When the Spotlight Isn’t Yours: Going Viral by Accident (and How It Feels)

On the 13th of October, I posted a review of Macbeth at the Royal Shakespeare Company — a production that moved me deeply, starring Sam Heughan in a performance I will never see the same way again. I’d been sitting with that experience quietly for nearly a week, because it deserved that kind of reflection. Reverence. Stillness.

And then, suddenly, my blog blew up.

In the span of 72 hours, I had more than 2,500 views. As I write this, the number continues to climb. That might not sound astronomical by influencer standards, but for me — someone who’s been blogging for nearly a decade with engagement that normally tops out around a few hundred a month — it was a lot.

It was also completely disorienting.

Not because I wasn’t proud of the post; I was. And I still am. But because the explosion didn’t happen because of one of my books. Or my historical essays. Or the posts I used to write back when I blogged every week with carefully crafted features and planned-out topics.

No, this happened because I happened to write about a performance by a well-known actor. And then, because I dared to write a follow-up piece about why photographing a live theatre performance is not okay, that gained even more traction.

I went viral — not for my life’s work, but for being adjacent to someone else’s.

I Thought I’d Feel Better About It

That’s the truth of it. These are the numbers bloggers dream of. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped someday for that kind of visibility. But when it happened, I didn’t feel elated. I felt … off-kilter.

Because this kind of success is supposed to come from your work, right? Not from reflecting on someone else’s.

I don’t want this to sound ungrateful. I am deeply, deeply grateful for the people who’ve shared my posts, who’ve read with open minds, who’ve responded with compassion and insight. I’m especially grateful to Sam Heughan — for the performance that inspired all this, and for his generosity at the stage door.

But I’m also holding something heavier.

The Grief Underneath

Almost two years ago, I lost a dear friend: someone who helped shape the entire trajectory of my life. His name was Keith. I met him when I was a young reporter and he was a re-enactor and archaeologist. We were involved for a time, but more than that, we were friends for over thirty years. And he was the first person I would have called when something like this happened.

He would’ve teased me, of course. Called me famous. Laughed in that dry, knowing way of his. And then he would’ve told me how proud he was. He always supported my writing. Always believed in what I was trying to say.

His absence has been a quiet ache through all of this. One I didn’t expect to feel quite so sharply. But when your voice finally gets heard, and the person who always listened is no longer there … it lands differently.

The Ethics of Witnessing

I wrote the second blog post because I saw something troubling: audience members taking photos during the performance, despite clear announcements not to do so. I hesitated before writing it. I didn’t want to shame anyone. But I couldn’t stay silent either.

Theatre is a sacred space. It’s one of the few communal experiences left in a fractured world. When someone disregards that—for the sake of a blurry photo or a few likes—they’re not just breaking a rule. They’re stealing from the performance. From the actors. From their fellow audience members.

Sam gave us everything. Raw vulnerability, rage, grief, power. He sobbed onstage, curled around Lady Macbeth during Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow — a scene that devastated me. That changed the way I’ll see the role forever.

And some people met that moment with a shutter click.

That’s not fandom. That’s entitlement.

So What Now?

I don’t have neat answers. I just know I needed to write this … to make sense of what I’m feeling. To say that yes, I’m grateful. But also? I’m still processing. Still trying to reclaim the sacredness of an experience that got caught up in something bigger and louder than I ever expected.

If you’ve been one of the people reading, thank you.
If you’re staying, I hope you’ll explore more of my work: my fiction, my essays, the heart of what I do.

And if you’re here because you love theatre the way I do — because something in Macbeth cracked you open — then we’ve definitely got something in common.

Thanks for listening.
More soon … on my terms.