Imposter Syndrome

And why it’s larger then a jet engine fire warning bell

1. this entire thing is freaking me out.

The idea that someone would want to read my book is absurd. I always imagined finishing it, holding it, maybe seeing it in print — But never the part where people actually read it. I assumed that if anyone bought it, it would be out of pity.

An emotional support purchase, like Girl Scout cookies from a co-worker’s six-year-old. But people aren’t just buying it—they are reading it; they’re using their hard-earned money on my story.

My brain immediately whispers: What if I’m not worth what they paid? What if they’re getting ripped off? What if I’m a fraud?

It takes everything in me not to give copies away for free.

Some days, I want to pay people to read it.

2. The signature spiral

My handwriting is atrocious — thank you, dyslexia — and the first time someone asked me to sign their book, I genuinely said:

“Why? …It’s just me.”

They looked at me like I’d forgotten how authors work. So Colby helped me develop a signature — part scribble, part artwork: Curved S → T tucked into the S → ACY in cursive → finishing in a dramatic loop with an arrow like a paper airplane.

When I nail it, it’s kind of brilliant.

When I don’t, it looks like turbulence panicked across the page. It is — in every way — me; shaky, messy, but still airborne.

3. The Publishing Industry — The Floor Is Lava

When I began writing, and right up until the final period,

I was convinced I’d have no trouble getting a literary agent.

I truly believed: “I wrote a book. Someone will want it.”

Sweet, naïve, un-jaded Stacy.

Trying to get a literary agent is like hopscotching across pools of lava while juggling knives, blindfolded - and smiling politely.

You must query. And query well. Write a friendly greeting. Add something personable. Summarize your 80,000-word novel in two sentences (because apparently lunch, love stories, and plane crashes should all fit neatly into one breath.)

Include market comps from the last 1–2 years. Predict who will buy your book and why — with business-level certainty. I don’t have an MBA. I have a jumpseat. Oh, and you need to have a social media following of at least 1 million (well, not that many, but a lot).

4. The Agent Who Almost Said Yes

And then it happened - I found him — the agent whose wish list matched my book perfectly: every bullet point, every requirement. I checked every single box.

His reply began:

“You have everything I’m looking for in a book…”

My heart stalled mid-beat.

This was it — the YES.

Then the next line:

“…but I'm going to have to pass.”

No reason.

No feedback.

Just — pass.

It felt like being handed a boarding pass to Paris and having it ripped in half at the gate.

That was the moment something snapped - or maybe ignited?

5. Why I Self-Published

I decided I didn’t want to spend years begging for permission to exist, so I self-published, and yes — it was faster, but it is also isolating.

There is no team behind me.
No marketing department.
No publicity machine.

It’s just me — and my husband — pushing this book out into the world.

There have been some serious problems, like Amazon selling out since Halloween, causing waiting lists, and probably people moving on.

So I suggest people buy my ebook, it’s way cheaper. But people are saying they like to hold the book in their hand…who knew?

All the marketing is me. I thought the self-publishing company would help me market my book. That was one of the biggest reasons I chose that company. They didn’t even tell me when the book went on sale. My book was on sale for days with no marketing!

Self-publishing gave me freedom, but it also handed me the entire weight of the work. I thought I was buying publishing expertise, but what I really bought was independence, and independence is loud, exhausting, and lonely.

Final Thoughts

Imposter Syndrome: Seat 12A

So yes — people are reading my book.
They’re even asking for signatures.
And I smile while my brain hisses:

Are you sure you meant my book?

But here’s the truth:

I wrote it.
I finished it.
I put it into the world with no safety net — no gatekeepers — no backing.
And maybe that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

If you’re here reading this?
Thank you.
You make me believe — slowly, nervously, tenderly — that I might belong in this cockpit after all.

Thanks for flying with me — turbulence and all.