* * *
Kate
I lookedat the signed contract in front of me.
I thought I’d feel different. I thought the niggling doubt that I wasn’t a real writer would magically dissolve away. Yet another way I built up my expectations.
“It’s a very good standard first book offer,” my mom said over the phone.
Turned out the leaked photos and coverage could help me get a literary agent. Maybe that was why the contract didn’t make me feel better. It still didn’t feel likeIhad done anything to deserve it.
“Good,” I said. “You think I should sign it?”
“That’s up to you. Not my industry, but it sounds like a good offer,” she said in a tone I knew all too well. Thousands of hours of business calls as I listened nearby. “Especially on a first book.”
“Okay,” I said.
I don’t know what I thought. Had I expected her to jump up and down in excitement?
“Kate. You don’t seem pleased.”
“No, it’s not that. Gosh, I’m so grateful. And thanks for having your lawyer look it over too. She matches my agent’s sentiments. I have wanted this for so long. I guess, I don’t know … I hoped it would feel different. LikeI’dfeel complete now.”
I regretted opening up to my mother—I almost always did. Here was when she told me that’s what I got for building castles out of nothing and romanticizing the future.
“Let me ask: do you feel like you don’t deserve it? Like it will be taken away any second?” she asked.
I gaped. I pulled the phone away from my ear to make sure it was still her.
“Uh. Yes. It’s like I lucked out. Like I only got the agent because of this burst of fame,” I said.
“And the publisher who offered, they only read your book and made an offer for that same reason?” she asked.
“Maybe? I don’t know.” I pinched the area between my glasses.
“From a business standpoint, a publisher would not risk their investment on a flash of fame. The writing needs to be strong too.”
“Okay?”
“I’m saying that your writing must have been good for you to get an offer. Not just the trending hashtag,” she said simply.
“Oh.” Was she complimenting me?
“But that feeling that it will all be taken away, that you are faking it, and somebody will notice any minute? That’s normal. It’s called imposter syndrome.”
“I have heard of that. I didn’t—” Other people may have it, but those people deserved what they had, not like me …oh. Understanding settled over me.
“We all experience that,” she said.
I snorted. “Except you.”
“Yes. I do too,” she said plainly. Factually. Like she hadn’t just completely shocked me.
“You—Youfeel that way?”
“Of course. I’m surrounded by rich white guys rolling around in billionaire dollars,” she said. “I’m convinced ninety percent of my job is just pretending I have any fucking clue what I’m doing.”
“Whoa. Really? Mom, you’re blowing my mind a little right now.”
