Yesterday while mowing the back lawn, I slipped unceremoniously into my habitual penchant for moulding words, sentences and adages in an attempt to achieve a whimsical quip. During this episode of distraction from a mundane chore, two rather lukewarm gags manifested themselves in my conscious mind.
These epiphanies, although weak, were of a level I reckoned, with some lexicological manoeuvring, had scope to make them less tepid than at advent. Yours truly reckoned, though, as there’s no exact science/formula to follow when penning light-heartedly, it may take some reworking.
Every quip I put out there is an act of raising my head above the parapet to be shot at. However, as I no longer bear the angst of how individuals will receive my art, my confidence won’t be undermined by those who deem it banal and/or poorly written. I’ve never received a critique of that nature, but if that polemic landed at my door I’d like to think I’d be fine with it.
Let me be clear, I fully appreciate constructive feedback to my published prose. If someone reads a blog of mine without prejudice, then feels the need to input why they didn’t enjoy the literary experience, I’m utterly fine with it.
The only occasion I might take exception is if feedback was non-constructive and delivered in the confrontational manner, such as opining all my narrative are absolute s***e!……. Unless of course they’d read a high proportion of the 1800+ essays I’ve written/published on my website writesaidfred.org, In which case I wouldn’t agree with their observation, but at least appreciate the critique was emanating from an informed position.
As alluded to above, I’ve never experienced any hostility or stinging criticism from any of my readers. Subsequently, my unwarranted paranoia is fuelled by insecurity and uncertainty, driven by the double edge sword episodes many creative individuals experience.
The gift I’ve been granted, regrettably comes with a consequence of capricious mood swings and periods of self-doubt. This behavioural trait ensuring the psychological good times are fleeting; my penance for that lift a darkness of similar duration. I have to admit, though, the high points can be utterly wonderful.
For a multitude of reasons (of which I’ve written about copiously), this last ten years have been dreadful in many ways. This decade of GJ Strachan’s never ending soap opera, though, hasn’t all been bereft of hope, and most importantly, I’ve grown significantly as a person. The acquiring of my true existential value providing me with a self-esteem bypass and huge self-confidence boost.
This allowing me liberty from a ditch of worthlessness where I’d lain for decades. If anyone who knows me, or has got to know me on social media, believe I’ve got qualities to bestow. Please be aware in 2014 and for a significant length of time following that I deemed myself utterly bereft of any qualities whatsoever….. That’s what mental illness does to a person!
The above paragraph isn’t delivered with hubris. My locutions are more an educational vehicle to make individuals aware of how mental illness can severely impact your life with its underhanded, destructive tactics.
Anyhow, to conclude, I enclose one of the questionable quips which manifested itself whilst I moved the back lawn……