Thinkingdog Publishing

Let me tell you a little secret. One that I, like most writers I know, don’t say out loud unless coaxed with chocolate or caffeine or the promise of a free tote bag. Ready? I regularly think I’m a fraud. Yep. Impostor syndrome is basically my sidekick. My unwanted sidekick. Like a clingy ex who keeps showing up at book signings whispering, “You don’t belong here.” You see, writing is deeply personal . We’re not assembling IKEA furniture (though honestly, my last attempt at a bookshelf made me feel equally unqualified). When you write, you’re pulling thoughts from your soul, arranging them into fragile sentences, and then sending them out into the big bad world hoping someone doesn’t say, “Well, that’s garbage.” There’s no magical scroll that arrives by owl post declaring: “Congratulations, you are now officially a Writer™.” No license, no laminated badge, not even a quirky business card. If you’re waiting for someone to officially knight you with a pen and say, “Arise, Word Wa...