When I was fifteen I wrote a story titled My Family Is A Fire Hazard and to this day it remains my writing masterpiece. It was, as my teacher announced in front of the class “a stunning piece of comic writing”.

I left that classroom feeling elated, utterly convinced that I was destined to become a writer.  The first year went by post-school, then the second, by the fourth year I’d completely lost my writing mojo and I was joined by a companion, my Fraud Voice.

My Fraud Voice is extremely opinionated, likes to butt into intelligent conversation and feels particularly comfortable sharing her encouragement when I’m writing. 

Some of her favorites include “Is this actually your best attempt?” , “How did you convince so many people you had a skill for this?”, “You’d be better off quitting now, moving to Nimbin and starting a small business selling tie-dyed underwear”.

My Fraud Voice is of the opinion that this has all been a lie extraordinaire and that somehow I’ve been able to convince the people in my life and also myself that I’m a writer. 

On the first day of atyp’s Fresh Ink National Studio, Fraud Voice made her entrance into my subconscious right on cue to the tune of ‘You’re So Vain’ by Carly Simon.
She was loud, she was obnoxious and she had something to say… “You’re a fraud!” she screamed over and over on the four hour bus ride from Sydney to the pristine Riversdale, “You’re a fraud and they’re all going to find out when you have to show them your attempts at writing”. Oh my god, she’s right. What am I doing?!

I calculated that by the time we got to Riversdale there was no escape. My research on the property had informed me that it was precisely… in the middle of… nowhere. I considered forcing the bus driver to pull over, hopping off and running at a speed that would challenge Usain Bolt back to Sydney.

It was in the last 15 minutes of the drive that I gave up and decided to stick it out. What was the worst these writers could do to me when they discovered I’d gate crashed their week?… Kill me and feed me to Wombats? I don’t think so, that seems highly unnecessary. I imagine they have a special place for frauds like me. They’ll lock me up until the week is over and then they’ll kindly take me back to Sydney, wipe their hands clean of me and go on their merry creative ways. 

I could handle that, it doesn’t sound too bad and at the very least I can spend the rest of the week contemplating my business plan and what colors look best in tie-dye patterns together.  Day One was packed full of new faces and new voices. My Fraud Voice accompanied me to most activities, keeping her cool, but ever present.

It was on Day Two that something extraordinary happened.

Tom (Mesker) was in my workshop group and he had from the get-go seemed pretty impressive to me. He was reading out the first draft of his monologue. During his reading, my Fraud Voice had come for a frantic visit yelling obscenities at me about how talented Tom was and that only in my wildest dreams could I create something half as beautiful as what I was hearing. When Tom was done I considered running like Forest Gump far enough away that they’d never find me.

Instead we started walking back towards the common area together.

It was at this this point that Tom mentioned something that took me by complete surprise… the presence of a voice inside his head, the presence of a ‘fraud voice’.

The conversation that followed between Tom and I went something like this “You too? I do! Seriously?! I can’t believe it’s not just me!”

I suppose this is what often gets coined ‘a moment of clarity’.

Over the next couple of days it became apparent that it wasn’t just Tom and me that were shadowed by the fraud voice.

Other people, some of the most incredible young writers I’ve ever met had a similar buddy.
This discovery was comforting. I had found my flock.

The week went on and I gave away any hysterical ideas of escape, and enjoyed the ridiculously spectacular Riversdale property and even more spectacular than the physical surrounds, the beautiful people I was lucky enough to be sharing the space with.

How do I describe the feeling of being surrounded by talented people who share your passions, your joys, your dreams and in some cases your fears in a place of untouched beauty with a week to do nothing but create?   As a writer I’m confident that the only word that feels fitting would be, bliss.

The days passed and I began to create my monologue. I had time to get to know well the character in my piece, a young girl with big dreams. But it wasn’t just my character that I got to know well but 20 young writers who also had big dreams.
It was the fifth day of National Studio when I noticed something had failed to show up over the last 24 hours.

My Fraud Voice was gone, completely gone, and in her place a simple, solid belief: I am a writer.

It would be a total lie if I didn’t admit that since returning to the real world my Fraud Voice has crept back at times.
On a Saturday morning whilst trying to finish this blog post even.

But I can say that her confidence is somewhat decimated. 

She’s not as loud and proud as she used to be and she’s stopped advising me to close my word doc and Google ‘tie-dying techniques’.

I’m relieved she’s not completely gone. She’s a brilliant reminder of one of the best weeks of my life and that fear and doubt are always there to be challenged.