Today’s blog post comes to us from Author Accelerator certified book coach Dani Abernathy.

I have a gremlin. Her name is Imposter Syndrome. She likes to latch onto my legs and topple me to the floor, but — since she’s only 13 inches high — I just drag her around and hope no-one notices. I’d heard about Imposter Syndrome — the idea that you’re an incompetent fraud, despite successes — but I never knew it could be so clingy. But let me back up a bit.

I was first drawn to Author Accelerator as a struggling writer. When I heard Jennie Nash on the Self Publishing Show podcast, I knew I had found my writing person. She acknowledged how hard it is to hold an entire world in your head, how easy to get lost there, but then she told me about these people — book coaches — whose entire job is helping writers tell their stories. Cue binging of all things Author Accelerator.

A few months later, I realized my second attempt at a novel wasn’t working at all. “I’m never going to be able to write a book,” I thought. “Even if I start all over, I’ll just create the same problems because I don’t know how not to. I should just quit writing.”

Then I felt something scrape my calf. Yikes! What was that thing? Sickly green with broken teeth, the gremlin wound her scrawny arms round my ankles and whispered, “You think you’re an author?” Then she burst into laughter that lasted a full minute. Desperate, I waddled to my laptop and emailed a plea to Ashly Hilst, one of Author Accelerator’s certified book coaches. She came to my rescue.

In eight weeks of Ashly’s coaching, she helped me banish that gremlin while revealing the secrets of the book universe. Narrative drive! Character arcs! An inevitable but surprising ending! Those terms finally made sense and my story finally worked. It was then that I knew: I wanted to be a book coach and help other writers conquer their own mythical monsters. (I’ll give you one guess which genre I write.)

Fast forward a few months to mid-February.

I’d powered through the Book Coach Certification course, knocking out lessons left and right, fueled by the momentum of deadlines, a progress bar, the book-coach-in-training community, and all my hopes and dreams. When I finished the last lesson, I was triumphant. I did it! I was so close to achieving my dream! I felt awesome.

For about five minutes.

On minute six, however, all the energy drained from my body. Maybe I should just lie on the couch and watch Netflix for a few days, a week, maybe seven months? I didn’t need to finish my practicums and submit them to Author Accelerator for review. No need to become officially certified, launch a website, and see if anyone would pay me money to coach them.

I tried to nap. I wallowed. I ate three of my kids’ ice cream sandwiches. Something snickered at my feet. Imposter Syndrome!

“What a loser,” she said in her nasal drawl (she’s a Texan gremlin, after all). “You’ve always been such a loser.” And she was right. I should just give up

Yet my thoughts kept drifting to book coaching, and all I’d learned, and how satisfying it would be to help writers achieve their bookish dreams.

What if my gremlin was wrong? What if Imposter Syndrome was nothing but a figment of my imagination?

So one afternoon, while she listed my top 53 flaws, I pulled out my phone all sneaky-like and got started on my practicums.

Once, I got fed up and yelled all the reasons she was wrong about me. And guess what? She stopped talking for three glorious minutes. Here’s how I’ve learned to respond to the things Imposter Syndrome tries her hardest to get me to believe:

1. I can only be a book coach if I have an MFA in Creative Writing and have worked in publishing for a decade.

Imposter Syndrome loves to remind me that I don’t have any of these credentials. But while I may not have an impressive degree or career, I do have the skills necessary to be a good coach. I’m an avid reader of the genre I plan to coach (fantasy, in case that wasn’t clear). I can manage large projects and have a mind for both details and the big picture. I can walk with someone through the dark places of the creative process. Plus, since I’ve completed the Book Coach Certification course — which, from what I understand, is much more effective than an MFA program in teaching how to write — I can see the building blocks of a good story. My ability to coach does not depend on my degrees or career experience.

2. If I don’t have a best-selling book, I can’t possibly help someone else create one.

“One two three four,” Imposter Syndrome singsongs while I try to sleep. “Whose writing is such a bore? Yours, Dani. It’s yours.” So maybe my writing isn’t perfect yet, but I’ve learned that those who must struggle with story are better able to help others find their way. Innate story geniuses often can’t explain narrative concepts to others; it’s been too easy for them. I, on the other hand, have struggled, am still struggling, through plot and character and prose to extract a story from my being and put it on paper. I can empathize with writers who want to quit. I remember what it’s like to feel lost and suddenly find a map. I know what I wish someone had told me two and half years ago when I decided to write my first book. I mean, the best athletic coaches often haven’t won Olympic medals or Super Bowl rings. Coaching requires a different set of skills from performing the act itself. I can be a good coach without being a successful author (or any kind of author at all).

3. My success as a book coach depends on the state of my clients.

In one week of coaching, one client disregarded my feedback — they wanted copy editing but I focus on developmental issues — a second missed our call, and my third client (I only had three) was having a writing crisis. “She’s going to quit.” Imposter Syndrome belched into my toes. “She’s going to quit and it will be all your fault.” I worried she was right. But then, that first client started incorporating my feedback, I improved my processes to avoid future missed meetings, and my third client had a story breakthrough so beautiful I got chills. Imposter Syndrome threw a tantrum under my desk.

I have no magic wand that guarantees my clients will find an agent, publish the next Harry Potter, or ever make a dollar from their writing. If I base my success on one day or week or person, I’ll lose sight of the larger, more accurate picture of my clients’ success: their growth, improvement, and satisfaction in telling a good story. So long as I’m doing my part to ensure those things, I can feel good about my business.

4. I can only be an effective book coach if I know everything there is to know about writing.

I’ve always wanted to do things right the first time. As a five-year-old, I walked out of my first dance lesson because I didn’t know the steps. (Wait, was that a tiny gremlin clinging to my ankle?) I want to know all the things beforehand so I can pack my bag with everything I might possibly need, come sun, rain, snow, or gremlin.

As a book coach and writer, I have to challenge my perfectionism. I want obstacles and challenges to make me stronger, not hopelessly give up. I even made “growth mindset” one of my coaching values. For myself and my clients, I want to remember that it’s okay not to know everything at the beginning, or even 26 months into a draft. I can help people write books even if I don’t know every concept, nuance, and method.

5. Fear means I should stop.

I let fear stop me all the time. It stops me from going to social events. (What if I’m the only one with a gremlin on her leg?) It stops me from trying new things. (I’m not strong enough to rock climb with this mouthy attachment.) But I don’t want it to stop me from becoming a book coach. Because writing matters to me. Helping other writers matters to me. Writing and coaching connect me more fully with myself, which makes me a better person and a better parent to my daughters. So I’m learning once again that when I feel fear so strong I think it’s apathy, I need to press on, even as my gremlin kicks, and screams, and digs her claws into my ankles. I can’t let Imposter Syndrome overpower my dreams.

I submitted my portfolio last week. Soon, I’ll find out whether I’ve earned certification as an Author Accelerator Book Coach.

“You haven’t,” Imposter Syndrome says, lounging between my feet. “You’re going to have to start all over again because you know nothing and no one will ever want to work with you. You should stop now before you’re humiliated.”

“You might be right,” I say, “but I think I’ll keep trying anyway. Do you want to take a little nap?”

“Wake me in ten minutes.”

So I drape a hand towel over my gremlin, pull out my laptop, and get to work revising my website copy. As for Imposter Syndrome, I’ll let her sleep.

UPDATE: Dani became an Author Accelerator certified book coach in May 2020. Check out her website: daniabernathy.com.