Previously on “Sophie, She Wrote”…
…I had what I thought was quite an amusing email correspondence with a certain supermarket.
One guy wasn’t very happy about it.
This is his story.
Disclaimer: This blog contains goblins and witchcraft. The trolling may be real but some of what you are about to read has been created for your amusement. (Loosely based on the popular Norwegian fairy-tale Three Billy Goats Gruff)
…in a land far far away, there lived a fair maiden (me).
Look, I know this is even more narcissistic than usual but it is my story, you can be the princess in your own story. I write a story, I get to be the fair maiden – capiche?
Where was I?
The fair maiden lived in a cottage in the deep dark wood with her hilarious yet very messy sidekick Maude. Maude won’t feature too much in this story as she is currently on holiday with her boyfriend (how rude).
Every day the maiden would go to work collecting wild flowers. Although the fair maiden enjoyed her job she always dreamed of leaving the deep dark wood and seeing what was outside. The problem was that to get out of the wood she would have to climb over thick brambles and under prickly hedges and across a wide river. It could take years and she wasn’t sure she had the upper body strength or general fitness to survive the journey. The maiden had joined a gym but didn’t go nearly as often as she should, to the extent that they had changed the access codes and she hadn’t realised. That was embarrassing.
Then one day, the fair maiden came across a friendly goblin. The goblin took pity on the maiden and gave the maiden a magic notebook and a pen. He said that if she wanted to, she could get her way over the brambles and under the hedges and across the river, all she had to do was write in the magic notebook.
The maiden thanked the goblin. The maiden did not make enough money from her flower selling gig to buy an Apple MacBook Air so she took the notebook and pen and went on her way. (The maiden is still accepting donations for this btw).
From then on every day after she came back from the market the maiden would sit down and write in the magic notebook. She wrote about anything and everything that came into her head. Some of it was good, some of it was utter rubbish but the fair maiden didn’t care.
Sure enough, over time, the fair maiden noticed that the brambles were getting thinner and the hedges were getting less prickly and she began to hope that she could maybe get out of the forest.
Then the fair maiden reached the wide river and she sat down to write. True to form a bridge started to appear. Eventually she had written so much that the bridge stretched all the way over to the other side of the river. The maiden was really a bit scared as she hadn’t had much success in building things. The flat-pack bed she had made a few years before had collapsed several times before she had to resort to begging someone at the shop to come round and build it for her.
Then, out of nowhere, a horrible troll appeared. This was not the cute 1990s troll that had multi-coloured hair and sat on top of your pencil. No, this troll was big and smelly and had very callous fingers. If anyone was in need of some hand cream, it was this guy. The troll told the fair maiden that he had seen several other fair maidens and some gentlemen also trying to get out of the forest and that he had thrown them all into the water. He also mentioned some goats he’d had a run in with once, but I digress.
The troll took the notebook and pen and wrote a comment on the story. “Sophie next time can you use some of your artistic licence to edit some of the duller parts of your blog. Or to save the world from your weak efforts as some sort of comedic writer, just avoid tapping your fat fingers on the keyboard and producing a blog in the first place.”
The fair maiden paused briefly to bask in the use of the words “comedic writer” – quite a compliment really. Also, if he was going to call any part of her body fat, the fair maiden was pleased he chose her fingers. Ring size was not an issue for the fair maiden just yet. Thighs and arse, now that would have been really hurtful!
Still, the fair maiden was a bit confused about what the troll had said. She didn’t understand why the troll felt the need to tell her he didn’t like her writing or why he was being such a douche.
The fair maiden went back to her cottage and put the magic notebook in a drawer and locked it tightly. The brambles got thicker, the hedges got pricklier, and the fair maiden accepted the fact that maybe she would live in the forest forever.
Then the fair maiden realised that the troll was probably lonely and didn’t have anything better to do with his time. Throwing people in the river can’t be that much fun and was likely giving him a bad back. I bet he doesn’t get to do dress down Friday or after-work drinks, and the Christmas party is probably a bit shit too, poor lad.
Plus anyone who has had his arse handed to him by three goats can’t be too scary!
So the fair maiden decided to take the magic notebook out of the drawer and wrote a great, if slightly longwinded, story about her fight with the troll. Once again the brambles cleared and the bridge was built. This time the bridge was so high and so sturdy that the troll couldn’t shake it. He tried to jump to catch the maiden but slipped on his disgusting troll feet, bumped his head on a tree and fell in the river.
The villagers rejoiced! From that day on all the fair maidens and gentlemen could easily cross the river without being scared of the troll.
The fair maiden went back to the goblin and told him she also wanted to meet a handsome prince.
The goblin said there wasn’t enough magic in the world, even he couldn’t help with that, and suggested she try Tinder.
It amazes me how people find it amusing to tear down others via the world wide web. I had a choice, I could ignore him and carry on as normal, I could be upset by his ridiculous comments, or I could use his lovely words and write a fairy-tale. I chose the latter and I hope you like it.
To my troll – kindly note I have protected your identity by not revealing your name. If you don’t like my blog, don’t read it. Do something productive with your time like working in a soup kitchen or learning to be a belly dancer.
Thanks for the material though – much appreciated!
For my Thought Catalog article on how to own and maintain your very own troll click here