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.

(Not really) a book review

I love any and all mythology. Greek, Norse, Celtic, whatever; I can never get enough of it.

Now, you may have noticed in my little side bar that I’m reading a book called Highland Folk Tales. It's quite a lengthy collection of myths, legends and tales from the Scottish Highlands. And I hate it.

Some of the stories aren’t even legends.  Take for example the story of Angie and the Calf, which I will now summarise in a few sentences.

Angie and his Dad own one cow and every year the Dad goes across the water to sell the calf so they can pay the rent for another year. One day Angie is trusted to take the calf and sell it. He does so but on the way home he drinks all the money. The next year his Dad says they’re not selling the calf; they’re going to eat it as Angie drank the last one.

That’s it.  It’s not even a good story.

The only positive thing I can say is that reading the book has been enlightening. I have learned what it is that I love so much about mythology. Put simply, it’s an escape. I love being immersed in a fantastical world where pretty much anything can (and will) happen.

And I know this because Highland Folk Tales is an attempt to be a sort of map book of myths. Chapters start off with phrases like ‘The road from Torridon leads to Kinlochewe, where it meets the A832 which runs north-west along the side of Loch Maree’ 

Instantly all suspension of disbelief is gone. I can’t imagine a story involving fairies with the A832 running through the middle of my brain! The juxtaposition of goblins and motorways is too jarring for me. I can’t escape into it so I’m not enjoying it. 

My only hope is that there will be just one story hidden in there which will spark my imagination the way mythology usually does.