Much Ado About... Nothing

I wrote this to read on stage at the Short Attention Span Storytelling Hour, presented by Writers of Central Florida or Thereabouts.


I’ve written fiction. 

Once. 

Well, not counting tax returns. 

But, frequently, when people ask me what I write, and I say, “Mostly non-fiction,” I get the most puzzled looks. “What does that mean? What do you actually write about?” 

“Well, anything I want.” 

That doesn’t seem to help. To most people, “anything” apparently means “nothing.” 

It reminds me of the episode of Seinfeld where Jerry and George Costanza are discussing how to pitch their show idea to NBC. 

George says: Everybody's doing something. We'll do nothing. 

Jerry: So we go into NBC, and we tell them we have an idea for a show about nothing. 

George: Exactly. 

Jerry: They say, "What's your show about?" And I say "nothing." 

George: There ya go. 

After a long pause, Jerry says: …I think you may have something there. 

When they say nothing, though, what they really mean is… everything. Everyday life. 

And it’s a little frightening that most people think it’s perfectly acceptable, and probably accurate, to describe their daily existence as… nothing. If you don’t think something interesting happens to you almost every day, you might need to make some serious changes. 

But it’s more likely that you’re just not paying enough attention. 

Aren’t there moments that touch you? Moments that make you think? Moments that cause you to react in unexpected ways? Moments that make you laugh, or make you teary for reasons you can’t explain? 

There’s a story in each of those moments. 

I have written about watching a family with two young children become homeless, and then, months later, seeing them regain their footing – with help from the community they lived in. 

I have written about a young woman at a bar who briefly left her own drunken birthday celebration to sidle up to me, a complete stranger, and tell me her mom had died years before… on her birthday. 

That was nine years ago, and I still think about it. 

I have written about karaoke and cover bands. About music, in general. And my involvement in the business. Which meant… writing about drugs. I have written about sporting events. About irrational fears. And rational ones. About happiness and heartbreak. About the incessant urge that creators have… to create. 

I have written about the time I was sitting in a coffee shop next to two women in their sixties when a news story came on the TV saying researchers, using stem cells… had made artificial sperm. One of the women was absolutely puzzled, and a bit incredulous. 

"What?" she said, as she looked around. "There's no shortage..." 

You can’t make this stuff up. Or, should I say, there’s no need to make this stuff up. It’s there. Everywhere. Every day. If you look for it. 

I did tell a story once about a fantastic acid trip I had in Disney World. And I guess you could argue it’s not true non-fiction if it deals with a dramatically altered reality. Boy, I’ll say… 

I’m willing to admit that the present reality is rather fucked up. So, it might be tempting to invent an entirely new one. But many fiction writers go on to create make-believe worlds that are even more fucked up than our own. 

To me, there’s no sense in escaping your own hell to visit one that’s even worse. 

 I don’t mean to throw all fiction writers under the bus. I’ve met some, and they seem to be able to converse in complete sentences. I just find myself wanting to live in this world. And, even though there’s no doubt, in the brief time I have here, I’ll never figure out what it’s all about, I feel like I can at least figure out bits and pieces… by writing about it. 

So, what’s my inspiration for today? I’m glad you asked. It’s Edna. 

I was in a store the other day, and the woman in line in front of me was named Edna. And I thought… there are not enough women in the world named Edna. Not anymore. And that’s kind of a shame, isn’t it? 

I Googled the word “Edna” and got 57.4 million results. Part of that was because, as I discovered, there was a Hurricane Edna in 1954. She skirted our entire Atlantic coastline, causing twenty-one deaths in New England before petering out over New Brunswick. Somewhat ironically, I also found out that Edna means “pleasure” in Hebrew. Who knew? 

We’ve lost some of those good old names… Myrtle. Gladys. Alice. My personal favorite… Blanche. And Edna. 

Do you know what the most popular female names were in the 1930’s? Betty and Shirley. Edna must have come along later. 

Damn good names. 

With all due respect to the Haleys, Ambers and Kelseys out there, you should probably come to grips with the fact that, when they named you, your parents weren’t thinking about how it would sound when you’re ninety-five, and the assistant at the nursing home reads your name out loud off your chart every morning. 

“Amber, how are you feeling today? It’s time for your pureed goo and then a nice game of bingo in the activity room...” 

Ahh… crotchety old Amber… 

I’m sure there are male name equivalents, but… who gives a shit about that? What are they? Thad? Blair? Ayden? I don’t know… By the way, if there’s someone out there who happens to have one of these names… I just want you to know… it’s not too late to change it. 

I guess it’s a generational thing… But it’s sad. 

When something goes out of fashion, for whatever reason, and we move on to the newest, latest, greatest, hottest whatever it is, I guess it feels like progress, but, it still means we’re leaving something behind. 

What if that something is worth holding on to?? 

 I mean... Jeezus. We’re running out of Ednas. 

So what am I going on about? 

Nothing. 

Anything. 

Everything.