Writing Without Witnesses

There’s a moment in every creative life that feels especially unsettling.

This was originally supposed to be a podcast along with a follow-up blog, but I’m sick, so this is what we have. 😊 A blog, pure and simple—simple as a pimple, people.

This is something that I’ve been struggling with recently.

Here’s my morning.

Not a routine, because that would assume I’m doing something on purpose, to better myself in some small way, but apparently, that’s not how I work.

I’m plugging along, literally every day, in my office, not thirty minutes after I wake up.

Do I eat a sensible breakfast?

No.

I grab a Diet Coke, down my medication, and head to the office.

I flick on the TV (usually Murder, She Wrote) because my ADHD doesn’t permit silence. How the hell will I get anything written if my head isn’t in some way occupied elsewhere?

I’m working on a new Maple Bend cozy mystery, along with the serial vampire fiction I post every Saturday.

They are two different writing styles, so depending on what I’m writing that day, I have to get into the right mood. Usually, I write a page or two of crap first before wandering off to feed the dog and remembering to brush my teeth.

When I get back, my mind has decided that’s enough playtime, and it gets the job done. Usually, I can write one or two episodes of vampire fiction in a single sitting.

If it’s a cozy mystery day, most of my time is spent either writing chapters out of order or trying to work out who did what to whom.

I was initially working on a 1940s noir mystery as well, but the dialogue is so challenging that I’ve put it aside. I plan to resume it once the Maple Bend story is more cohesive. My idea is to write the full noir mystery as if it were 2026, then edit it to include the proper 1940s slang. This way, the story will work and flow (in theory), and the dialogue issues I’m currently facing won’t disrupt my progress.

In the middle of all this is the uneasiness that I try my best to push back into the basement of my psyche and bury it like a troublesome husband.  

That little pissant, doubt.

I’m still showing up.
I’m still doing the work.
And yet… it feels like no one is watching.

No comments.
No obvious momentum.
No clear signal that what I’m making is landing anywhere at all.

It’s in these moments that doubt gets louder—not because the work has failed, but because the silence has no shape. We’re wired to respond to feedback, and when it disappears, we start to wonder whether the work still counts.

Here’s what I’ve learned: writing without witnesses is not a flaw in the process. It is the process.

Most creative work begins in obscurity. Before there’s an audience, before there’s validation, before there’s proof that anyone else is paying attention, there’s just the work and the person willing to sit with it. That willingness is quieter than confidence, but far more durable.

Writing without witnesses forces a shift inward. Without external markers of success, you’re left asking different questions—not Is this popular? But is this honest? Not Is this working? But is this mine?

That shift can feel lonely. It can feel pointless. It can even feel embarrassing to admit you’re still trying when nothing seems to be happening. But this is often the place where writers either disappear—or deepen.

Silence strips away performance.
It removes comparison.
It leaves an intention.

And intention, when nurtured long enough, becomes voice.

I don’t believe writers stop because they fail. I think many stop because they confuse invisibility with insignificance. But the absence of witnesses doesn’t erase the value of the work. It simply means the work is happening before applause arrives.

If you’re writing right now and it feels like no one is watching, I want you to hear this:

The work still matters.
Your consistency counts.
And showing up quietly is not the same as giving up.

Some of the most important stretches of creative life happen offstage. They don’t look impressive. They don’t produce quick wins. But they build the muscle that lasts.

I’m not really into sports, but I know a lot of people are, so let’s take your favorite basketball player, football player, or even some random sport in the Olympics.

Do you really think those guys and gals just show up on game day and wow us with their expertise?

No.

They are training for months, years on end.

No one is watching but their parents or their lovers.

They do it without applause.

They do it without validation.

Writing is the same.

Writing without witnesses isn’t a sign you’re doing something wrong.
It may be a sign you’re doing something real.

Now, I have a chapter to attempt. Probably out of order.

Until next time, dip from your inkwell often,

Mira Wolfe Writes …