The "Nothing Time"

Thoughts on the season and how to fight the gloom

In the film Shadowlands (1993), which follows the story of C.S. Lewis’ (portrayed by Sir Anthony Hopkins) relationship with Joy Gresham (portrayed by Debra Winger), there is a scene when Lewis is staring out on a rainy, late winter-early spring day and says,

“I've always found this a trying time of the year. The leaves not yet out. Mud everywhere you go. Frosty mornings gone. Sunny mornings not yet come. Give me blizzards and frozen pipes, but not this, nothing time. Not this, waiting room of the world.”

Although Lewis is speaking of a different season, this is how I generally feel about November. The leaves lose the vibrancy they have in October, the ground turns hard and bitter, sunrises seem muted and colder…I especially felt this when I studied in Canada as there isn’t a whole lot to look forward to in a Canadian November, aside from Veteran’s Day. The miserable weather; winter striving to breach into the autumnal air; the frost that melts away into mud under the withering sunlight; it all just makes me feel glum. With America’s obsession with the consumerism surrounding Christmas, November just seems to be the awkward “waiting room” for December. Mere days after this past Halloween, I tuned into a radio station only to be met with Christmas, which I promptly switched off. Even as a kid, I knew to hold off on Christmas celebrations until after Black Friday most years, especially since my family had a very great Thanksgiving tradition which we unfortunately haven’t been able to observe in years, making November feel greyer and gloomier than before.

I’d be loath to let this post become a simple rant against this month that I have no control over, so I’ve thought of a different way to look at it. The Gaelic name for the month of November is an t-Samhain (pronounced an tah-wayn), which if you tuned into my October posts (especially this one) you may recognize as the Gaelic name for Halloween as well. The night of the eve of Samhain was considered the beginning of winter¹ and an incredibly liminal time, where the veil between our world and the world of the supernatural is thinnest. It is also a transitional time, between what the Celts believed to be the season of summer and the season of winter. When comparing that idea to the Shadowlands quote that inspired this post, it makes sense to me to consider the entire month of November a liminal period. I’ve always noticed how “grey” and bleak this month is, even on the sunniest days, but never before thought of how it is merely the “dusk” period of the year, where things slow down and most elements of the world in the northern hemisphere that normally bring joy or sparks of life into the air recede. Even on the cruelest of winter days, there is some wonder in the snow and ice cascading over the land, but in November it’s simply the sad calm before those storms.

Another way of imposing Celticism onto this month is the fact that winter is also usually the start of “storytelling season” for traditional folk communities in Ireland and Scotland, as well as the rest period for the roving bands of warrior-hunters, the fíana. Stories were traditionally held off from being told until between Samhain (November 1st) and Beltaine (May 1st), and most often at night. Many tradition-bearers consider it unlucky to even say a few lines of a story or poem of certain cultural significance in broad daylight, especially one of the stories about the fíana. The fíana, or Fenians,² are the most popular folk heroes in Gaelic storytelling tradition, the most famous among them include Fionn mac Cumhaill (often anglicized to Fin McCool), his son Oísin and grandson Oscar, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, and Goll mac Morn. Sometimes they are said to be giants or superhumans, but regardless of whatever they may have been in the very first stories told about them, they have existed in Gaelic oral tradition for centuries. The basis for them potentially comes from pre-Christian warbands of young, aristocratic men who lived outside the law, learning the skills of warfare, survival, and poetry until they came of age to rejoin society. One of the major themes of stories of the fíana is supernatural encounters due to their liminal nature, living on the brink of human society and the wilderness, where supernatural creatures and powers are thought to dwell. Their encounters with the weird aren’t restricted to a specific time of year, but I believe there is something I—and the rest of us—could learn by looking at the liminal aspects of the fíana and November.

Poetic inspiration is another thing that is sometimes found in the wilderness in Irish mythology and folklore; there are numerous tales of people who dwell in the wilds and become master poets, the story of Mad Sweeney being one. The fíana are also inexorably tied to poetry, with one of the requirements to join Fionn’s men being that recruits can recite copious amounts of poetry; many of the fíana’s own tales exist in the form of “lays”, songs, or poems. It is possible their inspiration for original poems could come from dwelling in the subliminal space they occupy between wilderness and society, without falling committing to one or the other. Although the period of their rest technically begins at the start of this month, we can also assume they would be telling stories throughout the winter. This month is therefore the perfect time to begin telling stories. November, after all is National Novel Writing Month, and in general we usually take the time to reflect on the past year as we move into holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas, taking stock of it all before the New Year. So while the world outside our homes turns bitter and unpleasant to be in, there is a choice we have to make as the season changes. We can languish in the gloom and let it drag down our moods, mourning the loss of the summer—which will come again—and going into the New Year with a sour mood, or we can look fondly upon the stories we’ve gathered over the year, no matter how short or small.

I remember in November of 2020 when I’d first successfully completed the challenge of NaNoWriMo—write 50,000 words during the month of November (although I technically did not register with the official program). For obvious reasons, that year was particularly gloomy but my singular focus was on my novel, pulling me deep into the work each day with little deviation or interest in distracting myself with anything else, including opportunities for short story submissions. The world outside had become too gloomy for me to take interest in it so I dove into telling a story I singularly felt compelled to tell during that month. It’s still in an editing phase at the moment, but one of these days I’ll actually send it out to workshops and beta-readers.

It is the dusk of the year, the time to wind down before our long winter naps. Therefore it makes sense to light that hearth and start telling stories to ease your mind. Tell the bedtime stories you want to hear, the things that will marinate in your head until you wake up. This gloomy time is the opportunity to reflect upon the imaginary game you have collected over the spring and summer, compiling it into tales, memories, and skills you can enjoy and return to during the winter. This time is a grey “waiting room”, but you have the choice of magazines or books you wish to read, or better yet if you have a pocket journal, bust it open and start writing.

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Thanks for reading this week’s post! Leave a comment using the button below; how do you usually like to spend this month when it gets too cold or gloomy to venture outside?

Also be sure to refer a friend to Senchas Claideb using the button below to receive access to special rewards including a personalized Gaelic phrase and a free, original short story!

Finally, stay tuned next week when this month’s short story, “Greater Than Gild”, releases Friday November 24th! Read a sneak prevue of it in last week’s post linked below!

1. Most Celtic-speaking cultures believed that a new day began at sundown, similar to how many Jewish holidays are observed

2. This word might not be commonly spoken in Ireland (especially Northern Ireland) as it carries some derogatory connotations relating to Irish Catholics and Republicans.