Letting Go of Impostor Syndrome

In case you're not aware, impostor syndrome is that anxious feeling that you are a fraud and when everyone else finds out, there will be hell to pay. It is particularly common in creative fields, such as writing, visual art, performance art, etc. People in non-creative fields can also experience it.

I struggled with impostor syndrome for much of my life. Not so much linked with my creative work, but with the idea that I'm an okay person that people would want to be around. I was terrified that if they saw the real me, they would run away in horror.

And here's the kicker. That really happened.

I came out as transgender in the late 1980s/early 1990s. I had known I was a girl my whole life. But it wasn't until shortly after college that I had the courage to do something about it, much less know how to go about transitioning into life as a woman. So for more than twenty years, I suffered from a form of impostor syndrome.

And when I came out, I lost everyone. Spouse, family, friends, job, church, the whole schpiel.

For the next few years, I focused not only on my physical transition, but also on dealing with the trauma from the experience. I'll be honest. I didn't deal so with it at first. Compulsive drinking is not the healthiest response to trauma.

Eventually, I learned some tools for letting go of a lot of my shitting thinking. Letting go of my attachment to the expectations of others. Letting go of the need to be perfect, while still ever-striving to be better. Letting go of my own self-perceptions and being willing to see myself differently. And of course, letting go of drinking.

This was not an overnight transformation. There was a lot of shit I had to unpack, examine, and let go of. A lot of new ways of thinking to slowly adopt.

One of the biggest new tools was the beginner's mind. Beginner's mind, in a nutshell, is giving yourself permission to not be perfect. To be a beginner. To give yourself permission to make mistakes, to not know how to do everything. It is about trusting the process.

I didn't get back into writing until 2007. I started by writing a "novel" during National Novel Writing Month, often called NaNoWriMo. The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write a 50,000+ word novel during the month of November. And by golly, I managed to do it. So then I wondered, now what?

It had always been my dream to be a published writer. So I joined some local critique groups. I learned how much my writing SUCKED! Everyone was very helpful and encouraging, but I made all the same mistakes writers make. Info dumps, flat characters, wooden dialogue, no sense of structure.

But I was okay with that. I accepted that I was a beginner, even though I had a degree in journalism and had done some creative writing when I was younger. Writing is a craft with dozens of skills to master. And the only way to master them is to get it wrong, learn from your mistakes, get it less wrong the next time, make more adjustments, and on and on.

Progress, not perfection. That is one of the slogans of AA that was drilled into my head at meetings. And it applied to my writing as well as my sobriety.

After eight years of practicing my craft, I wrote a novel (the third I had written). I started submitting it to agents. I submitted to 90 agents, got four requests for partials, two requests for fulls, and an offer from one of New York's finest agencies. In time, I signed a two-book deal with one of Penguin Random House's digital-first imprints.

Had I made it? Was I now a successful author? No. I was a newly published author. I was just a beginner. An egg. And I knew that regardless of whatever praise (or criticism) my books got, that it was okay. Because this was simply another step in the process.

After two books with mediocre sales, Penguin Random House opted not to extend the deal to more books. Was I a failure? No. I was an author with two books with mediocre sales. I was still beginning this process.

I took the leap from traditional publishing to indie publishing. This gave me a whole slew of new things to learn how to do. Things I would screw up at first. And then do a little better. And then a little better than that. I would try things that wouldn't work, then try something else, learning all the way.

I'm gearing up to release my fifth novel this December. I still have my day job. In fact, I still spend more money on hiring editors and cover designers than I make in revenue. Am I a failure? No. I'm a beginner. There are people with 20 or more books who still have a day job. Still growing. Still building a brand. Still learning how to write the next book. Still a beginner. And that is okay.

And I will tell you that there are times when imposter syndrome creeps up a little in me. Like when Holly West invited me to contribute to Murder-A-Go-Go's, that fabulous anthology with so many well-known authors. It was like being a teenager who gets invited to sit at the adult's table.

Me hanging with Kellye Garrett

But on the rare occasion that those feelings of impostor syndrome sneak in, I remind myself to trust the process. Because I may not be as cool as Steve Lauden, or an award winner like Kellye Garrett, or as sexy and talented as Nadine Nettmann, I'm still me. And being included is an opportunity to grow.

When you start to feel like an impostor, if you get nominated for an award that you feel you aren't worthy of, or if you get a glowing review from that fan who loves to rave about you, take a breath.

Remember you are on a journey. Maybe you're not as good as some of your raving fans think you are. But you're a helluva lot better than your worst critics think you are. And it's not your job to be your worst critic.

No matter how many books you've written, you're still a beginner. Embrace that beginner's mind. Give yourself permission to be imperfect. You are continuing to learn how to write better. Every book is an experiment, a journey, and a process. Learn to trust that process.

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As one of the only transgender authors in crime fiction, Dharma Kelleher brings a unique voice to the genre, specializing in gritty thrillers with a feminist kick. 

She is the author of the Jinx Ballou bounty hunter series and the Shea Stevens outlaw biker series. You can learn more about Dharma and her work at https://dharmakelleher.com.

Writing While Trans Part 2: Figuring Out My Brand

As many of you know, I am a transgender woman. But that's not all I am.

I am also a living kidney donor. I'm a wife. I'm a professional caregiver. I ride a motorcycle. I'm a desert dweller. I'm a recovering alcoholic. I'm a rape survivor. I've also been a goldsmith, a librarian assistant, and a web developer.

One of the things that drew me into writing was the fact that the vast majority of queer fiction were coming out stories, romance, and erotica. But there is so much more to life as a queer person than coming out, falling in love and having sex. Where were all the adventure stories, the sci-fi operas, the urban fantasies, and crime dramas with queer protagonists?

My first series, which was eventually picked up by Random House's digital-only imprint, Alibi, was about a lesbian outlaw biker. Think Sons of Anarchy meets The L Word. Pretty fucking awesome, right? I certainly thought so. My agent thought so.

But before Alibi said yes, publisher after publisher passed. Not because they didn't like it. The vast majority said they loved it, but didn't know how to market gritty biker crime fiction with a lesbian protagonist.

Turns out they didn't understand how to market a thriller with a lesbian protagonist unless it was a coming-out story or had a romantic subplot. God forbid anyone writes about lesbians who actually have a career and a life outside of a relationship.

When Alibi decided not to extend the series beyond the first two books, I realized I had to now start focusing on a new series. With a lot of input from my wife, I decided to write about a modern day bounty hunter who happened to be a transgender woman.

This time I didn't bother going the traditional route. I was going indie. If publishers didn't get crime fiction with a lesbian protagonist, they certainly wouldn't be interested in a thriller with a trans protagonist. Even when the story wasn't about her being transgender. The story was about her tracking down someone who jumped bail. You know, crime fiction.

Now I was faced with the question about how to market my stories. Do I disclose in the book blurb that the Jinx Ballou the badass bounty hunter is transgender? Will that potentially turn away readers who might otherwise enjoy the story and not really care if Jinx is trans? If I don't mention it and readers learn about her past during the middle of the story, will they be turned off then?

One the one hand, since Laverne Cox and Caitlyn Jenner appeared on the covers of glossy magazines, the media has finally started to treat trans people as human beings worthy of respect. There's been a sort of trans chic thing going, much like there was a lesbian chic going on in the 1990s. And I'm not ashamed to take advantage of it.

And the crime fiction community tends to be very inclusive and welcoming, anyway. When I reach out to media, such as podcasts who want to interview me, part of my pitch is that I'm one of the few (just me and Renee James, as far as I know) crime fiction authors who are trans.

At the same time, when it comes to the decision to buy, white heteronormative readers tend to stick with what they're familiar with: white, heteronormative protagonists. Not that they're overtly bigoted toward other kinds of protagonists. There is simply a subtle bias, a subconscious resistance, perhaps a fear of the unfamiliar.

Since the launch of Chaser and Extreme Prejudice, the first two books in the Jinx Ballou series, I have tried a wide range of approaches. Disclosing up front that Jinx is trans. And not disclosing she's trans, except in the book. I find the latter the more productive of the two.

I don't feel the need to disclose everything about who my character is in the Amazon book description. The book description is supposed to hook the reader into the story. And that's what I focus on. A bounty hunter who runs into trouble while pursuing a fugitive and chaos ensues.

Occasionally I will get a review or even an irate email complaining that while they loved the story, they don't care to read about queer characters. I once got a three-star review from a Trumpster who didn't appreciate the liberal agenda that crept into the book. Honestly, I was tickled the little shit gave me three stars.

Bottom line, I don't write queer fiction. The stories aren't about transitioning or falling in love with someone of the same sex. Few if any of my stories have a HEA as far as a romantic subplot is concerned.

Instead, I write crime fiction from a queer perspective. Or better yet, I write gritty crime fiction with a feminist kick. Like Sara Paretsky. Like Stieg Larsson. Like a lot of successful crime fiction authors who aren't afraid to challenge the patriarchy in fiction.

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As one of the only transgender authors in crime fiction, Dharma Kelleher brings a unique voice to the genre, specializing in gritty thrillers with a feminist kick. She rides a motorcycle, picks locks, and has a dark past she’d rather forget.

She is the author of the Jinx Ballou bounty hunter series and the Shea Stevens outlaw biker series. You can learn more about Dharma and her work at https://dharmakelleher.com.

Why I Went the (Sort of) Traditional Route

Guest Post by Dharma Kelleher

Holly's note: I was happy when Dharma agreed to write about her path to (sort of) traditional publishing since her route (and reasons for pursuing it) are similar to my own. Before we begin, some takeaways: Dharma sent queries to ninety agents and four were interested in pursuing her project. Four out of ninety. These numbers are depressing, but par for the traditional publishing course. The important thing to note is that querying widely is a vital part of the process. It doesn't matter that eighty-six agents didn't feel they could sell her book, it only matters that one did. And a good one, at that. 

There's a perception that self-publishing is somehow easier and perhaps in some ways, it is. But it's by no means the easy way out and some of the rejection that occurs in the front end of the traditional publishing biz often happens on the middle and back end of indie-publishing in the form of cost, marketing and closed industry doors for self-published books (reviews, bookstore shelf space, awards and such). 

Regardless, the work involved in writing and publishing books is staggering and sometimes demoralizing, no matter what path you take. Persistence and educating oneself about the business are some of the keys to success, but in the end, the most important key is writing the best book you can. Then, write the next book and the next.

But I'll shut up now and let Dharma tell her story.

There’s not a lot traditional about me. I’m a rebel at every turn. I’m a Zen punk, transgender, lesbian biker chick who’s done just about everything from broadcast news to web development.

So as untraditional as a I am, why would I publish my debut novel with one of the “Big 5” publishers? Especially with the popularity of self-publishing?

To make a long story short: goals, professional standards, and money.

Goals
As a kid growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, I was writing short stories on a manual Smith Corona typewriter, religiously reading Lawrence Block’s Fiction column in Writers’ Digest, with dreams of one day publishing a book with one of the major houses.

Cut to 30+ years later and when I rediscovered my love of writing, that dream was still on my bucket list.

Part of it was the challenge. Writing a quality novel was daunting (because it’s freakin’ hard). Getting an agent (most agents accept less than 1% of submissions) was even more challenging. And the coup-de-grace, breaking out of the pack to sign a deal with a big name publisher. Yeah! I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.

You can call it an ego thing or whatever, but that was one of my goals. Not simply to see my name in print, but to know that my book had risen out of the slush pile and caught a publisher’s eye.
 
You may have different goals where self-publishing or a small press might be appropriate. Maybe you’re a consultant looking for an additional income stream and you have the money to invest in a freelance editor, a book formatter, and a cover artist (don’t skimp on these), so self-publishing seems a better choice for you.

Or maybe you write something really niche with a small audience like Pakistani steampunk or hardcore senior citizen erotic thrillers (to each their own, right?). A small alternative press with lower sales expectations might be a better fit.

But for me, my childhood/bucket list goal put a +1 in the traditional publishing column.

Professional Standards
My time is precious, as is yours, I imagine. I don’t want to waste it reading something that was poorly written and barely edited. Likewise, I wouldn’t want to waste my readers’ time by publishing something that isn’t as engaging as the stories I like to read.

I wanted my book to have a high level of professionalism. This meant that a professional editor (and maybe more than one) would go through my book on multiple passes, helping me work out any structural issues and plot holes, along with eliminating crutch words and typos.

An experienced professional book cover designer would create the cover that would immediately enthrall my target readers. A professional formatter would turn the books interior into a work of art.
And a publicity team would help me market that book and connect me with people, organizations, and events that I otherwise had no access to.

A small press would get me part of the way, but wouldn’t necessarily have the connections a big publisher would. At the same time, small presses often give more personal attention to debut authors than a traditional press. So a small press was still in consideration.

The self-publishing route was less favorable on this issue. The stigma associated with self-published books (caused by the majority of indie authors not hiring professional editors, formatters and cover artists) has blocked access to many networking and distribution channels.

So in this case, I gave points to both traditional and small press.

Money
Here is where the rubber meets the road. Writing is both a craft and a business. While I am no business guru, two mantras are burned forever in my tiny, twisted brain.

• It takes money to make money.
• Whenever possible, use someone else’s money.

Why should I pay thousands of dollars to a professional editor, formatter, cover designer, or publicity manager, when a traditional publisher could do it for me and the two of us can split the profits 50-50? And maybe even an advance to boot.

Some fear that signing with a traditional publisher or even a small press means giving up creative control, but it doesn’t have to. Not if you have a good agent.

Based on all of these factors, traditional publishing was the best route for my literary goals, professional standards, and financial situation. Small press (like Midnight Ink or Poisoned Pen Press) was a backup plan if I couldn’t sign with a big house. And self-publishing was a last resort. So I decided to swing for the fences.

The Deal I Struck
I sent queries to ninety agents, four of whom were interested. I signed with Sharon Pelletier of Dystel & Goderich, a New York–based agency with a solid reputation. After a few rounds of edits, she shopped my book to publishers for a few months.

I saw rejection after rejection from publishers who loved the book, the writing, and me, but consistently said they “didn’t know how to market it.” Turns out that’s code for “we ask for stories with more diversity but only buy manuscripts about straight, white men.”

Then my agent notified me that Alibi, a digital-only imprint of Penguin Random House, was offering me a two-book deal. Yay! Wait, what? Digital only?

Yeah, no print books. And yet they insisted as a matter of company policy that they purchase the print rights (perhaps to avoid diluting e-book sales).

I was torn. I wanted to see my book in print. On my bookshelf. Next to the Pulitzer I would one day win.

Teri Bischoff at Midnight Ink was interested in reading my manuscript after I pitched it to her at the WriteNow! conference.

I knew from talking with other Midnight Ink authors that Teri does a lot for her authors. Not uncommon for small presses with a limited stable of authors.

Compare that to the horror stories of authors who sign with a big publisher who are all but ignored because they’re not a famous celebrity with a huge following.

Then again, I had no guarantee of an offer from Midnight Ink. And because Alibi was part of Penguin Random House, they had access to resources that Midnight Ink might not due simply to PRH’s behemoth size.

It was a gamble either way. There are no guarantees in publishing, especially with constantly changing technology and thousands of new books published daily.

I read that article John Scalzi had written a few years ago all but calling Penguin Random House the anti-Christ over their four digital-only imprints. I also talked with several Alibi authors who loved what Alibi had done for them. And I had some deep discussions with my agent and my wife.

Ultimately, I decided a bird in the hand was worth more than the two in the bush. I signed with Alibi and I am glad I did.

First of all, I get 50% of net sales (minus my agent’s well-earned cut). And I retained creative control over editing, title, and cover design, as well as foreign rights, audio rights and TV & film rights. Because you never know.

My editors at Alibi have blown me away with their ideas about how to improve the story. The design team created a badass cover. And the publicity team is doing all kinds of things to spread the word about my book including designing marketing materials, an appearance at Phoenix Comic-Con, a blog tour, blurbs, BookBub (and related services) and much more.

My debut novel, IRON GODDESS, launches June 28, 2016. The support I’ve already received and the pre-sales at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, etc. have shown me that going the (sort of) traditional route of publishing with Alibi was the right choice for me.

You have your own goals, your own professional standards (I hope they’re high), and your own financial situation. Make your own decisions. Live with the consequences. Don’t whine about them.

And in the words of Neil Gaiman, “Make good art.”

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Dharma Kelleher writes gritty tales about outlaws, renegades, and misfits. Her hobbies include riding her motorcycle, picking locks and getting inked. Her debut novel IRON GODDESS will be published by Random House’s Alibi imprint on June 28, 2016. Learn more about her and her writing at dharmakelleher.com.

One size doesn't fit all

by: Joelle Charbonneau

Okay – there have been a bunch of articles lately about value of self-publishing vs. traditional publishing.  All are interesting.  There’s this one here by Patrick Wesnick  and this one from Hugh Howely and this follow-up  by our DSD friend and one of my all-time favorite bloggers, Chuck Wendig. 

They are all articles worth reading.  Go read them.  

(insert bad hold music here)

Welcome back.   Publishing is a funny business.   It involves marketing and publicity and all sorts of business decisions and craft.  Artistic imagination is forced to war with the realities of corporate business practices.  Needless to say, the people that excel in creativity often don’t love the corporate side and visa versa.  So it’s no wonder that there are those who love the idea of cutting out the business suits from publishing their stories.  And there are others who like the way the collaboration with traditional publishing model works because it does well for them.  And in the internet universe, those who are passionate about their choices are often intent on telling those who make different ones that they are wrong.  Misguided. Ruining their entire lives. Screwing their careers and losing money to boot.  The world is ending.  The sky is falling.  Run for your lives.

The thing is…one size doesn’t fit all.  You don’t go into a store, look at a piece of clothing and think that it will look good on everyone.  You don’t expect everyone who goes to law school to practice law in the same way.

People go into stores, try on clothes and select what works best for them.  Law students study all kinds of law and pick the type of career path that they feel compelled to practice.

One size doesn’t fit all.

The same is true in publishing.  Not everyone has the same career goals.  Not everyone has the same desire to be their own publishing.  Not everyone wants to be a part of the traditional publishing adventure.

Because one size doesn’t fit all.

The most wonderful thing about the rise of e-readers and the new self-publishing model is that there are more options.  More clothes to try on until an author finds the fit and color and style that works best for them.  Huzzah! 

Which is why the vitriol and anger I see across the web in the discourse about this subject is truly baffling to me.  If self-publishing works for you – YAY!  You are a vision in that green jacket with zebra stripes.  But why get angry when it doesn’t look good on someone else?  And if traditionally publishing a book is more your style – YAY again!  The purple polka-dotted muffler and leg warmers makes you look like a fashion plate.  Does it matter that your friends aren’t all wearing the same thing?

I guess what I’m saying is that if one size doesn’t fit all in most parts of our lives, why should anyone think that one publishing model will work for everyone?  Can someone explain this to me, because I really don’t understand.