This feels real!
I’ve already written about imposter syndrome, which strikes even the most successful authors. There are many stories and articles written about the dreaded blank page, but I have the opposite problem. I have decades of story plots and ideas in my brain, all bursting to be put into prose!
However (why is there always a however?) as I’ve taught myself about the publishing world, I’ve discovered finishing the manuscript isn’t even the ending; it’s barely the beginning. There is revising, editing, and waiting for beta reader feedback before you can even query your manuscript. (There’s even more, but I digress.)
The stage I’m currently in feels as though I’m juggling half a dozen potatoes. Fresh out of the oven. Without mitts. BELIEVE, professionally edited and revised, is ready for querying, but it needs a better query letter. Secrets would benefit from professional editing. (And then revisions!). I need to decide which version of the ending of Motherload works best, and if it is my initial one, whoa baby! Word count is way too high! Then Scribes, which I started as an entry to a contest (which, sadly, I didn’t win), those characters grow impatient for their stories to unfold. Add to the list the launching and maintaining of this webpage.
Because I’ve never had a business career, I am a novice at networking. I struggle as I want to be a sincere person. Connections based purely on what a person can do for me feels icky. I have an honest interest in people, and I love to hear their stories. Pushing my own interests and goals feels false. With so many words in my head, why is making conversation difficult?
I’ve read about the value of conferences and how there is much to be gained from them, regardless of your place in the journey, and so I somewhat reluctantly signed up for the Chicago Writer’s Association 2026 conference, Let’s Just Write!
I have an irrational fear of flying, so this being a 40-minute drive away was ideal. Yet, just like the mere thought of flying makes my heart clench, so did the thought of walking into a group of authors! Writers! Smart people who’d look down their noses at me should they read my prose! I dragged my poor husband along with me as my security blanket. At least I’d have someone who’d talk to me!
Clever readers love to predict the outcome of books, and perhaps you’ve concluded that my fears were unfounded. Indeed, they were.
The conference had inspiring speakers who have prominent careers with great successes. The keynote speaker, Junot Diaz, reflected about the difficulties of weeks of work that were unfruitful. (Did I mention he won the 2008 Pulitzer Prize?!)
Rebecca Makkai spoke about the enormous task of taking a book from the first idea in your head to the finished product (and she was a 2019 Pulitzer Prize finalist). She didn’t walk a mile in our shoes; she typed chapters on our computers and scribbled lines in our notebooks. The thunderous applause showed she knew her audience.
While I listened intently to the speakers, I glanced at their attendees for their reactions. During the Q&A portions, I realized they all shared the same doubts and concerns as me. I’d watch people head to the washroom or to the coffee table and imagine their lives. That one looks like a mystery writer; she looks like she writes women’s fiction; they look like they write LGTBQ+ romances; he looks like he writes non-fiction. History, I’m guessing.
All people with hopes and dreams and goals, just like me. I overheard one gentleman mention he’d been querying for twenty years. I wanted to weep and also to give him a hug.
I relaxed and chatted with some attendees. We commiserated that the room was chilly, and we were all overdosing on caffeine. I exchanged emails with a hybrid publisher and spoke to a member of the CWA board about the problem of writing an engaging hook. I didn’t pitch to the three agents present as I felt unsure and unready. Maybe next year I will, as I hold great hopes of securing an agent.
I felt as if I belonged there. No, I did belong there. As we writers know, words matter.