Nobody Knows Anything

William Goldman, the screenwriter of movies ranging from 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' to 'Princess Bride' and beyond, was the first person I ever heard say the phrase 'nobody knows anything'.

When I read it in his autobiography as a young teenager, I never realized how wise and all-encompassing this statement was, and how tightly it would wrap itself around my life.

We don't, any of us, really know anything. About anything. Nothing of ourselves, at least.

Whenever I feel incompetent at my job that I've been paid to do for several years, I remind myself that everyone else around the table, clear up to the president of the school, probably feels the same way.


Whenever someone compliments me on my parenting skills, my speaking skills or singing skills or cooking skills (I can do a lot of things reasonably well at this point in time), I remind myself of the fact that a lot of what I've been able to do really comes from God, or someone else who didn't get credited properly, or I've benefited from sheer luck.

When it comes to writing, this phrase is particularly interesting. I love it when people read my writing. It's nice when they compliment my stories. I thank them, and wonder, "But does that mean it's actually good?"

I have no idea.

A lot of people love Stephen King's work, myself included. A lot of people don't. He writes in his book on writing that people contact him specifically to tell him how badly he writes, and how he's going to hell. My dear sister-in-law, another successful writer, gets the same kind of emails and comments.

I'm not as well-read to get those sorts of trolls yet, but I know they're coming to see me too.

A whole whale of a lot of people loved J.K. Rowling's work, myself included. A lot of people think she's terrible. Who's right?

Is it the dollar that's right? I've read books and stories that never made the best-seller list, and in a perfect world, probably should have.

Is it time that's the final judge of what's good and what isn't? I've read short stories from writers I was forced to read in public school that had more drawbacks than benefits, and whose work I refuse to read further.

Authors like Guy de Maupassant, John Cheever, Edgar Allen Poe, and Ernest Hemingway. I've read enough of their work to know I will never read another word they've written, ever.

A lot of people disagree with me on these guys. Who's right?

So where's the gold standard of what's good and what isn't?

There isn't one. Not one that I've found yet.

Nobody knows anything. Not even me. We're floating around in this big, wide ocean of subjectivity, searching for standards to cling to, and each standard vanishes almost as soon as we put our hand on it.

Might as well enjoy the floating while we're out here...

New Sanctuary side story is in editing mode and hopefully finished soon - coming at you next week. It might be good, it might not. I guess we'll see. :-)