Sunshine, Puddles and Escaping from TV

It was almost impossible to see where I was walking in the woods today due to the dazzling light. I should have worn sun glasses! The breezes drifting up from the calm ocean had an icy edge, and I suspect that tonight the temperature will plummet. The chill hadn't prevented half the local population from heading out for a walk, though. Perhaps they too were escaping from the dismal TV.

The dogs love the woods, of course; there's a whole world of scent which is closed to human noses. Ygraine investigated a small puddle and discovered it was deeper than she'd anticipated. A lot deeper.

I've just finished reading David Hunt's The Magician's Tale, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Crime isn't my usual genre, but I found myself eagerly turning the pages of this well-written tale of a photojournalist who is gathering material for a project about male prostitutes in San Francisco. When her favourite model is murdered, the protagonist sets out to solve the crime.

Monday's meeting of Riverside Writers had a modest turn-out. One of our regular members had to work late (they're in retail), and another was holidaying in Bavaria. Even so, the meeting went well and certainly we had a good ol' giggle. Those who had participated in the monthly writing project read out their efforts, and a couple of people read from other works-in-progress. Once again the subject of producing an anthology of group work was raised. It's a possible self-publishing project for the coming year.

Comments

A Cure for Aging?

"All that we profess to do is but this, - to find out the secrets of the human frame; to know why the parts ossify and the blood stagnates, and to apply continual preventatives to the effort of time. This is not magic; it is the art of medicine rightly understood. In our order we hold most noble -, first, that knowledge which elevates the intellect; secondly, that which preserves the body. But the mere art (extracted from the juices and simples) which recruits the animal vigour and arrests the progress of decay, or that more noble secret which I will only hint to thee at present, by which heat or calorific, as ye call it, being, as Heraclitus wisely taught, the primordial principle of life, can be made its perpectual renovator...." Zanoni, book IV, chapter II, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton, first published in 1842. Oroboros keyring - Spooky Cute Designs The idea of being able to achieve an immortal life is probably as old as human life itself. Folklore and myt...

Remembering Richie Tattoo Artist's Studio

Richard in the street entrance to his tattoo studio in Liverpool. The vertical sign next to Richard is now in the Liverpool Tattoo Museum. Yesterday, my sister Evelyn, Richard and myself stood outside Richard's old tattoo studio and looked up at the few remaining signs, whose paint has now mostly flacked away to reveal bare wood. On the studio's window are stick-on letters which read, "Art", where once it boldly announced his presence as the city's only "Tattoo Artist". I can remember him buying that simple plastic lettering from an old-fashioned printer's shop. This was in 1993, not long after he'd opened the studio and before he could afford better signs. After he'd patiently stuck them onto the glass we realised that from the outside the sign read "Artist Tattoo", so we had to carefully peel the letters off the window and have another go, laughing over having made such an obvious error yet worried in case we spoiled the letteri...

Dear Diary...

Do you keep a diary? Why did you start it, and, if you started one then stopped, why was that? What sort of things do (or did) you write about? I ask as, as a long-time diarist myself, there is an interesting piece in The Guardian today which talks about one woman's diary habit, which she began at the age of fourteen. I started a diary around that age too, but destroyed it after my mother accused me of using cocaine. A stern scene followed, with both parents perched ram-rod straight in their armchairs, while I was subjected to a heated inquisition. Where had I bought it, and who from? Didn't I know such things led to death and doom? I struggled to decipher their bewildering accusations, until Mum blurted out, "I read it in your diary!" To find my diary, Mum would first have had to rummage through my dressing table, obviously when I wasn't around to protest. Her intrusion on my privacy was assumed by both parents to be acceptable, and now, with this handwritten c...

Search This Blog