A Rebel's History of Mars, or how I overcame my imposter syndrome

Several weeks before A Rebel's History of Mars came out, I was in a panic. 

I'd turned in my final copy edits to my editor, after several stages of review that are very typical in publishing and no different than the process for my Cosmic trilogy (The Sentient, The Emergent and The Transcendent). But this time felt different. I'd read my dual timeline story, about a Martian aerialist and a time-traveling space historian separated by centuries, more times than I could count. And in that process, I began to see beyond the word tweaks and excessive use of the em-dash and started conjuring bigger problems. Potential plot holes or far-too-convenient twists in the narrative. Areas with too much detail, and others without enough. Characters operating a little out of character because the narrative demanded it. 

And in the process, I was gripped with the worst case of imposter syndrome in my career. My harshest inner voice taunted me as I struggled to wind down each night.

"You're a hack."

"It's terrible, and everyone will hate it."

"You can't write and you never could."

"This novel's going to expose you for what you've always been... a fraud."

Talk to any author, at any stage in their career, and they'll tell you about imposter syndrome. I'm not special or unique in having my dark moment of the soul, that sense of everything crashing around you. But it struck me at a time of very personal transition, when I needed to be grounded in the belief that yes, I can do this writing thing and that I should do this. My day job as a federal worker has been rocked with turbulence over the last year. I've thrown myself into political organizing, learning new skills and forcing myself out of my comfort zone in my desperation to help build a better world. I've been watching the genocide in Gaza unfold with horror and guilt - that I, a diaspora Palestinian safe from bombs and starvation, wasn't doing more and wallowing in my own insecurities while entire families were wiped from the record. Through all of this, writing was supposed to be my anchor. The thing I would keep doing until my body gave out, whether my work continued to be published or not. 

I stewed in my imposter syndrome, keeping a positive face for all the friends, family and readers who asked me the usual questions about my upcoming book. Was it set in the same universe as The Sentient? (No) Was it a standalone? (It's a duology, and the sequel is coming). And how do you keep writing with everything else you do? (I don't know - I find the time because I have to)

I finally confided in my husband, who had read an earlier version of A Rebel's History of Mars years ago. I picked apart all the reasons it was terrible garbage that would make me a laughingstock. He listened with his usual, gentle patience, never dismissing my anxieties or shutting me down. And then, in his unique way, he challenged my assumptions and offered his usual, measured perspective. Is it possible, he said, that you're searching for problems that aren't actually there? Details that no one else would see or care about? That even if it isn't perfect, people will enjoy it?

Finally, I did what every author has to do - surrender. Celebrate your hard work, and the work of your publishing team who believed in the novel, and release your book into the wild court of public opinion. To let the reviews come in and accept them for what they are - not an indictment of you, but a tool for readers to find their next escape.  To accept that no work or art makes everyone happy, nor should it. That it's better to write something that inspires strong reactions than earn a lukewarm thumbs up from all. 

And then I got a positive review from Publisher's Weekly. Not a starred review, but praise for the fast-paced adventure and big ideas. Other reviews came in, also very positive. And some less positive - people who found the science too implausible or the dual timeline too jarring. 

And that was ok. It was the same thing that accompanied my last three books. There are readers who will put the book down with a sigh, because it wasn't for them. And others who will come away moved and excited, strangers who will send you emails or post reviews on social media describing how it affected them, how it made them think or allowed them to disappear into another world for a few hours. And with each of those responses, the inner imposter syndrome monster faded into the background, subdued but vowing to return another day. 

If you also write, don't let that inner voice consume you. Listen to yourself as you self edit, unleash your inner critic when you need to make your story the best it can be. Use that inner critic to sharpen your skills and be a better writer. By all means, don't assume you're a misunderstood genius when your critique partners and editors tell you something isn't working from them.

But don't let those deeper doubts stop you from doing what you love. Know that it's because you care so deeply about what you're doing that you question whether you're worthy of doing it. That imposter syndrome monster is trying to protect you from the fear of failure. But writing is a long, winding road in which failure, or at least mistakes, are inevitable. It should never stop you from getting up and trying again. 

A Rebel's History of Mars is available through Simon and Schuster, and where books are sold: ​https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/A-Rebels-History-of-Mars/Nadia-Afifi/9781787589452  

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