Writing

All The Things A Writer Wants For Christmas

Happy December! As a writer, there are many things I want for Christmas.

  • A finished manuscript. I seriously need to stop abandoning stories.
  • Some new ideas. Sometimes I have too many. Sometimes I don’t have any.
  • More time. 25 hours in a day would be nice.
  • Small acts of kindness. Is that too much to ask for?
  • Peace and quiet. A baby crying nonstop is the complete opposite.
  • Someone to retrieve my sanity and bring it back to me. I don’t have any monetary reward, but I’ll dedicate my first book to you.
  • More money in my bank account. So I can buy stuff I don’t need.
  • A lifetime supply of books. I’m running out of space so…
  • Another bookshelf. Too bad my room is too small for that.
  • A house with a library in it. And on office.
  • The imposter syndrome to go away. Does it ever?
  • I’d love for my muse to come back to me. I’m not sure where it’s gone. Probably somewhere nicer and warmer.
  • Procrastination can leave me alone. The door is that way. I hope it bites you in the head, you big pest.
  • A strong dose of inspiration. The stronger the better.
  • I need motivation. Desperately.
  • Good sleep. Restful nights where I don’t wake up at an ungodly hour and start to contemplate all of my life choices.
  • A better sense of humour. Or someone who gets my sarcasm.
  • To see people I want to see and not see people I don’t want to. Knowing my luck however, the exact opposite will happen. I see someone who is a stranger to me more than I see my best friend. The universe clearly enjoys toying with my emotions.
  • Patience. Current status: non-existent. I have no idea how people keep calm and collected all the time. I can’t control myself. I’m out of control. Send help.
  • I really want to get over my fear of operating a motor vehicle, so I can drive myself far, far away and write for days. That’s my goal in life.
School

When You Feel Like You Aren’t Smart Enough

Every so often, I feel like I’m not smart enough. Imposter syndrome hits me so hard.

In my first year at university, I expected to be average. I anticipated feeling stupid because I thought everyone would be smarter.

Now in fourth year, I can’t help but think everything will be over my head, beyond my capabilities. I tend to underestimate myself. That’s just who I am.

Even though I worry, I try to channel my anxieties into productivity. Easier said than done, I know.

I don’t know what this semester or the next one will bring, but present me wants future me to remember that I’m smarter than I think.

Don’t worry about what other people are doing or what they aren’t doing.

I have good ideas. Stop shooting all of them down.

As of now, I’m happy with my courses. I’m excited to finish strong.

I’m not a fraud or an imposter. I’m just a student doing my best. I want to improve. I need to learn and grow.

I’ll try to take risks and not regret anything, rather than playing it safe only to wonder what if.

I’ve done well in years past, so there’s no reason why I can’t succeed again.

Writing

Let’s Talk About The Imposter Syndrome

The imposter syndrome is the bane of my existence.

Some days, that voice in my head tells me I’m not good enough. It says I’m an imposter. As if, at any point, someone will rip off the mask I’m wearing and see right through me.

I feel as though some people already see through my act. And they’re too kind to say anything about it.

I’ve been writing for a long time, and I’ve written a lot of words in my life. I strive to write every day and I do.

I’m still afraid. I’m so scared. I don’t want to wonder whether or not I’m wasting my time.

Through hard work, I can improve and get better. Talent will only get you so far, after all.

One reason why the imposter syndrome has hit me especially hard as of late is my grades. My GPA.

I don’t obsess over school as much as I used to. Thankfully. My sanity is grateful. But I care a lot about doing well.

Growing up, academia was the one thing I excelled at. As a kid, I was anything but athletically gifted or artistic. But I loved reading. I learned to write well.

I’m still doing just fine in university. My standards are set way too high for my own good sometimes.

It should be enough that I’m doing my best, but imposter syndrome is rearing its ugly head again.