Dragons and Writers

Richard spent a rough night due to the cold he's caught. Consequently he spent half of today in bed. He's sat in his Man Cave now, watching a documentary about The Beatles, with Saffron purring in his lap. He likes some of their music but not all of it. Saffron couldn't care less what's playing so long as she gets her ears tickled.

The photo depicts one of the tattoos he's done recently. To see more, visit his website: http://www.myspace.com/riche_tattoo_artist

Anyway, while he was snoring triumphantly in bo-bos, I was busy tapping away on this puuter. Today's word count for Bethany Rose is 1,879 words. I love it when a character does something unexpected. I had no idea Bethany was going to move into a haunted house! This MS is very different in mood from Rowan. Whereas Rowan has a languid romantic feel to it, BR is much, much darker.

Did anyone tune in to 7 Waves Radio today? Four members of Riverside Writers were guests on Cath Bore's Lunchtime Forum show: Tim Hulme, Peter Caton, Eileen Murphy and Peter Hurd. I'll be back on air at next month's session, having volunteered to opt out this time to allow some other people a turn on air.

No news about the postponed Wirral Bookfest 2009 yet; and no wonder, with the situation regarding the threatend closure of so many of Wirral's libraries and other community resources still undecided.

The good news, though, is that playrite Sylvia Taylor has agreed to visit Riverside Writers and give a talk/workshop on script writing. The date is yet to be confirmed. Sylvia has co-written for the BBC and used to run her own theatre company. Currently she's making small films (which have been shown on the huge public screen in Liverpool city centre), planning full-length films, and works in community art development.

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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...

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