it’s a flawed, debunked concept. Her take: is it imposter syndrome or is it the patriarchy? The answer, of course, is the patriarchy. Always.
Anyhoo, while I don’t subscribe to imposter syndrome, I can’t help but feel alignment to a similar concept I’ve seen referred to as a confidence gap. Basically, this is feelings of self-doubt, of lack, of apprehension, uncertainty and insecurity. Eww. Here’s how it plays out:
I pitch my work to agents or publishers, or send my early-ish work out into the world to beta readers and immediately before, during and after I feel like I could happily vomit into my handbag.
What’s harder than writing a book? Talking about it! It’s terrifying!
Disclaimer: I do believe this is cultural or structural, and not a reflection of my abilities, or lack thereof. Conceptually, logically, I know that any confidence gap that rears its ugly head isn’t necessarily valid. That conceptual knowledge doesn’t mean that self-doubt doesn’t threaten to put me back in my box at times when I really need it to bugger off.
On reflection, this is actually a good thing, this societal conditioning. It means I don’t have to close the confidence gap, but change the story I tell myself, about myself. I do this by prepping, prepping, prepping and more prepping.
In pitches, it means I have a script. I’m a lot more comfortable now than when I first started schlepping Summer, in Between around, just a writer, standing in front of a publisher, asking them to love me. Initially, I found it really difficult to condense 70k+ words into three minutes, but I prepped like I was going into battle with a three section pitch structure that I modified from a version I picked up via the ASA:
What: about the story, key characters, plot points and themes
Why: I wrote the story, my connection to it personally
Who: I am as a writer and as a human.
In pitches, I deliver a script aligned to those three sections, and while I carry notes, I make sure I know it well enough to deliver it with all the enthusiasm and excitement the story deserves, remembering that the people on the other side of the pitch want me to be the one. They want to discover a story, and why not mine? They’re there because they want to love me. Maybe not me personally, but they’re there for a reason.
Sharing my work with beta-readers is also semi-terrifying because this is often the first time anyone other than my Aussie Shepherd will see the outcome of months upon months upon months of muttering to myself and tapping away at the keyboard. It’s an opportunity to get valid, constructive feedback. It’s where any secretly or not-so-secretly-harboured niggles are confirmed or rebuked. It’s a really powerful process where beta readers turn what was an individual endeavour into something a smidge more collaborative. It can be fabulous (my experience) or a massive let down (some writer friends have experienced this). The reason between the two, I believe, is the level of direction provided to readers.
First up: I’m careful and discerning in who I work with as beta-readers.
Second: I set my beta-readers (and my project) up for success by giving my beta-readers clear direction about what I need from them, and what I don’t.
I ask if they prefer a hard copy or an electronic version. I let them know if I want them to mark up their copy or if I’d rather they take notes as they go for us to chat about over brunch.
I ask them to make notes of their thoughts and reactions such as I like this, I bet this happens next or I wasn’t expecting that. I ask general questions like:
- Did the opening work?
- Did you want to keep reading?
- Does it flow?
- How was the pace?
I ask about the areas that felt like something was missing, that felt under-developed or unnecessary.
I ask them to ignore basic grammar and spelling issues, unless it’s really bothering their reading experience, and I give a deadline of one month to six weeks to read my manuscript and provide feedback.
Finally, as I hand over my work I thank them AND remind them that they’re holding a piece of my heart and soul in their hands…
I’d love to say that I don’t feel a lurch of vulnerability whenever I pitch or ask for beta reader feedback, but that’s a lie. Just like the confidence gap.
*I don’t recall the somebody, which is really bothering me! Apologies if you’re that somebody. Please know that your words had me fistbumping. They still do.