Even with four books published and two more on the way, Lauren Keenan doesn't always feel like a "real" writer. But, she's learned to turn down the negative voices in her head and keep on going.
I’m regularly asked to sign books I’ve written. All too frequently, as soon as the pen is in my hands, a little voice in my head appears and whispers the exact same thing. I'm ruining the book. Or, this doozy: it will be so awkward when I see signed copies in the bargain bin.
Why do I do this to myself – tinge an otherwise pleasant event with self doubt? I mean, it’s just my name, right? Not some sort of blood oath that will contractually oblige me to forgo cheese for the rest of my mortal days. So why does this happen? That dastardly dork called imposter syndrome, which likes to remind me I’m not a real writer. This was why I wrote in semi-secret for so many years. Not because I was writing anything debauched or nasty, but because, at some point, I decided I wasn’t actually a writer. I was just someone with a little hobby.
Imposter syndrome might be familiar to you: that voice that undermines your confidence by telling you you’re pretending to be something you’re not, when everyone else is the real deal. This voice is more likely to appear if you’re a person doing something you never expected to do or achieve. And it’s not very nice, this voice. If it were an actual person rather than your own psyche, you’d report them for bullying – or take out a retraining order. Of course, imposter syndrome doesn’t plague everyone – some people live their lives assuming every room they enter is better for it. And, sometimes, imposter syndrome is perfectly legitimate. I could attempt the world record for most backward somersault burpees completed in 30 seconds. However, no amount of positive self-talk would make my total any higher than zero.
But the irrational voice of imposter syndrome is real for so many of us – and in time, you begin to listen, until you convince yourself you’re a giant fraud, mere moments away from having your cover blown. And, in my case, convincing myself I’m not actually a writer, even when I have four published books and two more on the way. But they don’t count, I sometimes think. I am the authorly equivalent of Groucho Marx in a fake nose/moustache/glasses combo, such is the transparency of my disguise.
So why does this happen?
I’ve always loved to read and write. Ever since my writing debut at eight – a story about monkeys escaping the zoo – I’ve played with words. But it never ever occurred to me that I could actually be a writer. As a teenager, in my mind, writers were shiny creatives who read "clever" books, whereas I was someone who just tinkered with ideas in between binge-reading the Sweet Valley series, the Baby Sitters Club, Bryce Courtney, Maeve Binchy, and John Grisham. But the twitch to write continued.
At university, I started writing my first books – a parody of Pride and Prejudice, as well as another novel – while hanging out with wannabe writers. In the pecking order of artists, I was at the bottom – the plebian who didn’t understand real writing, and read "genre", as if that were a bad thing. Their work was art, whereas my stuff was "cute". And these folks were all so cynical and cool. They would only listen to music no-one had ever heard of because, if ‘the masses liked a thing, it must be inherently bad – the exception being Britney Spears, which would get played ironically. We would swap work and give feedback, but when it came to me, there was nothing constructive in the criticism. "You write the sort of thing that will only sell in supermarkets," one woman said. "And you need to write in present tense, now. It’s the only tense to use. Didn’t you know?" I didn’t know, felt stink, and didn’t show anyone else my writing for years.
My difficulty in sharing my work continued, as well as talking about my writing in any detail for fear of sounding like a pretentious knobber. I published my Pride and Prejudice parody online under a fake name, having only shown it to my husband and best friend. When I finally got published in the traditional sense, in 2015, it was a short story about a man struggling to find a job, written when I was made redundant from a job I’d loved. Apart from my husband, none of my friends or family knew it existed until it was in print, as I had been far too shy to share. And my first published book hadn’t been read by another soul when I quietly sent it off to a major publisher’s slush pile. Sharing my work felt too personal, too visceral. Writing always contains a truth, regardless of whether it is "literature’" or "genre". So there's a real vulnerability in sharing your words. I didn’t want to hear what others might think. Perhaps I had the tense all wrong again, or my truth would be described as "cute". Or, even worse – the voices of those around me might also echo the imposter syndrome voice of doom in my mind.
I thought studying writing might give me more confidence, so for a sliver of time I considered one of New Zealand’s excellent Master of Creative Writing programmes, which produce many of the country’s best writers. But I couldn’t afford it. So, instead, I just kept doing what I’d always done: read books and played with words. I read hundreds of books, which included many of the "classics" and Booker Prize winners, every single Lee Child, and the full spectrum of books in between. In time, I did some online writing courses, and had a couple of manuscripts professionally assessed. I studied books about writing, and thought about why I liked or hated the books I was reading. But, in my mind, I was never a writer, even then – of course not. I was still someone with a hobby I felt awkward talking about, because dreams are personal, and I didn’t have a roadmap to turning any of this into reality.
In time, I got lucky: an opportunity to be part of the Māori Literature Trust’s Te Papa Tupu writing programme, then had a manuscript picked from a publisher’s slush pile. This led to opportunities to write more books. But the feeling of being an imposter remained, because we are all the culmination of our journeys, and self-doubt has an annoying habit of sticking around. And – having never formally studied writing or been part of the book world in any way – I felt like I’d snuck in the back door. Perhaps this is why I still, even now, don’t feel like a real writer.
One day, a fear came to pass – I saw my first book in a bargain bin, and inside that book was my signature. But, instead of feeling sad or ashamed, it made me laugh. Seeing that book in the bin didn’t remind me of what I’m not: I am not a person who has formally studied writing, or one of those rare writers whose books remain on sale for longer than a couple of years. I am not someone who writes novels in present tense, or produces weighty tomes or books with a Hobbesian view of the human condition. Instead, seeing that book reminded me of what I am – someone who has achieved a dream and published some books.
And I might not have formally studied writing, but I did study history, and it is that which informs my books. I am someone with a hobby that got out of control, which is freeing, because hobbies are fun – they are not, by definition, work. And while writing remains fun, I will keep doing what I have always done: read books and play with words. Because that’s the best way to beat imposter syndrome – instead of looking at what you are not, remind yourself what you are. You are not someone is only one Groucho Marx glasses-nose-mustache-disguise away from being exposed. You are someone who is here, now, in this situation for a particular reason. And I am someone whose very first book was in the bargain bin, which was kind of neat when you think about it, because that means I had a book published in the first place – a book that someone asked me to sign. I am someone who learned from that experience, and modified how I approached writing, which has made the later ones better.
And I am also a person who will never manage to do a backward somersault burpee, let alone nine in 30 seconds. No matter how much I might like the idea of beating that world record.
Lauren Keenan’s next book Toitū Te Whenua, (published by Penguin), a guide to some significant places and people of the New Zealand Wars from a Māori perspective, will be available in early March. She’s also writing a work of historical fiction, to be published in 2026.
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