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The post talked about "distinguished authors" in the community and my first thought was, "how does one get to be a distinguished author in the community?" Then, "Who decides which authors are distinguished and which are not?" And finally, "What are the criteria?"
Ultimately, the answers to these questions are irrelevant. I never sat down to write a book with the intent of becoming a distinguished author. I wrote my books to share knowledge in a way I wished had been available when I first came to the community.
One of my books was once nominated for an award, but I would be willing to bet not one person currently curating the "distinguished authors" in the community was aware of the book or me...possibly not even the award.
Knowing this about myself and my books, led me toward another path of thought. I am, for all intents and purposes, invisible in this community. No matter what I've done, what causes I've supported with time or money, what books I've written, classes I've presented, clubs I've owned, events I've put on, there has always been someone who took credit or a dizzying sense of non-entity as people have looked though and past me. I think this can best be illustrated by a simple incident which occurred several years ago.
I released Separating Fact from Fiction in 2007. It is a book about my realities of consensual slavery in the 21st century. A book club was reading the book and invited me to come to one of their meetings to engage in the discussion as the author. When I arrived, someone I had known for several years asked me why I was there. They had no idea that Shannon Reilly (both my pen name and the first legal name I have ever had--adopted and this was my name prior to the adoption) was me.
I was invisible. I was a ghost. People who see me now only remember my partner as the owner of the Cell Block. They don't even remember me being there as anything more than a quiet shadow who made whips. No one remembers NCEdge, though it was the first edge-play only weekend event in the south and was held in my club for two years. If they do remember it, they remember my business partner again or his other former girl as the face. Not me...not the one behind the scenes making bologna sandwiches for a hundred people the first year because before we changed venues, we included meals as part of the weekend package.
I ranted about this last year at the MsC to my friends. I watch others being held up as pillars of the community knowing that despite having known those same "pillars" for years, few even know my name.
It isn't that I want awards or statues that will collect dust, or even to be included in the mutual masturbation society that many of the events seems to cater to. I want to be seen...known...remembered. I think that's a very human desire. Add to that desire the fact that I don't want to have to scream it from the rooftops that I'm awesome, and I remain invisible.
Last year at the MsC, Laura mentioned that she had never spoken to her Daddy or family about her desire to earn leather and so she hadn't--until she voiced her desire. I suppose I am guilty of the same thing. I thought my participation in the Leather Community and observation of the traditions of our community spoke loudly enough to my own desire to see my accomplishments recognized by family and friends. It is clear I was mistaken.
I have lived in three long-term power exchange relationships. These were relationships of years at a time and yet I've apparently never distinguished myself enough to earn a collar. The ones I wore during those times were decoration, not formal declarations of my position in the relationship. But I have helped design and officiate at more than one collaring ceremony. The leather vest I wear to show my colors at events I purchased for myself long after purchasing the vest for an owner for the same purpose. I designed the family patch not only for my own family now, but for the family I believed I would live within for life. I wear only my patch because apparently the one for whom I designed a patch those many years ago did not feel I deserved the honor or connection of wearing it when we were together. I don't own boots, though I can certainly care for them and have rescued and presented boots to others. I wouldn't dream of wearing a cover, but I have ensured that others are aware of the dedication and love demonstrated by family members by purchasing and bestowing their cover.
In short, I demonstrated in every way I believed it was possible, short of screaming "What about me?" that I believe in the traditions. I uphold the traditions. I want them upheld for me. But how does that happen for a ghost?
Think about it for a moment. How many times have you met me? How many times have you seen me quietly serving an owner or at a gathering? Do you know my name? I don't hide it from the community. I don't use Shannon for anything but writing. I use my full, legal name all day, every day. But do you know my first name? Or do you know only my screen name...
I am a ghost in the community. Someone who does the things which need to be done and slips silently back to the shadows. I am the one in the background holding up the structure while others are pushed to the forefront and held up as examples. I am the one who catches those who fall when reaching toward the lights and that is why you see only the shadows. So often we are blinded by the light of the "stars" in the community, the ones who shout and flash and scream, that we forget the arms which catch us, the words which soothe us, the smiles that flash briefly from the dark before we are bedazzled yet again.
Those of us who live in that darkness, who often hide ourselves to shove those we serve into the light for others to see, we care if you see us. We care if you notice us, especially as we serve you. We care if we are not only in the shadows but invisible.
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