As it’s Groundhog Day, here’s the story behind ’11:42′ – but not because of the cute little woodchuck that predicts the arrival of Spring every Feb 2nd in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.
A little message for the New Year ahead …. Happy New Year! Make every day count xxx
Standing in the corner of my grandma’s hallway in my disgrace, the stolen shortbread still melting on my tongue, I placed my hands on the walls, closed my eyes and saw Grandad.
A lot of fiction writers find music a real distraction when writing, but here’s why I find it a real help…
Writers crave good reviews even more than they crave chocolate cake or a really fantastic pen. This is the first one I got, dug up from the archives…
Written by a philosopher, a mystic, a coven of witches, or a muddle of martians? We may never know…
Carbon-dated to 1420, this enigmatic 240 page creation seems to document a forgotten culture in an unrecognisable language with dream-like illustrations. Some of the world’s most prominent cryptologists have tried—and failed—to decode the text.
If you’d like to have a go yourself, the whole thing is available online.
Take a look at this short film about why the Voynich Manuscript is truly a really Odd Bit of Writing!
Witches don’t exist. Not the ones who fly around on broomsticks cackling at the moon and turning people into frogs. That was all made up by some nasty men to get rid of little old ladies who knew a lot about plants and healing, but not much about the Lord. Of course, that’s a very broad sweep over the subject because I can’t go into it now.
Writing a book? Want it to stand out? You could do worse than give it a really bizarre title.
With ‘The Blackwood Crusade’ due for its chance in the spotlight on Sunday, I thought it would be wise to pay some attention to my firstborn in case it begins to feel neglected!
Meanwhile, Silas was lobbing half of the faerie cake into the river.
“SNAPDRAGONS!” he shouted.
Tapping his foot on the lush grass of the riverbank, he waited for a response. The river was very deep and fast and he did not relish the idea of swimming across it. The very idea struck fear into him when he thought of his father’s hand disappearing into the raging grey water as it had carried him away once upon a time. Still, he was prepared to do it if…
“’Ere I am. Don’t be going getting your tunic in a twist,” came a familiar voice, gurgling up from the depths.