Today’s narrative is my 900th offering since I embarked on this literary journey in spring 2015. Back then I was a ‘wet behind the ears’ boy who hadn’t previously utilised such erudite lexicological offerings as capricious, salubrious and clandupeness.
Ok, I’ll admit I wasn’t a boy (I was firmly entrenched in middle age), not to mention there is no such word as clandupeness, but I did use it once and I think I got away with it. That being said, back in March 2015 I was definitely ‘wet behind the ears’; although, that’s no longer the case since I’ve stopped writing in the shower.
During this self-challenge of my creative capabilities, my blogging website writesaidfred.org has had around 25,000 hits in over a 100 countries. It’s not monetised, but has been plagiarised and on one occasion, when I dropped my laptop into a giant tub of face cream, moisturised.
The narratives have predominantly been penned sitting at my dining room table or in the hallowed waiting chambers of Leeds/Wakefield medical establishments (while waiting for my wife/dad to complete oncological treatment).
Other venues on this literary sojourn have included the number 36 bus to Harrogate, train journeys to Newcastle, along with a flight to Ibiza…… Creative thoughts lightening trips on planes, trains and automobiles. Trips helped immeasurably by not having to sit next to John Candy cracking his knuckles and clearing phlegm, like Steve Martin did in the movie of the same name.
Putting my random thoughts to paper has also occurred on a lads trip to the fragrant Lake District village of Ambleside, a country retreat outside Whitby in North Yorkshire and in the conservatory of a splendid hotel on the outskirts of historic Chester.
People have asked me where I get the inspiration for my mainly fictional yarns, which is difficult to answer as most of them aren’t pre-meditated topics/ideas. I sit each day with a blank Word document awaiting the visits of epiphanies to populate the chaste paper in front of me.
Ordinarily, I don’t have to linger long before the next idea infiltrates my conscious mind, which, if suitable for that days monologue, enters the first draft of my work. The quality control checks to appear in my daily narrative aren’t overly stringent. Generally, if it makes me smile, or I deem it to be clever, it’s included.
That being said, writing humour isn’t an exact science, so whatever I write will have critics, which I accept. In fact I occasionally re-read some of my yarns and acknowledge some of them need a good polish.
I’m my own biggest critic, apart from my daughter Rachel who suspects my art will be facile so won’t read them…… Oh, and my mum who has been known to label them as “works of clandupeness”.
Whether Rachel or my mum are correct or not, I’ve had plenty of positive feedback. These include a man at the Esso petrol station in East Ardsley, who yesterday stopped me on the way to the till to say “Excuse me mate, do you know which way it is to Kirkhamgate?”
Anyway, I’m nearing the conclusion of my 900th piece of work which, like the others, emanated from somewhere in the depths of my random mind. I’ve surprised myself how fertile the creative segment of my neurological database is. I started this venture intending to pen one narrative a week, but found the wherewithal to generally write one a day (occasionally two).
Thanks to the people who’ve taken the time to read them; I hope you enjoyed some (if not all) of them. It has been a therapeutic experience for yours truly; a cathartic two hour escape from the many challenging existential circumstances I deal with on a daily basis.
If you didn’t enjoy them you can console yourself with the fact, that even though it’s wasted a few minutes of your time, at least you didn’t have to pay for them.
Thanks again, and “Keeping reading”…… Damn, I appear to have unwittingly developed a farewell catchphrase…….. Northern man walks away head bowed in shame to fall on his sword.