The Thursday! Newsletter 1-19: Great Impostor Syndrome
Volume 1, Issue 19
I've been thinking about Impostor Syndrome recently.
I think everyone who does anything in public view -- teachers, artists, pastors, writers, musicians, even politicians -- deals with times when they are afraid people will notice all their shortcomings and point them out loudly, possibly while yelling "FRAUD!" That fear does have foundation in reality. I'm not one of those folks who'll tell you that there aren't people out there waiting for you to screw up so they can take you down a bunch of pegs. These days, we seem to mass-produce critics who take to relentless criticism the way a fire takes to a field of wind-dry grass. It'll happen to you if you are brave enough to put something you've made out where people can get at it.
On the other hand, I don't know how you can become truly great at what you do without at least a little bit of Impostor Syndrome, and maybe more than a little.
Last night, a friend of mine said something that struck me as profound. She said, "We use what we learn from others, but we make it ours. And that's okay." At first, I thought to myself, Well of course we do. No artist learns their art from nothing. That's true, isn't it? Even people without formal training learn from those who went before, even if that person is the Creator who made such a beautiful universe for us to study. You could do worse as a painter than to study the intricate play of light and color from a sunset or the subtle sharp lines of shadows at night.
But isn't that the obvious seed from which Impostor Syndrome springs? I think it is. I worry that someone will read my stories and say, "Well, Jimmie's just copying Bradbury and Matheson, isn't he? One of his stories last week was a lot like an old Stephen King short story I read years ago! Ha!" The thing is, though, they're right. I am copying Ray Bradbury. I do try to give my stories the vicious bite of a Matheson short. I do want my stories to have the unfinished ragged-edge feel of an early Stephen King short story. In fact, I wrote one of the stories last week -- one you can read in the section right after this -- to remind you of one of King's early stories. King himself wanted his stories to feel like old issues of EC Comics. Not for nothing did the movie Creepshow carry that aesthetic.
I want to be a great writer. The only way I know do to that -- in fact, the only reliable way I've ever found to do that -- is to do exactly what my friend said. I have to take what I've learned from other storytellers (not only writers, mind you), and make it all mine. As I do that, I also incorporate the stuff that made all of them great into my own work. I build my greatness from the greatness I've digested from elsewhere.
Of course, that leaves me wide open to the obvious Impostor Syndrome criticism. That's the trade. If I borrow some style point from, say, Shirley Jackson, an astute reader will notice. I'm sure you've noticed in your favorite artist's work, some element of another artist. I'm also sure, at some point, you've been tempted to criticize them for using that influence so obviously (and of course it was obvious, because you noticed it, right?) though not nearly as well. I've done it. More than once. We are astute consumers of art, right? But...hang on. Think about that for a second. How else is that artist supposed to become great except to use the greatness of other artist before them to ascend to that level? Practice? What's the measure? How do you even know they're there without a standard against which to measure them? And here we are, ready to criticize them because they actually incorporated the measure of their own greatness in their art.
Does that seem fair? I don't think it is. I don't think it's fair of a critic to use an artist's attempts to reach greatness as damning evidence against them. I doubt seriously you'd think well of me if I bashed a writer by saying, "It's clear they're trying for a Bradbury-esque story of childlike wonder on an alien world but they're no Bradbury", would you? You would not. In fact, if I said it in front of you, you'd probably remind me that there is only one Ray Bradbury and maybe I should cut that writer a break. You'd be right to do so.
Now imagine that your own Inner Critic is saying that stuff about you. I don't find Impostor Syndrome, which is nothing more than your Inner Critic dismissing you because you're not as good as your creative role models, a valid criticism. But it's necessary. It's going to happen because criticism happens, fair and unfair.
We need it, though. It tells us we're hunting down the right trails. Of course we're not on the same level as those above us. But we're getting there. We are becoming great by using the greatness that's already in front of us. We're pulling ourselves up story by story, painting by painting, book by book, podcast by podcast, speech by speech, subject by subject, class by class. Each rung we use is someone else's greatness, left there for us to use. Feel no guilt about using them. Make them part of what you do. Make your climb to greatness part of who you are.
We can't help but feel like impostors, because we're building off people who've been farther than we have. Let me suggest, though, that the next time you feel that coming on you, you can remind yourself that you can't be great unless you use the greatness of others and make it your own.
You're becoming great. It's okay.
Autographed Book Alert: Want an autographed book or two? It's easy! Drop some money in my PayPal account (jimmiebjr@gmail.com)! When you do, let me know how many copies you want, where I should send them, and to whom I should autograph them! One book is $15 and 2 is $25. Easy peasy, chicken squeezy!
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What I Wrote and Read Last Week
"Big John's Last Deal", a tale of crime and unexpected consequences.
"Chess at the Kitchen Table", which provides one reasons you should not play chess with Hosanna the cat.
Leo Babauta's advice on how how to get unstuck has been quite useful to me and I've read it several times over the past couple months.
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Here Are the Arts and/or Letters I Promised
This is Lou Ottens, who invented the cassette tape. If you are of a certain age, his invention was incredibly important to you when you were a teenager (and perhaps even well into your 20s). I can't begin to tell you how many blank cassette tapes I bought over the years nor how many mix tapes I made. He recently passed away at the age of 94. I can safely say that, if not for him, my love for music would not have found the depth and breadth it has today.
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One Last Thing
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