Yesterday witnessed the 2,000th published article on my website writesaidfred.org. This heady creative brew made up of around 1,900 blogs, 80 pieces of poetry and 20 primitive style drawings. The latter a recently adopted pastime among this trinity of creativity genres.
Just as I wouldn’t boast of being an accomplished surgeon, similarly I don’t claim to be a technically gifted artist. Luckily, though, learning drawing skills on the job isn’t as frowned upon as the practise of undertaking surgery with minimal exposure to a scalpel. A fact affording yours truly easier access to gaining role experience and improvement than a budding Doctor Gregory House.
Whether via prose or drawing, I experience great catharsis from creating pieces of art. Pen, pencil and crayon allowing opportunity to express the multitude of notions which, on a daily basis, cascade in and out my capricious mind. I’ve the ultimate control of content, but without these tools of my trade the ideas would no doubt lay dormant – As they had for decades.
Through the conduit of a French printing company, the vast majority of my website content’s been transferred into book format. These combined 40+ tomes containing well over a million words which, unless otherwise attributed, formed deep within my neurological corridors. These books are available to buy online, however the price when purchased in isolation are prohibitive.
That million words figure similar to my mother’s speech output on a daily basis. Mercifully for my readers, they’ve an option to embrace my prose, or simply leave the website. They don’t have to endure having them rammed down their throats at breakneck speed by a potty septuagenerian.
Although I’d like to think output on this scale evidences a prolifically fertile mind, some may deem my five year innovative odyssey, which took around 6,000 unpaid hours to create, amounts to folly of the highest order.
However, I beg to differ. Backing myself to be able to monetise part of this work at some point going forward; and should that not come to pass at least this literary project has ingrained within me untold therapeutical benefits. Dragging me kicking and screaming from the mental health precipice edge it resided prior to embarking on the journey.
Earlier, I revealed achieving the milestone of publishing 2,000 pieces on my website to my mum; in whose house I currently reside. She appeared ‘thrilled to bits’ for her eldest offspring, responding “What time are you gonna walk down to Tescos Express?…. We need milk, bananas and bread.”
I countered her cold indifference with the query “Are you not impressed that I’ve a mind creatively fertile enough to produce that volume of work, mum?”
“Not really!…… Our Ian’s played in bands, and Helen’s trod the boards as both singer and dancer….. That’s far more impressive than your crimes against literature.” she replied, pulling no punches.
“You’ve never read them!….. How the hell do you know they’re c**p?!” I countered defensively.
“I’ve never been to Bangladesh, but I know I wouldn’t like it there!” mater argued.
“That’s pretty narrow minded. It might be a wonderful utopian domain with cascading waterfalls, salmon swimming upstream and kangaroos saving people trapped in disused mine shafts!” I blurted, attempting to destroy her uninformed opinion.
“I said I don’t want to go to Bangladesh, not I was averse to appearing in a bloody episode of Skippy, Gary!” mum cuttingly chirped.
“Do you want to star in an episode of Skippy, mum?” I sought to clarify, intrigued.
“Do they still make Skippy?!” the old lady questioned with seemingly equal intrigue.
“I’ve no idea!….. If they did, would you want to appear in one?” I dug further.
“No!” mater barked back immediately.
“Then why the hell didn’t you say no when I initially asked if you wanted to appear on Skippy; instead of asking if they still produced the show!” I asked with firm but disingenuous irk.
“The same reason as you write blogs!….. The mind’s capable of proceeding along the most absurd of avenues!” Replied the enigmatic Leeds lass.
“To clarify then, mum……. You don’t believe I deserve any kudos for all the hard work I’ve undertaking to reach a 2,000th blog milestone?” I questioned my seemingly unimpressed forebear.
After a brief pause, Mrs S responded “What time are you gonna walk down to Tescos Express?…. We need milk, bananas and bread.”