Currently finding the creative process of writing a less fulfilling experience, motivational levels for chronicling my daily thoughts have been on the wane. Disheartened with a recent drop in website hits, I’ve become riddled with self-doubt about my art and what future literary avenue to pursue.

Doubts so ingrained, for the first time in three years since I embarked on this literary sojourn, I’m questioning whether my 4000+ hours creating site content was time well spent….. I best not tell my missus though, as if she learns of this literary disenchantment she’ll give me proper jobs to undertake.

Despite being disheartened at the moment, I look on it as an emotional blip on my part. A natural reaction to the fact I’ve had a few days where individuals seem less inclined to visit “Write” Said Fred .

I’d always back myself to have the creative wherewithal to bounce back, although at the moment I’m unsure which vehicle I’ll use to exhibit the work. However, I refuse to abandon aspirations of one day receiving some level of critical acceptance for my written words.

As such, I’ll soldier on seeking supportive reviews from my peers. Glowing precises akin to:-

‘Strachan’s penmanship isn’t a woeful as I thought it’d be!’

‘At least he’s stopped adding exclamation marks at the end of every sentence!!!!…. That grammatical misuse used to drive me mad!!!!!’

‘Strachan uses some big words for someone who was educated at the same Gateshead school as Paul ‘Gazza’ Gascoigne…….If they were used in the right context I’d be nearly impressed with these literary offerings from the orifice.”

Another source of this literary malaise is being racked with doubts as to whether it was overly inflammatory to whimsically title a recent tome ‘Book Readers Are F***wits!’

In retrospect, it’s a heading that may invite reputational damage, alienating me from those stupid enough to want to pay money to read this nonsense. Consequently, I’m beginning to think my alternative book title of ‘Where Did You Get That Shirt?… It’s Absolute S***e!’ may have been a more prudent option.

My most recent self-published book, whose printed version I’m due to take delivery of later this week, comes with the far less inappropriate heading of ‘Flat Cap Epiphanies’. Yarns manifesting from deep inside my fertile mind, this literary offering incorporates excerpts from daily narratives published on writesaidfred.org in May and June.

Although I’m wearing a cap on the tome’s front cover photo (which also includes my son and brother in similar headwear) the flat cap element of the title more a metaphor for a northern Englishman……. It’s not that important but I thought I’d clarify, akin to not donning a suit of armour, lederhosen or a Richard Madeley onesie, I’m capless when writing.

Despite not being worn in mass numbers for many decades, a flat cap is the cliched ‘badge’ of adult males residing south of Hadrian’s Wall and north of Trowell Service Station in Nottinghamshire.

I’m now over four hundred words into this monologue. As per the recent status quo, yet again I’ve found writing this predominantly factual piece a chore…… See, you’re not the only one to suffer for my art!

Normally I’m in full flow when I reach this part of my daily thoughts; my mind infused with epiphanies to mould and shape into locutions of fact or fiction. Today, though, I just want to reach five hundred words (the minimum blog length I set myself), then go outside for a cooling swim with dolphins.

As I’m not in a close vicinity to any dolphins, I’ll have to make do with swimming with foxes – That’s if I can persuade Kippax Leisure Centre to let foxes into their chlorinated pool.

Anyhow, thanks for taking the time to read this inanity. If you fancy a 50 metre breast stroke with Basil Brush later give me a shout!