Finally returned.
*stretches fingers*
Hello again my non-existing fans, how are you today? Good, I am glad to hear that. How am I you ask? I’m doing well, thank you – although it does seem my blog has been collected layers upon layers of dust as of late. So here I am to sweep the piles of dust away which were slowly taking over my website and now, settled in my computer chair with my hot cup of tea and a fitting music track playing quietly in the background, I can now announce that I have returned with many new points to discuss, but firstly:
Remember my humour comic, The Wizzo? Yeah, that one I seemed very passionate about and all? Yes, well, Issue 4 still hasn’t come out and for this I deeply apologise. Call it bad timing, unprofessional or simply call it life, in fact, call it the most difficult time of my life so far. Yes, the GCSEs certainly do whisk you away from your comfortable spot among the things you enjoy most and then place you in what I like to call a reality-check where the world doesn’t care if you can recognise a comic artist’s style in The Beano by its line-work and colours and cares more about those funny little letters which will forever be linked to you, like a ball and chain and will depend on how your life turns out – and if I’m entirely honest, I’d rather not get a bunch of low grades and have to spend the rest of my life roaming around Poundland, wearily explaining to young “jokers” that everything in the shop costs £1.00 so they can stop asking how much said item costs with that smug grin across their blemished faces.
To summarise, The Wizzo has been put on a hiatus for many reasons which I will explain in a later blog post if I have any free time. But The Wizzo will return this year, in fact I may even be considering rebooting the comic and starting at Issue 1 so people can stop asking for that mess of an issue. But hey, more on that later…
I once again apologise for not being so consistent in my blog updates, I hope you can understand why and I promise every single one of you readers that once these GCSEs are over and when I’m not working at wherever my first proper job will be, I will be using my blog, my deviantART and even YouTube more than ever. And as for The Wizzo? Like I said, more on that later.
– Harry Rickard
A suitable shoutout for Faye White’s new art blog!
I have the honour to know one of the greatest young artists there is currently – and amazingly, she’s only 14-years-old! If you hadn’t already guessed by the title of this blog post, I am talking about fellow Wizzo artist and good friend of mine, Faye White!
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I’ve known Faye personally for a long time now and over the past few years have managed to really begin to appreciate her artwork a lot more – so much so she is now part of The Wizzo – thank goodness!
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Faye has now made a WordPress blog after seeing mine and being inspired (woo!) so here’s a blog post to simply give her her first shoutout – seriously, check out her website – her artwork is AMAZING! Check it out below:
http://feishiro.wordpress.com/
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Oh, and I designed her that blog header you see at the top if this post too – not sure if she’ll use it but there it is for all of you lot anyway, (heh, you lot… there’s probably only two of you…)!
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So yeah, be sure to check out her blog and make sure you follow so you can see more of her amazing art talents!
Until the next blog post, see ya chaps!
– Harry Rickard
Comic Recommendations: RAISING AMY by Stephen White
A new series of blog posts for me as I share with you a range of comic books, graphic novels and webcomics which I would recommend anyone to read – beginning with the wonderful ‘Raising Amy’ comic book by Stephen White (Stref) – a 250-strip-filled comic book about a toddler called Amy who is best described as a “Scottish ginger nutcase” who also wields many weapons in her tiny hands. Below is my review on this comic book:

Raising Amy is available to buy online and I would certainly recommend to any comic fan looking for many laughs.
I got Raising Amy as a surprise Christmas present and was very pleased to have seen it when I tore it out of the Christmassy wrapping paper that surrounded it. I’m awful when it comes to buying small-press comic books – I just forget and never pick them up and end up regretting it. So to see Raising Amy inside that wrapping paper was a lovely surprise!
I started and finished reading it on Boxing Day and it certainly killed a few hours of my time – I was lost inside this insane world where toddlers create trouble worse than Dennis the Menace ever had and everything had a surreal quality to it. And I loved it.
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If there was a way to describe Raising Amy in a nutshell, I would certainly say the following:
Raising Amy is everything a humour comic book should be, it contains the surreality and humour of something which closely resembles Calvin and Hobbes however includes that familiar British twist in the humour which allows me to relate to the storylines far better. This clever way of writing when accompanied with the simple yet wonderful illustrations supplied also by Stephen White allows the comic book to flow and become a joy to read.
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One thing I really do enjoy in comic strips is the breaking of the fourth wall as it allows the artist to be a little more creative in their storylines and can allow them to be lazy and still create laughs when done right! Below are a few of my favourite examples of the silly stories which break the fourth wall:
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My only small problem with the comic book (and I mean very small) is the sudden change of font – however, I’m glad it does change as I felt the size of the font was slightly distracting – although I felt it did suit the comic strip better. But as I said, a very small problem which does not affect the quality of writing or art in any way whatsoever.
Another funny thing about the comic book is its mini-arc inside about Amy’s babysitter, Flower and “Love-Sick Dick”, the obsessed stalker who follows Flower everywhere. This makes up for some very silly storylines and also allows both to mix when Dick follows Flower to Amy’s house! There are also other silly story-arcs such as Amy’s obsession with eating worms, Amy’s chemistry set and my favourite, the monsters under Amy’s bed. All are very funny and full of perfect comic humour both modern and traditional!
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Overall, a wonderful read which I would gladly read over and over again timeless amounts – Stephen’s simplistic art style allows the characters to take centre-stage and make every story clear, quick and witty without overcomplicating the reader. Every story managed to make me chuckle and each in their own right deserve to be commended for their geniosity and originality. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it from start to finish and I would certainly recommend it to any comic lover of any age.
The Final Exit
Hello my wonderful pals! How are you all today? Good? Glad to hear it!
Today’s blog post is a little special as it’s yet another one of my Creative Writing stories for an upcoming assessment (this time being a draft) – following the lovely feedback I received from many kind people from good friends to new blog fans – I’m so grateful for your support. So, here’s another treat for you all – or a nightmare – it depends if you like my writing…
Anyway, the theme this time was ‘conflict’ so here’s a little story for you all – not as quirky as ‘Chords’ but hopefully just as enjoyable!
You probably just want me to share with you the story, right? Well, here you go then you impatient lot, enjoy!
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The Final Exit
An original story by Harry Rickard
*CHING!*
“Oh god.” I thought. “How’d I get into this mess?”
I jumped to the side as the giant serrated blade crashed down to the ground once again. The sword came down again and missed me by inches as I aimlessly rolled across the war ground as the weapon violently thrashed the ground once more.
I grabbed my puny blade from the ground – pulled on my even punier helmet and stumbled towards the giant man grasping the death-trap in his mighty fists.
I ducked suddenly as the colossal weapon hurtled towards me – this man was thirsty for blood. My blood.
I ducked and darted around the vast arena – my opponent thundering after me – his hooves penetrating the ground beneath him with every forceful thud. He let out a mighty roar and as he did so, I felt myself quivering – fixed to the ground, unable to move in fear.
“Man up!” I told myself in exasperation, “You’ve trained months and months for this moment – now hold that blade with pride and destroy that foul beast.”
I clenched my sword and stared angrily at my opponent who was now hurtling towards me like a loose cannonball. His eyes were filled with cold fire as he roared once more. This man was insane; to take him on was stupid! And yet here I was. Oh god, I am a fool.
I closed my eyes and hoped it would all be over quickly – there I was, fixed to a spot which was soon to have my blood spilled over it.
This was it, my last performance – the final exit. Oh, and what a way to die – being completely lacerated by a murderous sword-wielding madman.
I opened my eyes briefly and as I did so, I suddenly felt an applause of wind fill the arena – my hair danced with the breeze and suddenly loud noises came from above. Thunder. Dark grey billowing clouds with jagged weapons to accompany it.
As crashes came from above and rumbles overflowed the ground we stood on, painted with the blood of the once-living – I felt a new form of anger erupt inside me. I let out a mighty roar as the lightning crashed into the ground violently. The rain began to tumble and sprayed my reddened face. My opponent suddenly stopped in shock as the lightning bolts smashed into the dirt that lay around him – I saw my chance and hurtled towards him, my eyes full of murder and my blade waiting to meet its contact.
I pounced into the air and as I did, the storm suddenly died out as a sea of grass looked upon me – I swung back my sword and thrashed it forward – the weapon hurtled towards my opponent – straight into his skull.
The sword smacked him violently on the head as he let out a massive cry of defeat. I had won! My opponent who I once feared was dead and I was triumphant. I looked down upon him, lifeless on the ground – his blood spilled across the dirt beneath him. Then the storms came again – this time louder, the thunder clapped and my opponent awoke from his never-ending sleep and then arose the rest of the fallen – we all dropped our swords and bowed as the theatre was filled with the sounds of hearty applause.
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And that’s that! I hope you enjoyed it – if you did, why not leave a comment about your thoughts, like the post and follow for hopefully more creative writing pieces!
But until then, bye chaps!
– Harry Rickard
My Shaving Experience
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This actually happened. :c
Still, it made a neat little comic strip! Hope you like laughing at my first world problems!
The bleeding obviously wasn’t as bad as it looks here – I guess you could say it was a close SHAVE!
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If you liked it – please let me know in the comments below and I’ll make more to share with you all!
Until then, farewell, chums!
– Harry Rickard
Chords
Hello, chums! Something a little different today as I share with you my GCSE Creative Writing piece entitled simply ‘Chords’, where I decided to tell the story of a man and his cheap, wooden ukulele. I am honestly so proud of this piece and is probably my best piece of writing I have ever done. I would love your feedback on it!
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Chords
~ By Harry Rickard ~
Have you ever played ukulele before?
I sat down on the high wooden stool; in my hands I held a ukulele. Not a fancy one costing £100.00 to purchase – nor a “funky” one painted an appealing shade of blue or red. Just a standard, plain, wooden ukulele.
I made myself as comfortable as I could on what could only be described as the most uncomfortable of furniture, and then, using my worn fingernail, placing my finger on the first string; third fret, I strummed an appealing ‘C Major’, the first chord I had ever learnt. The baby step of a ukulele. I followed on with a series of different chords; when I played ‘A minor’, suddenly the mood of the harmless tune changed and I felt a pang of sadness. A single tear cascaded down my cheek.
A report card I held in my small, shaking, pale hands; I was beside myself with fear. It wasn’t my fault, he was so laid-back and all he wanted was to get his month’s pay and then he’d be off with not a concern about us, the ones he left behind. An agonising pain came from my behind, six-of-the-best all because I got a question wrong? It’s not discipline – it’s torture.
My hand shook as I knocked on the huge door standing high in front of me. From inside I heard footsteps and the creaking of loose floorboards – then the brass door-knob slowly turned clockwise and the door swung open on its hinges. In the doorway was a giant man with bulking muscles and a cigar lightly crushed between his yellowed, iron teeth. My father. He immediately peered down at me with his eagle eyes and saw my report card, slightly crumpled and ripped. He glared at my face; pale with fear, tears welling up in my bright blue eyes; my hands and knees quivering. I had a reason to be shaking like a leaf; I had a fear. Not for the implausible. A fear of my dad.
His face reddened as he held out my report card between his huge hands. In one tug, he tore the card in two, shreds of paper slowly sinking to the floor. He grabbed me by the ear and pulled me, the creaks had become deafening thuds as he stormed into the living room. He then bent me over, clenching a wooden cane in his iron fist and gave me twenty solid smacks on my behind. I struggled to cry. Only a single tear cascaded down my cheek.
I changed the tune and blinked a few times to remove the tears that were forming in my eyes. I played a jolly tune this time, as I reached ‘D Major’, it felt like my soul had been lifted.
I climbed the rungs of the wooden ladder and hoisted myself up and into the attic; I never realised how many boxes could be stored in such a tiny place. I searched around and I finally found the box full of Christmas decorations. I smiled as I remembered last year, the kids loved putting the baubles and tinsel on the tree. We all loved it.
I was about to descend from the attic when in the corner of my eye, I spotted something poking out of one of the cardboard boxes. A stock head and fretboard! I rushed over to the box and slowly opened the flap, there, in amongst a pile of random junk was my ukulele. It was like I had discovered treasure! I used to play ukulele so much when I was in my teenage years; I could remember being quite good at it too! I tried playing the four chords, I could still remember it all perfectly after so many years. “TWANG!” Cripes, I guess it does need tuning again…
But you know what they say? Practice makes perfect, that old cliché. Nevertheless, it was true; five months later and I was really improving. But of course, I wasn’t perfect.
I smiled as I began to sing my favourite song,
“You’ve got a friend in me…”
The chords went like clockwork; C, G+, C, C7, F, F#°, C, C7… I felt at peace, like the world was at my fingertips. The occasional twang made the tune feel familiar. I felt like I was Randy Newman and it felt great.
I ended on C, the entire time thinking about how my life had improved – my kids were growing up, my beautiful wife and my dear ukulele. Life was good. I stood up from the stool, a pain in my backside, but minor in contrast to the whacks I received as a child. I held my ukulele firmly in my right hand and raised my arms as a huge applause came from in front of me. Thank god I went to find those decorations all those years back.
A single tear cascaded down my cheek – only this times, one of happiness.
The chords all tell a little part of my life – all bringing back memories; some fond, some which I’d rather forget forever.
But the good memories outweigh the bad ones and I’ve learnt that you will always remember the good times as long as you play the right chords.
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I do hope you enjoyed that! If you did, please leave some feedback in the comments of what bits you liked, disliked and anything else!
Coming soon will be a piece on the new-look Beano as promised – but until then…
Toodle pip, chaps!
– Harry Rickard