Dear Frog

*to spare the embarrassment of admitting that I have a French friend I shall protect his identity by not calling him Vincent, and instead calling him Le Frog.

On a recent visit to our new home, Le Frog asked me ‘Scott, why don’t you ever write anymore on your website?’  It was a question that stumped me.  It wasn’t as if I had made a conscious decision at any point to abandon this site to rot.  It was  more of a case that life had some how gotten in the way.

In the last twelve months I have moved country(again), gotten married(for the first time), wrote some material for a musician(a different one), finished another novel(not yet published), tried to find a grown up job(and failed) and procrastinated a whole bunch.  The only thing more impressive than my list of bona-fide accomplishments is my list of things I haven’t done in the last twelve months: climbed a mountain(any one), tamed a lion(a vegetarian one), changed my underpants(now you are concerned) and grown up.

The thing is, or if I was to phrase it in a more honest manner, the writer’s excuse is that writing typically is reactionary.  It is as natural as breathing and farting(not at the same time).  Usually it is provoked by a thought that won’t go away, like a buzzing in your brain.  In my case it’s a form of exorcism.  If I didn’t expunge the host of negative thoughts that reside in my brain I would be physically unable to utter any other words than ‘fuck’ and ‘bollocks’.

If I am honest, those negative thoughts haven’t stopped.  I find it incredulous that so many horrible things are going on in so many parts of the world and the vast majority of it is a misery generated by humans on humans, whilst from the sidelines the leaders that are sent to protect us just watch in awe as entire countries borders are redefined on the whim of a lunatic.  I am resigned to this wave of passive indifference that has washed over every single one of us.

The truth is that I have stopped writing because I have become every thing I detest in modern man.  I have become a passive observer to a fucking horrible freak show.  Writing no longer feels like an action.  Writing no longer matters.  As Le Frog himself likes to say, ‘Sacrebleu!’

*He doesn’t really.

**No French person does.

***C’est la vie.

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