My favourite Bob Dylan track is Like a Rolling Stone. I don’t know why it’s my favourite as there are many of his songs I greatly enjoy but that’s my go to BD track. There’s a line in the song that goes, “When you ain’t got nothing, you got nothing to lose.” Well, I’m sorry to say that today I ain’t got nothing. And, whilst realising that there is a double negative and appalling grammar in that line from the song, let me be clear that I’m talking about myself in a literary sense.
My mind is a blank gentle reader. I had a pretty sizeable panic attack this morning (won’t tell you why) and I have a hospital appointment on Friday that I’m extremely nervous about and which is occupying my mind an awful lot. And apart from the current novel I’m working on I can’t seem to find anything else to write about.
That’s not good for any writer.
I wouldn’t call what I’ve got at the moment writers block, as clearly I am sat here writing, I just can’t pin down a decent subject matter to write about. So I guess I’ll just write about nothing. After all, there are billions of people who (wrongly) believe we all came from nothing so writing about it should be a walk in the park.
I did once see an interview on the telly with a female writer who said that when you have nothing interesting to write about then write about the mundane as well as you can. She even suggested that you could do something so simple as boil a kettle and then with pen in hand describe the steam. An interesting idea and I have tried it (not steam) by describing the inside of a café I was sitting in. Unfortunately, what I wrote was a monstrous pile of drivel; a dirge so heinous in its construct that I have vowed an oath that it should never be read by anyone else during my lifetime and the only reason I haven’t torn that page out of my notebook, wiped my backside on it and then have it consumed by fire is to have it as a stark reminder that I should under no circumstance try such a thing again.
A couple of years ago I went to a local writers group to see if I could learn anything new about the craft. My Dad always said you’re never too old to learn and that you learn something new every day and with his wise words in mind I went along. The people were nice enough, that is when they weren’t trying to convert me to Buddhism or get me to look at Tarot cards (long story) but what I struggled with were the subject matters we were given.
The first “warm-up exercise” we did was to write down as many words beginning with the letter A that we could think of in five minutes. Now, I won that little task, but I’m sorry, how naff was that? It wasn’t primary school for goodness sake. Hardly cerebral, was it? Ok, so yes, it was just to get us warmed up but as someone who takes writing seriously it put me off right away. I think writing about nothing would have done me more good than compiling a list of words starting with A.
Incidentally, I was the only person to come up with “aardvark” but that’s not important right now.
Yeah, nothing. It’s an unusual thing. I once saw the professional idiot Richard Dawkins attempting to explain the Big Bang Theory by saying that nothing isn’t just nothing but contains something such as atoms and gases etc. But if that’s the case then it isn’t nothing, is it? It’s something. For something to truly be nothing it cannot contain anything. I mean you could clench your fist and say that there’s nothing in it but in reality there is. There are all the elements that make up the very air that we all breathe for one thing. There are also minute particles of dust almost invisible to the naked eye and quite possibly tiny, microscopic creatures that live in your skin plus however many germs you’re potentially carrying. That’s all something.
Damn, it’s getting too deep now and I didn’t want that to happen. I’m a comedy writer, not a philosopher. But I think I’ve made a good point.
Let’s hasten back to my original problem. I’m fresh out of subject matter.
I’ve tried to come up with poetry but the only rhymes in my head are at the level of the kind you would read to a small child at bed time in the desperate hope it will lull them to sleep. A load of rubbish basically.
I was going to write about Depressive Anxiety Disorder, after this morning’s panic attack but that didn’t feel right. And it isn’t good to burden you all with my problems. You come here for entertainment.
I was thinking about some kind of glowing tribute to my wonderful family – Ange, Becky and Erin. Who are just the best. But, like I say, I’m not doing so well and I would want to do justice to them, which I doubt I could at the moment. So that will have to wait for another time.
I was toying with a short story idea, another mini murder mystery, set at a party, but I’ve only got the merest outline for that so far. I think it will definitely see the light of day one day. Today, however, is not that day.
There are a great many other subjects that are dear to me but I can find problems with all of them. For example:
· Derby County – they’re an embarrassment at the moment
· The British Countryside – but I’m writing about that in the Blessham novels
· Animals/Pets – but I’ve done a fair bit of that recently and I don’t want to pigeon hole myself.
· Canal Boating – see my novel, Mutch Wants Moor
· Socializing with Good Friends – yeah, that’s ok but do you really want to read about how someone else had fun?
· Theology – I’m greatly interested in it but not even remotely qualified to talk about it
· My Health – you’re probably sick of hearing about it
· My Books – been done many times before
· Progressive Rock – I’d bore you to death
So you see the trouble I’m having. I’ve got nothing. I think perhaps I should start watching the news a bit more closely as a good rant at the state of the world would certainly clear my (currently addled) mind. It’s all so bloody depressing though and my views and the things I have to say about certain individuals who make the headlines would probably see me kicked off Substack for good. I’ve worked far too hard to let that happen.
Wouldn’t it be great if there were an alternative news program where all the good things were reported? Things like animal rescues and children overcoming serious illnesses and people getting jobs instead of losing them and charitable organisations doing good. I’d watch that every single day.
It’ll never happen though; they’ve got us all so attuned to bad news that it’s become the norm.
But back to nothing.
I can remember my Mum often questioning whether I had nothing better to do than lounge around the house in my teenage years and the truth was I did. I had loads of things I could be doing; I just didn’t feel like doing them. But I think we can all recognise a little bit of ourselves there. The teenage years may feel like the best but they aren’t really. You’re full of angst and confusion at 15 years old as well as sprouting hair from places there once was none.
Alice Cooper summed up the teenage years beautifully in the song I’m Eighteen when he sang – I’m eighteen and I don’t know who I am, eighteen, I’m a boy and I’m a man.
I find it strange at the age I am now to think that there were dozens of things I could be doing with my free time at 15 and yet chose to do nothing. I have to admit that I am now in my autumn years and time is a precious commodity that is slowly running out. What I wouldn’t give for some of those wasted hours that the teenage Alan Stevenson wallowed in like some Ramones-styled hippopotamus.
Nothing is also a standard answer that teenagers employ when accused of doing something wrong. A blatant lie that always got found out. I can remember many times being questioned by a teacher for some misdemeanour or other, “Stevenson, what are you doing?” To which my answer, like my peers, was always, “Nothing Sir/Miss.”
That always rankled with me at school. Calling some jumped up little git “Sir.” I’ve always held the belief that the word ‘sir’ is something you attach to someone you respect and I had zero respect for the majority of my male teachers, with the exception of Mr Richardson, who was excellent. But I would often find that word sticking in my throat when I had to say it to some of the others.
Oh, and then there was Mr Bullen, who was an old beardie/folkie/hippie type who taught Rural Science and didn’t mind us calling him Pete. Rubbish teacher but a top bloke. We had a nickname for him as well, which I won’t reveal in case he ever reads this…
…ok, ok, it was Catmeat. Don’t ask why.
Actually, now I think about it, I left school with nothing. Well, nothing worth writing home about at any rate. The only exam I got good marks in was the aforementioned Rural Science so maybe Mr Bullen did ok after all.
As for the rest, well, I’d pretty much given up on things by then and was counting down the time to the day I left. But, my school days are a story best left for another time; and there will be another time I promise you that.
Oops, I’ve gone off piste again. Where were we? Nothing! That’s it.
Well, I’m afraid I’ve got nothing more to say on the subject and besides my tea is ready now and we’re having bagels – Yum!
But it has just occurred to me that I have rambled on about nothing for exactly 1800 words (count them.) And I see that as an achievement in itself. In truth, I’ve rather enjoyed this little foray into nothingness and it’s given me a shot in the arm. I’ve now got a subject for Thursday’s Substack. All will be revealed. Not literally of course, that would be a striptease.
So you see, something can come from nothing.
Brilliant xxxxxxxxx