Is anyone watching?

So I have these weeks….


Right. Don’t we all? Where we can talk about what we’re doing, or we can do it, but there isn’t time for both? Or is that just a matter of organization or getting too-easily distracted??

What's even worse is that was the beginning of YESTERDAY'S post. Sheesh. You'd think I didn't like to talk, or write, or something.

I do, of course. Both. So when I got home last night, it was all about the priorities--writing, editing, proofreading. New proofreading project (big one) due Monday, edits for a novella due back to the editor ASAP because it's the final round and now we can go to galleys, and the book-of-my-heart project (two sequels and a three-novel story arc already taking shape in my head).

And then this morning, rushing around because I'd let my brain get wired up and couldn't fall asleep and so overslept, I remembered: people are watching me.

No, not in a paranoid sense. Please, if you have paranoiac tendencies--even if they are really after you--what I have to say is all good, I promise! But over the last few weeks I've caught myself many times grumbling along the lines of 'no one even notices what I do.' Which of course isn't true, but it was true enough for me that I was bitching about it. (Note to those of you who know, love, and are laughing at me: I do try not to bitch about things that aren't real.)

Then, quietly, snuck in when I wasn't expecting it, I started getting 'good job' nods from people who had some say over the work I was doing. An editor double checking the novella for a second pair of eyes loved it. The proofreading coordinator I was freelancing for told me. My boss told me. But yesterday was the kicker: people I didn't even know should be paying attention told me. Not in words, but in actions. In a meeting yesterday, we got a look at website stats for December--hundreds of people were hitting the blog I post for work. People I didn't know were paying attention were paying attention.

Granted, that's a nice ego boost (since they weren't leaving nasty comments), but it was also the reminder I needed: do what you need to do, and trust that it's seen where it needs to be seen. Whether it's an act of ego or service (with writing books, that line gets blurred, especially since I tend to loosely define service as "that thing you must do for yourself whether anyone likes it or not, but it's best if it helps other people"; in other words: what you are here for), someone, somewhere, is going to be touched by what we do. A test of your own truth, I think, is whether you'd change what you were doing based on what you know about who's watching. If you wouldn't--if you are pouring yourself into it (and adjusting where need be--want a reminder it's not all about you? Sit through a round of book edits!), regardless of who's watching: that's the truth. That's where you should be. It may not negate the need for an audience on a practical level (if your truth is teaching, you must have someone to teach--but the deeper truth is how/why), but it's done REGARDLESS of the audience.

Doesn't really matter whether we know about it or not.