The thing about impostor syndrome — that perennial feeling of never being “good enough” — is that it doesn’t just manifest when around other people, like at a writing convention, but in other, more pernicious ways.

In my own personal experience, even though I’ve published more than sixty stories in pro markets, including novelettes, novellas, and novels, and even though I’ve had multiple award nominations, I still feel that I’m not accomplished, that I’m not writing enough, even though I write for 2-4 hours every weekday morning.

My friend always reminds me that I’m extremely prolific, but I feel like I write at a snail’s pace. I recently had a stressful life situation compounded with some health issues (resolving, fingers crossed) that prevented me from writing consistently for nine months. I squeezed in some novel edits and a short story in that time, but for me this was an extremely low output period. Now I’m back up to about 500 words per day, but I still feel like a tortoise, walking across the desert (it’s back baking in the hot sun…)

But in the famous parable of the tortoise and the hare, the tortoise wins the race, not because of speed, but because of persistence. And though I’m hesitant to use a game or race metaphor for writing, there is one sure way we can lose. And that is to stop writing. Sure, you’re competing with thousands of other authors when you send your manuscript off to a publisher (even if you self-publish, you’re competing with millions of other books). But your real opponent is always yourself, the voice that says, “Not now, maybe later.” Or the jerk that says, “Pshaw, you only wrote 100 words today? Best-Selling Author famously writes 19 books a year. You are pathetic.”

A fish in water doesn’t know it’s in water. Mark Fisher, the late philosopher, came up with the notion of Capitalist Realism, the idea that you can be so immersed in Capitalism itself that you cannot even envision another possible reality. The Algorithm demands content, be it TikTok reels, or Instagram memes, or Amazon books churned out by the terabyte, because the profit economy demands it. And so this is why we are now seeing scammers who call themselves “artists” typing a prompt into theft-engines — that is, AI — which then spit out something resembling a picture or a piece of writing, if that thing was generated by a soulless zombie. Uncanny valley indeed. Can you envision a reality where you don’t have to constantly feed the Algorithm with “content” ? Where you make art at the pace it needs to be made, tortoise pace or otherwise? If not, why? Who or what is telling you otherwise?

You see, the Algorithm doesn’t want or even need good art. The Algorithm wants content, and this can be anything from an elucidation of The Three Musketeers to ASMR videos of someone cutting through blocks of colored sand. I’m not saying one kind of video is more valuable than the other. There’s a time and place for both. But you’re never going to write Moby Dick if you’re always trying to please the Algorithm, if you’re always trying to produce “content.” The type of deep work needed to create something profound requires you to step back from the ubiquitous noise of the internet and social media into a realm of reflection and quiet.

The impostor syndrome feeling of not producing enough has been not-so-subtly engineered in you by the Algorithm that rewards engagement over reflection, action over contemplation, immediate gratification over long-term satisfaction.

The production of good art takes time and persistence. Be kind to yourself, and don’t ever let the Algorithm decide who you are and what you create.

If you like these posts, please consider supporting me by buying my books:

The Rainseekers - “This story reminds me why I read science fiction.” –Sarah Pinsker

Space Trucker Jess - “A page-turning adventure set in an inventive universe” –Publishers Weekly

Histories Within Us - “A dazzling collection” –A.C. Wise

Dispatches from the Outer Deep - A Guide to Writing, Editing, Submitting, and Publishing Long and Short Fiction.

More at www.matthewkressel.net.