How could you?

How could you face the other side so soon?

How could you not wonder what your life could be?

How could you leave chocolate banana bread?

How could you leave an office, a city full to bursting with friends?

How could you drop such a weight of guilt onto one small set of shoulders?

How could you leave a world with such a variety of tea?

How could you leave pets that endear even as they annoy?

Ho could you be so fearless and fearful in one?

How could you go before growing a handlebar moustache?

How could you not know or not care what fallout you would leave behind?

How could you not see the crowd that would have gathered and given you reasons to live?

The silence is molten, I wish you could tell me

how could you?

Onesie McSingleton

Having been off for a week and a half, I am really, really struggling to get back into my job. To be completely honest I hate it.

On the plus side I went ahead and applied for the £10,000 MMU short story competition. I hold out absolutely no hope that I could win; I did my degree there and I know they will choose a story that is weird for weird's sake. But still I feel like more of a real writer just because I've actually tried.

In other news, not sure if it's good or bad, I've had a sort of idea for a children's story. And I mean children children, like the tiger who came to tea level. 

I don't even like children, never mind think about writing for them. But then I was wallowing in my new single life and updated my status with 'Onesie McSingleton is going to Arta tonight'. Onesie McSingleton. I love the rhythm of it and that must be why it got stuck in my head, repeating over and over until I started to wonder what kind of person would be called Onesie McSingleton.

He's a wee boy in a tartan onesie, who's favourite phrase is "I can do it all by myself". There's also a girl called Tutu (I can't decide on her surname though), and another male character as yet unnamed.

It's strange to be thinking at this level, but at the same time it's nice to know my idea cylinders are still firing.