Kicking self-doubt to the curb

Hello to Girl Scout cookie season 🍪

Yesterday I ordered my yearly way-too-many boxes of Girl Scout cookies. I tell myself it’s because I’m supporting young entrepreneurship, but really I just love their cookies. I hoard my boxes for the whole year, pretty much. Eat a handful at a time whenever I need a sugar rush. So good.

This past week was a strange one for me. I experienced some really high moments, where I thought, finally, things are going to happen, and I experienced a lot of sludgy moments, where I felt like I was trudging through quicksand and not making much progress. I’m in a waiting period for a lot of things, and frankly, my dears, it sucks ass.

I hope to someday be out of this eternal waiting room of my life. But for now, I’m trying to do my best from within. So read on for (even more) thoughts about ambition, and how I have the hardest time believing in myself and my abilities; some photos from the past week; and reflections on life since grad.

Pop by the comments, too, and let me know: what’s your favorite Girl Scout cookie?

From the heart 💗

This week I’ve gotten hit with a special flavor of impostor syndrome whereby I question whether I can write. I decided that my storytelling is decent, but the writing on a line level is lacking. If you’re keeping score at home, you’ll note that this is the exact opposite of where I was in late 2021, when I declared that I could write but not structure a story. Progress? I don’t know her!

I’m not sure what I need to do to circle back to believing in myself as a writer — and by that I mean, as a crafter of sentences, a toyer of words, an eliciter of emotion through the wrangling of language — but I know I need to do something.

I wrote at length last week about my ambition, and how it’s guided me into making big leaps and been my constant companion for years. Along with said ambition, I’ve been tailed by doubt that cuts like a knife. This doubt has fangs, and says that I don’t deserve my ambition, that I’ve never been good enough and never will be good enough, and that I should be embarrassed and ashamed by the scope of my dreams and ambitions.

Obviously, I don’t listen to it entirely; I’ve done a pretty good job at ignoring the part that tells me to not go for big things1 and I still apply for the big wigs, shoot for the stars, etc…

Where it’s a problem is that I let it ruly my thoughts and emotions so much. I apply for the big thing, spend months telling myself I don’t deserve to get in, and then when I finally hear back? There’s really only two options: I get an acceptance, and am in so much shock I can’t really celebrate; or I don’t get it, and my self-doubt feels vindicated.

One of my friends has lately taken to metaphorically spraying me with a spray bottle2 and yelling at me that all I’m doing is setting myself up to “grieve twice” this way — that by grieving before I learn the outcome, I’m robbing myself of the joy of believing in myself and imagining a good future, and I’m giving myself extra agony if it doesn’t work out.

So I’m at a point where I have ambition, I let my ambition drive me, but almost as though to compensate for doing something so unseemly as believing in myself, I have to bring self-doubt along as a chaperone. It tags along and whispers in my ear that I don’t really deserve things, and maybe I should stop applying to begin with, and you know what?

I think it needs to get kicked to the curb.

So that’s what I’m gonna do. Obviously not overnight, but I’m going to commit to kicking out self-doubt when it whispers its nasty lies in my ears. When it says I’m not going to get the thing I went out for, I’m gonna close my ears. When it whispers that maybe I should just stop applying, I’m going to shove it out of the way and hit “submit.” And when it says I’m a bad writer? I’m going to kick it out of the moving vehicle and let it hit the road screaming.

Fare thee (un)well, self-doubt.

From the camera roll 📸

From the page ✍️

I miss feedback.

I miss the regular cadence of creating new work, sending it to someone I trust, and hearing back with line edits and big-picture notes. I miss being able to share my thoughts on every book I read with a person who will respond and help me deepen my craft based on those takeaways. I miss writing a two-page letter rambling about everything that happened over the past four or five weeks, detailing the work I’ve done, relating to another person.

So much of the writing life is done alone, in what feels like a vacuum, and I think one of the most beautiful things VCFA gave me was that, for two years, I got to regularly create and receive feedback from really smart people. I was in-conversation with them consistently, and while I still have all the tools and incredible feedback they gave me…I miss getting it on my new work.

That’s the biggest thing I miss from grad school. It’s been nice, honestly, to go back to reading at my own pace — I can take whole days off from reading, now, without guilt, and I can read big ole fantasy books, and I can read adult litfic or nonfic if I want, and it’s been refreshing to dive back into those worlds. It’s been nice to not have the deadlines looming, not have to pull all-nighters to try to turn everything in on time. It’s been nice to not have the week-long period of sitting on tenterhooks wondering if my advisor hated everything I wrote3 and was going to have me kicked out of the program.

But I miss that back-and-forth. And I miss getting line-by-line reactions to my writing. My advisors peppered me with positive feedback in addition to calling out areas for growth and asking hard questions. They’d let me know when a line landed well, or that I was good at a certain type of description…and I really crave that validation. I know I’m kicking self-doubt to the curb, lol, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I had someone whispering in my ear every four weeks to tell me that I’m a good writer!

Alla prossima 👋

One-hundred-sixty-three.

That’s how many days have elapsed during which Israel has carried out consistent bombing and killing of Palestinians.

It’s unimaginable. One hundred and sixty-three days! Of bombs falling, of people dying, or people being starved, of horrors I can’t even fathom. Let’s be clear: one day was too many. 163 days is an atrocity.

Don’t forget Palestine. Don’t stop talking about it. Don’t stop fighting for those who remain in Gaza. Don’t stop advocating for their freedom.

I don’t know what else to say. I am sick to my stomach when I think about what’s happening, and how it’s just…happening. Next week, I believe, a #Kidlit4Ceasefire fundraiser will launch. In other action items, if you’re a member of SCBWI, now would be a good time to divest yourself of them and let them know exactly why.

And day to day, continue to love each other well; mask up because Covid rages; show love where you can; and find hope in the little things.

Love y’all.— Karis xoxo