Monday proved to be a rather unspectacular day for yours truly. Waking to heavy rainfall, the low level grey stratus clouds hung around LS15 throughout daylight hours. A fitting metaphor for my mood – Spirits that weren’t even lifted by the midday arrival of my latest self-published book of blog excerpts.
My 23rd tome, titled ‘Fool On The Hill’, a chronicling of my daily exploits in the fledgling weeks of autumn 2018. Recent escapades I endeavoured to make more compelling than they actually were, with help from my good buddy artistic licence. Embellishments attempting to furnish the reader with misleading visions that I enjoy an incident packed existence.
The other day an acquaintance felt moved to stop me as I wandered the aisles of my local store to express “Blimey, you love your writing, don’t you?!”
Not really possessing the emotional wherewithal to understand what really constitutes love, I jokingly responded “Love isn’t how I’d describe it…… Perhaps habitual f*** buddies would be a more apt descriptive!”
Apologies for use of the F-bomb above. However, I was unable to find an appropriate replacement that wouldn’t weaken the intended shock value of it’s original use. Ordinarily, I endeavour to avoid using stronger curse words within my narratives, but there’s occasions when only an inflammatory/offensive locution works.
If I could’ve resisted responding facetiously to this well-meaning individual’s statement, providing an honest retort, I’d have agreed with him. Writing does lift me to a plateau of nirvana – A domain I imagine people who’ve genuinely experienced love have also resided.
Obviously, my literary journey doesn’t provide me with the same physical benefits of lovers, but I’m sure one day writing and I will evolve into a relationship that goes beyond heavy petting.
The title ‘Fool On The Hill’ is taken from The Beatles song of the same name, a refrain telling of a man marginalised for his idiosyncratic outlook on life. The proletariat distancing themselves from this ‘fool’ whose ideas and thoughts stray from the mainstream. The song, though, keen to point out that behind the man’s dead eyes a perceptive brain functions.
At this point, I’d like to clarify I didn’t choose the book title because of some paranoia fuelled notion it bears any parallel to my existential odyssey. It was simply chosen as it’s the heading of one of my favourite diary entries within the tome – The following a link to that particular blog:- Fool On The Hill
Like the other 22 tomes I’ve self-published, I’m reasonably pleased with the end product. With every book I feel I’m growing and learning more about a pastime I regretfully took up far too late. Additionally, as with the others, I’m contented knowing it bestows the reader with a decent amalgam of whimsy and melancholy; the two main emotions I seek to project within a monologue.
What is my ultimate goal for my art?….. At the moment I’m happy for the literary journey to organically evolve, develop as a writer and sporadically update the aesthetics of my website writesaidfred.org – Building stronger foundations that’ll maybe one day put me in a position to utilise creativity for financial gain.
I owe it to myself, after spending 30 years working shifts in occupations I didn’t particularly enjoy, undertaking roles where I didn’t play to my strengths. My employment options restricted with four mouths to feed in casa Strachan.
I’m not bitter, though. My kids have developed into decent, warm, loving adults with humanity. One day, though, I’d love to gain employment undertaking a creative role so I can enter retirement with the fulfilment I currently lack.
