Maybe I’m the Fictional Character. I still call myself an aspiring author. Three years into my professional writing career, with four novellas and three short stories to my name and two full length novels coming out this summer, I still call myself an aspiring author. It’s like an Imposter Syndrome. And that’s a problem. The thing is, everyone goes through that moment–and sometimes that moment lasts a really long time–where they look around at their friends and fellow authors and say compared to these guys…
It happens in life and it happens in writing. Today, May 29th, I celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday. Some of my friends are married. Some of my friends are doing graduate programs, studying foreign policy in France and England. Some of my friends are getting their law degrees or working as anchors for the nightly news. My boyfriend and I live with my parents and I work part time as a nanny, wondering what lesson I missed in college to get me where I am.
And that think, be it in writing or in life, is useless. Sure, we will all feel like imposters at some point. Sometimes the sensation will come when we’re at a conference and everyone is discussing their research or word count or sales. Sometimes, the sensation will come late at night, when we’re at our desks and the words just aren’t there and the plot is horrible and why did we ever think this was a good career path, were we drunk?
It’s to acknowledge that we still have much to learn, that we can take away ideas and information from other writers. We can always find answers to our craft questions and plot challenges are a part of the path. But that doesn’t make any of us an aspiring author. Sales, publications, coming due dates or not, we are authors from the moment we put our pen to the page, our fingers to the keyboard. I’m aspiring to success, to a career that will support me, but I am not aspiring to be an author. I am an author–and it’s time I start believing that.
So, no, I’m not married (good on that point for a while, thanks…) I’m not getting my law degree or going to school for foreign policy. But I don’t want to do or be any of those things, and comparing my path, challenging and difficult as it may be, to those of my friends is a waste of time and energy, just as comparing myself to other authors is.
The only person I need to compare myself to, when I sit down to write every day, is the author I was yesterday, and she wasn’t aspiring either.
All Geneva Sterling wants is for Trenton and Sons Investment to sign the contract that could make her career. She’s been after them for nearly a year, and would have been successful too – if it weren’t for Dylan freaking Trenton. He’s hell bent on sinking this deal, and he’ll stop at nothing to get her to back off. But Geneva’s not going down without a fight, even if her opponent in this boardroom boxing match makes her hotter than anyone else ever has.
Dylan Trenton just wants to get his mind off work, and the powerful, infuriating and oh-so-beautiful Geneva Sterling. So when an associate takes him to Club Underground to check out his most recent investment, Dylan decides to go with the flow. After all, there’s a goddess in a slinky silver dress just calling his name. But when he finds out exactly who he’s dancing – and more – with, Dylan learns that hate and desire run a close parallel, and tonight he might just step over the line.