Oh yes, I'm the great pretender

This is something I've been trying to write about for five months. I have, in fact, started, then erased, three other attempts at this point, so let's see how far I get with this one.

Back toward the beginning of November, 2024, I attended the Horror Readers' Weekend in New York, in the hills of Bear Mountain State Park. It was a three day event, and I have to say, in the months leading up to it, I was extremely excited. It was my first appearance as a horror author both outside of Ontario and outside of Canada.

I decided to drive. It was only about eleven hours, and I don't mind driving. I got to listen to a few audiobooks on the way there and back, including the Alex Van Halen BROTHERS memoir, then DEENA UNDONE by Debra Every, then the first half of THE FISHERMAN by John Langan. On the way home, I finished off Langan's novel, then a couple of Stephen King shorter works (MORALITY and UR).

So, I was in the company of some really fun and interesting authors while in my car. And two of them—Langan and Every—were also in attendance that weekend. Along with a literal star-studded cast of others. Clay McLeod Chapman. Paul Tremblay. LC Marino. Rachel Harrison. CJ Leede...on and on and on. Amazing authors. Wonderful authors.

And over the course of the weekend, I had a lot of really amazing experiences. I sat in on a couple of panels, and I was able to even verbalize some (hopefully) intelligent thoughts. I even had bestselling author Rachel Harrison say something like, "Huh! I hadn't noticed that before" regarding a point I made about The Wizard of Oz plotting.

I also got to sit right beside John Langan, the guy who's book I was literally in the middle of listening to. I got to read a story that got some great feedback. Heck, there was even a point where I was telling someone that they should read LC Marino, because he's a great author (he really is), and I had someone I didn't know turn around, look at me and say, "So are you, Tobin." They'd read my books and loved them. You just can't put a price on stuff like that.

So...why did I fall into a weird state late on the last evening there, and end up driving the eleven hours back home with the worst case of imposter syndrome I've ever had?

It was weird.

Honestly, the Friday night (the first night) was busy, but fun. I met a bunch of people, and had some great conversations. Saturday was even better. I met more authors. I met fans. I sold books to new readers and continuing ones. I talked writing, and selling, and signings. I cracked jokes and got laughs. It was a great day.

And yet, somewhere after dinner, I just felt both exhausted and...irrelevant. Nothing had happened, no one insulted me, everyone was simply wonderful. But I can remember coming into the main common room where almost everyone was congregating. I stood there, looked at everyone talking and laughing and...I just couldn't find it in me to move into that room. I couldn't face them. I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I was the outsider, the weird guy from Canada who wrote shitty horror stories, but I wasn't anywhere near as good as anyone else in that room, that I was undeserving of the "writer" or "author" label.

I can't explain it any better than that.

But I do remember, on the Sunday morning, getting my car packed (with a ton of books, because I'd over-ordered by a factor of about ten), then pointing the car back to Canada. I fired up the second half of Langan's THE FISHERMAN (even more pleased that I now had a signed copy of the book, as well as another short story collection of his, CORPSEMOUTH) and I used the next three hours to try and literally forget the previous twelve hours or so. The audiobook did a good job of that, but when it was done, there I was, alone in my car with my thoughts. I tried plugging in a couple of Stephen King shorts that I kind of listened to, but kind of didn't.

I was deep in my own head. And what my head was telling me was, I'd been surrounded by a bunch of horror authors, all of whom were better than me. Didn't matter if they were indie authors, or trad published. They were doing better than me. They knew each other, where I didn't know anyone. They were award winners, I wasn't. They sold a ton of books, I didn't. Almost every one of them was younger than me, and further along in their writing career. And, they had better resources, being based in the US than I did here in Canada.

Yeah, it wasn't a good trip home.

I got home late Sunday evening, and the next couple of weeks just hammered all those messages home.

The worst was that I was presented with a massive bill from IngramSpark, the major printer/distributor I used to get my books out globally. Up to now, I'd been singing their praises in social media, but I got to see the dark side of them over the month of November. It's too much to go into here, but I'll do another post on it soon and link it.

Long story short, by the end of November, I was pretty much done.

I was able to regroup a bit, but December didn't do much to convince me to keep going, to keep writing. I mean, seriously, who gives a shit about some miserable old Canadian horror author in a field of thousands? Especially when I'm not writing anything that a traditional publisher would publish. Or writing the gore-soaked extreme horror that seems so damned popular now (that I'm truly not a fan of). I guess I was just questioning my place in the world.

Didn't help that a big orange asshole won the presidency and seemed to be intent on making us "the 51st state" either. Just more stress added on.

I did a quick analysis of my social media posts...the ones where I announced new releases. When I compared them against sales for the following week, it showed very clearly that people liked photos of my dog, or when I posted stupid memes, but book posts—the sole reason I was actually on social media—was doing nothing for me.

So, I quit it all. Shut it all down. No Facebook. No Instagram. No Threads. No Bluesky. No TikTok. And fuck Xwitter. I'd been off that for quite a while. I dumped it all.

And I immediately began to feel better.

I'll continue this in another blog, but that's enough for now.