When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
Is the “impostor syndrome” real? Not that I’m feeling fraudulent or anything. Not that I don’t leave a wonderful book event and remind myself that I’m a glorious piece of shit. Actually feeling like a fraud would be welcome compared to the number I do on myself. I could take a fraud vacation.
What’s your syndrome?
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Betsy Lerner 
Her voice is always in my head; ever since I was seven years old. It shouldn’t be. But, it is.
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Come on…which of us doesn’t think we’re shit and worthless more often than we would like to admit! If you didn’t think that you would go around touting the successful editor/agent/author shtick. Personally, I think it keeps you grounded and in the game striving to do better. But what do I know…I’m just an unsuccessful shit writer.
Don’t beat up on yourself too much…plenty of Assholes around you will do it for you. Take a vacation from the self-loathing shitty you
The modern Joker is The Fool in the Tarot deck. You’re all right Betsy. I have the opposite problem: what I do is real, but people assume I’m a fraud. Let’s get together and work it out. We can trade. Looking forward to reading your book in Florida very soon! (My Mom’s birthday copy is waiting for me!)
We all wear masks.
What’s my syndrome? Spelling.
That’s right, spelling.
Shamed in seventh grade because I spelled job, as “jop”, humiliation accompanied every paper I had to write from then on. My compositional acumen suffered. I felt stifled. I could speak well but when I had to write it down I failed miserably – until – spell check.
That’s right, spell check.
The freedom to finger paint my words beyond the edges of the paper, without judgments, without ancillary punishment, was freeing.
Computers and writing programs flipped my writing life from a less than worthy internal want to a self-aggrandizing (multi-published) accomplishment.
I’m so full of myself sometimes it’s a wonder my head fits through the door.
Note to reader: If you find a misspelled word. it is machine driven.
Thank you have a nice day.
If you live long enough, those syndromes disappear. They must hang out in the part of the brain that houses things like where you put your keys. In any event, that’s one good thing about senility.
Syndrome? Well, I had Guillain-Barre back in 93. Not what you mean?
Okay. I’m kinda with you on the fraud front. If I get into my head a little more, I’d say it’s also a tinge of “shitty second book syndrome.”
Guillain-Barre Syndrome is a scary, nasty, nasty illness. Glad you were strong enough to recover.
Thanks, Mike D. It is scary, nasty (x 2) stuff. Had no idea what was wrong with me. Stuff just started going numb. Feet. Hands. Tongue. Intensive care for a couple days. Grateful the other residual effects seems to be perpetual tingling (very minor) in fingers.
…only seem to be…that is. 🙂
Elephant syndrome. it’s only an elephant, right? One bite at a time. But the knife dulls, the fork bends, and I get so sick of elephant. Elephant with Tabasco, elephant with soy, siracha, mustard, tomato sauce. In the end, there is a carcass and indigestion.But I have seen the elephant, and made a long meal of him.
After many years of trying, I still haven’t figured out how to get high enough to float away. I’m too grounded, tethered and attached to completely let go.
At least your shit is glorious. Mine, not so much.
And just finished Bridge Ladies. Not a fraudulent word to be found. Loved it so much. Made me miss my mother and wonder if she was still here if we could have moved that needle a little. Made me want to get off my lazy ass and write something. Made me want to hug you.
Thank you so much. That is the most beautiful response I could hope for. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance. Glad you got off your lazy ass. Two pages a day. xo
Multivalent transphasial seed dispersal syndrome.