Fighting the Jerkass Doubtmonster: A Short Fable on Writer-Insecurity

Once upon a time there was a writer who was reasonably confident in her abilities and artistic POV. However, from time to time–usually when she’d wandered too far into the Forest of Twitter or the Perilous Corn Maze of Goodreads–she would receive a midnight visit from the JERKASS DOUBTMONSTER.

The JERKASS DOUBTMONSTER lived in a trash hole and feasted upon writerly insecurities. To generate his sustenance, he hopped into the ears of authors and howled custom-tailored proclamations:

Too many times, the writer listened dutifully to these pronouncements, as if the Jerkass Doubtmonster was the world’s foremost authority on literature and not a raging pear with unlimited access to a cheesy horror-film font. Then one day she got wise and fought back. After a particularly satisfying workout during which she shadowboxed to P!nk’s “Try” video and actually broke a sweat, she looked the monster straight in its rheumy, jerktastic eyes and said:

And the Jerkass Doubtmonster, who was by now very small and really almost cute with his teeny useless stomping feet, piped up:

And the writer, who was sometimes clever when she stopped worrying so hard, said:

Have you had a close encounter with the JERKASS DOUBTMONSTER lately? What do you do to tame/bribe/demolish him?