Ian McMillan on creating his own private universe

I see that one of the two hulking forts that dominate the Humber Estuary just off Cleethorpes has been sold to a private buyer for about half a million pounds; this happens every now and then and the buyers always say they’re going to turn the fort into a boutique hotel or a wacky offshore restaurant or a private house with excellent sea views.
Peot Ian McMillanPeot Ian McMillan
Peot Ian McMillan
By Ian McMillan
Published 19th Aug 2022, 06:00 BST

I wish the new owner well but I’m sure I remember somebody buying one of the forts many years ago with the express purpose of turning it into a country and declaring independence. I don’t know what happened to the idea but I never saw any unusual home-made flags flying from the superstructure when I went for a stroll along the sands.

This desire to make your own country is something that writers do all the time, of course. Every novelist is, even if they’re writing about somewhere we all recognise, the king or queen of their papery kingdom. Indeed, as a boy, not content with writing about the Kingdom of Loka on the Planet Loka (I wasn’t very good at making up place names!) in one of the many red Silvine notebooks I filled with epic science fiction adventures, I decided to create Loka in our back garden. I designed a Lokan flag and drew it on one of those bits of cardboard that shirts used to come with; I don’t remember much about the flag except that it was predominantly red and had LOKA written in the middle. I got my dad to staple the flag to a bit of wood and stuck it at the top of the garden. I then wrote the Lokan national anthem which luckily has been lost to posterity. I’m sure it was stirring though. I stood by the flag and sang the anthem and then sat down on a low wall, wondering what to do next.

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Isn’t that always the way when, as a writer, you’ve made a world? Here’s the map of this brand new place you’ve created; here are the empty streets that you have to fill with people. You’re the king: now get ruling! Don’t just sit on that low wall!

And so the novelist begins to build characters, plucking them out of their air and making them speak and move, and I did the same with my imaginary country, getting my toy soldiers out of the box and arranging them along the path. In my head they were walking towards the palace that I’d made from an old Frosties box. In my head they were hoping to see the king to ask a favour.

The stories begin. The new kingdom breeds legends and tales. The king refuses the favour and packs the toy soldiers back into their box and goes in for his tea. When he comes back out the flag has blown away into next door’s garden.

Do you know, if one of those forts comes up for sale again, I’ll buy it and turn it into McMillania, my own private universe.

Or I might just write a column about it; that’s the kind of world I’m better at making.