In the Spotlight

     When you walk into a room you might think people are looking at you, sizing you up, watching you walk, and some people might be, but not everyone. As humans we often overestimate how much others are paying attention to us. In social psychology this phenomenon is deemed the Spotlight Effect. It is fascinating how much the spotlight effect can influence a person emotionally, mentally, and socially. As a writer I think it's interesting to think about this while writing.

     As a writer you dive into your characters minds. You write from their perspectives, and that includes writing how your characters are affected by their interpretation of how other's see them, even when others aren't paying attention. For the most part your characters are people (unless you are writing science fiction or fantasy) and people tend to be egocentric, biased without always realizing it, and tend to think others think like they do. People use their own experiences to gauge how others may think and feel.
   
     If you have a character who is insecure about her weight, chances are she believes everyone at work is noticing how her belly rolls out over her jeans. Of course the spotlight effect doesn't have to always correlate with insecurities, but also with confidence and/or grandiosity. A character who spends hours doing her hair may think all the other women at the store are admiring her lovely locks. Or a character who thinks he is every woman's fantasy might believe all the ladies in the club are watching him stride to the bar for a drink.

     Here's an example on how to employ the spotlight effect in writing. It's something that should be used sparingly (a reader might get bored of reading how a characters worries that everyone is always judging her), but it can an interesting way to show character and point of view.

     Eyes were dissecting me. They stared at the mess of frizz on my head, the jagged black liner above my eyes, and winkles crimping my silk shirt. I smoothed back some of the loose curls that had fallen from my hairclip. My gaze met with a woman standing a few feet away. Did she see the circles beneath my eyes? Could she tell I only slept two hours last night, that I screamed at my husband until four am? She smiled, then looked away. Heat rose in my cheeks. I followed her stare up. The bright orange hand disappeared, replaced by the white walking man. I stepped forward with the crowd, hoping my heel didn't get caught in the cracks.

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