Todays' Sad Git Is Racehorse Trainer Larry Jones

When you want to absolve yourself of all responsiblity, what do you do? Blame someone else, that's what. Usually, God is the one that gets the blame. Racehorse trainer Larry Jones, trainer of Eight Belles (euthanized on the track at this year's Kentucky Derby) is not blaming greed, inbreeding of Thoroughbreds or the media for the on-camera death of his filly.

Jones said that two nights after the Derby he spent time reading his Bible and trying to understand why he lost Eight Belles. A strong thunder-and-lightning storm hit Delaware Park at the time, which Jones said he took as a sign from above.

"He [God] let me know it wasn't my horse. It was his horse long before I ever knew who she was," the trainer said. "This was her purpose, and he did not let her suffer."

Way to completely confuse the issue of cruelty in horse racing, Mr. Jones, by pointing the finger to invisible powers. Must've learned that tacatic from George Bush.

We don't even know what the person nect to us on the bus is thinking, and yet Larry Jones know all about what's God's thinking. It's always dangerous to interpert the Will of God, for any reason. One day, He may sue for libel.

When Wishes Are Horses

Sorry, not feeling funny today. Another nationally-televised unnecessary death due to horse racing in yesterday's Kentucky Derby. This post from last January is just as relevant now as then. Just the name has been changed. There is NO difference between dog fighting and horse racing. It's all cruelty in the name of human entertainment. Here's the original post:

Barbaro died today. I am glad his owners tried to save him -- that's what a racehorse owner should do but rarely does. But I think the American public is hypocitical. Thousands of race horses die every year, in far worse situations than Barabaro's. Even being a Kentucky Derby winner can't guarantee that the horse won't be slaughtered for meat.

Racing Thoroughbreds are magnificent, fragile babies that can barely support their own weight, let alone that of a jockey's. They run until they literally implode, because we ask them to. The entire gene pool is derived from just three stallions. Funny how no one wonders about what that might do to generations of animals.

These animals are bred for speed, not to survive. What are we DOING? Winning a trophy should not be so high up on our priorities that we condem millions of horses to misery. I've got a feeling if the situations were reversed, the horses wouldn't do it to people. They're not that greedy.

I used to worship horse racing. Football fanatics had nothing on me. I knew statistics, bloodlines; collected books, movies and artwork about racehorses. As a kid, I'd daydream about having my own racehorse.

Then, as I got older, I grew up. Seeing Charismatic being overtrained for the 1999 Triple Crown made me afraid to watch a race he was in, for I knew it was only a matter of time before he'd go down. And he did. And no one said boo. All they wanted to know was "Who do you like in the next race?"

It appalled me. I'd wasted years of my life on a sport that cared not one whit for the very animals it needs. I shocked my family and friends when I no longer watched races and wanted nothing to do with them. But I love horses more than what I looked like to others.

And I've never regretted it. I learned about other things, like paganism. The money, land and tracks of the racing industry can be used for better things, like building homes for the homeless, sheltering abandoned animals or becoming halfway homes for suddenly unemployed racehorses.

And the Thoroughbreds won't even mind if their breed goes extinct. The only ones who would mind are people.

Dogs Have The Right To Live With People

During the past month, I haven't had many spiritual epiphanies but did get a couple more clients. One is writing for a New Zealand-based enviornmental blog called Celsias. I did one of my usual cute yet sarcastic posts about what dog owners may have to do in the future when their aren't any more free plastic carrier bags around to clean up doggy doo-doo.

Some of the comments were, quite frankly, appalling. More than one wrote that pet dogs should be banned for the sake of the health of human children. And they seemed to be serious.

I'm not sure what happened in these poor posters' lives to make them so anti-dog, but banning dogs is not the answer to our enviornmental problems. I'm sure Big Oil and Dow Chemical would love to make dogs' butts the scapegoats for global warming, but I don't think this conspiracy theory is gonna last too long.

We need dogs in our lives far more than we need other people. Animals don't pollute like people, they don't complain like people and they don't post nasty comments on blogs about banning humans from dog kennels. Dogs are just as sentient as we are -- perhaps even more so becuase of their abilities to forgive and accept -- and it is only because of them that many people have become more than just selfish consumers with opposable thumbs.

Pet dogs save their owners' lives every day. What's a bit of poo between friends?

Deities, Guns and Money

I love my job as a freelance writer. It's amazing the things you can learn. Just the other day, I discovered that God is a card-carrying member of the group Armed Females of America. The group doesn't go on to mention just what gender God is. Perhpas a male God would be given honorary female status if wanting to join the AFOA.

The mission statement reads that carrying guns is "A GOD GIVEN RIGHT" (their capitals) and that "WITH GOD'S BLESSING, and our diligence, we aim to remain free!" (By looking down the barrell of an elephant rifle, presumably).

I did not realize that the All Mighty needed a gun. I just kind of assumed that omnipotent thing excluded the need to stockpile weapons in an underground bunker.

Does anyone really need to invoke God's will in your desire to blow someone off the effing map? We all have a certain degree of paranoia and would like to always be able to defend ourselves. Especially those of us who have been victims of multiple physical assaults and robberies (such as I have).

However, I've also been shot at by people who mistook me for a deer, despite the fact that I have no physical resemblence to the animal. I look more like one of those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. These are the Einsteins in Pennslyvannia that presumably have the right to own a lethal weapon as given by God. I guess God just shoved the guns in one hand and the beer in another.

After going through a lot of soul searching, I have come upon the illumination (with a lot of heavenly trumpet blasts and eardrums ringing) that it's NOT my God given right to own a gun (especailly since I don't know how to use one).

It's my GOD GIVEN RIGHT to own a machete.

When I lived in the woods in England, did I bother getting a gun? (And I easily could have). Naah. Just whip out a decent machete and let out a scream that could strip paint off the walls a mile away and suddenly you are suprizingly free of willing combatants.

I guess I could start the God's Chosen Machete Alliance and Freelancers Association of America. I could make some enough money to pay off my medical insurance premiums. Although it's my GOD GIVEN RIGHT to own a lethal weapon, it's not my God GIVEN RIGHT to get any life saving medical treatment after being wounded by my GOD GIVEN RIGHT.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Yes, silly me made a wish to get more clients and more work. I had a good reason for the wish, though. Medicare, in it's infinate lack of wisdom, dropped all of my health insurance despite me being classified in the "poverty" level of the national tax bracket. I need to double what I made last year in order to pay for my health insurance. So twice the work and it will be all spent -- on health insurance.

So I made my little wish to the universe.

And, of course, I'm now up to my seventh chakra in assignments. In one sense, it's nice to be busy. It keeps me from going postal over the cost of health insurance. But on the other hand, it means I can't do fun things like rant on here much anymore. Or sleep, for that matter.

In better news, I had two stories published in one week. Cataclysm Class is currently being ignored over at The Lorelei Signal and A Hero For Bobo is pissing people off over at Every Day Fiction.

Back to work. It's good for my health.

Free Tibet (or at least, put it on sale)

Quite a while ago, on 12/22/06, I made a few jokes about the Tibet situation. Since Tibet is trying to make a last stand all by their lonesome, I thought I'd wish them well by reposting that original blog post. Call it "classic Perfect Blog Title". Call it writer's block. Whatever. Good luck, guys. You're gonna need it.


As a gift to the world, I will tell you what I wonder about. Maybe it'll be good for a laugh or soul-search or both. No, I don't bother with those piddling questions like "Where did we come from?" and "Is there life after death?" Those just aren't too practical. I want to know how to find dry sticks to light a fire when I'm caught in a rianstorm in Somerset. Other things I wonder about:

• Is God/dess laughing His/Her/Its Ass off at us?"


• Are the penguins trying to take over the world? And if so, what can I do to hurry them up a bit?


• Right. Suppose the Dalai Lama one day wakes up and snaps and yells "Bugger the Karma!" and blows all the Chinese in Tibet away, despite that this would go against all he'd been saying all of lives, would anyone really blame him?


• Speaking of the Dalai Lama, how many times in his life has someone come up to him and said, "Hello, Dalai!"?


• About 20 years ago, comedian George Carlin came up with the idea for a feminine hygene spray called Sprunt ("Well, you'd never forget the name, wouldja?")? I'd like that stuff. How come this never was made?


• Wouldn't it be great if dog shit was edible?


• And, most importantly, When the bloody 'ell is Peter Gabriel gonna put another albumn out???

One Dream Dying

...or, at least, still hooked up to life support and smiling after the morphine injections. Yes, I'm in a GEAT mood today. I've had one piece of bad news after another the last couple of weeks and I still don't feel like writing about it here. (That's why I write it on blogs that pay me, instead. See how my mad little mind works?)But at least I thought I could get one very small dream to materialize into reality.

Now, the big dreams (getting a horse, enjoying a torrid relationship with Peter Gabriel, world peace through marijuana ice cream) have been packed away in the toy chest a long ling time ago. In my thirties, I've learned to dream a lot smaller. As the old bumper sticker goes: "When all else fails -- lower your expectations."

But I thought at least this dream would happen.

The dream that I could find all of my ghostwritten online articles and have them nicely organized into an electronic portfolio (accompanied by Peter Gabriel images). I passed the 1000th article ages ago and haven't a clue as to how many are out there. I give up. I'll hunt these articles down when I darn well feeel like it.

Hey, I copuld be complaining about the current ugly presidential election race. Which would you prefer to read?

Scale of Change

"Where are you going?" Mom recently asked me when i took a break from my office (which is in the house).

"I'm going to go have a cup of tea and watch my fish change color."

"Oh, okay."

My five goldfish aren't changing so dramatically that you can spot the differnce after one cup of tea, but I still marvel at their changes, nonetheless. That Napoleon, the smallest fish, has actually GROWN let alone change his dorsal fin color, is truly miraculous. Napoleon now has a trnasparant black spoton his dorsal fin. It's not a sickness -- it's just part of the fin is now black.

Twin Comet, once a metallic bronze, now has turned disctinctly silver. He has also grown jowels. That's one reason why I assume he's a he.

Twin Common, also once the exact same shade of mettalic bronze, is going through the most dramamtic transformation. S/he is getting a very dark dorsal stripe with a golden-yellow belly. Every couple of days, the yellow spreads up to the face. The base of the tail is now pinkish.

We humans should go through such changes in our lifetimes -- and not just our hair color. We should be born one color and then, when the mid-life crisis is about to set in, our skins suddenly switch colors overnight. Wouldn't that be fun? One month, you're a card-carrying member of the KKK, next month you are black.

Wouldn't that help us all get to know what our fellow humans have to go through?

Nahh, probably not. We'd just find something else about the neightbors to bitch about.

Well, back to watch the fish change some more.

The Aged of Aquarius

This is Betty from Ontario, who is a heck of a lot cuter than another photo of me. Also, she has more rhythm. This image was nicked from Cute With Chris. I thought a cute kitten shakin' her groove thang would help ease the reader into this particular blog post.

Lots of good stuff and bad stuff have been happening in my life, as perhaps for everyone else in the world. I got dropped by Medicaid due to a paperwork error, but hopefully that can soon be resolved. Although I'd love to be able to vountarily drop Medicaid, I don't make enough money at my freelancing career yet.

Also, this has happened at an incredibly inconvienient time. Two of the very few people I really love in this world have their birthdays in early February. Fortunately for my memory, they have them on consecutive days. My Mom's birthday is today, February 12 and Peter Gabriel's is tomorrow (February 13). That makes them both under the sun sign of Aquarius. And both are sterotypical Aquariuses, too. Trying to get them presents has been horrible.

Last year, I sent Peter a rant, but I've mellowed with age and this year sent him a copy of "Peter & Sid".

Last year, I was able to get Mom her favorite Crabtree & Evelyn soaps -- this year I could in no way manage the soaps. Besides, she would be expecting them. So, I got her a canister of mixed nuts and a donation in her name to help take care of seal lions in California.

I'll probably never know how Peter liked his gift, but Mom's gift went over really well.

But now I can't rest -- I have to get my act in gear to give the IRS their present on April 15.

So Scary It Could Cure Hiccups

Yes, that's actually a photo of me this time around, instead of a cute animal or birdie avatar. It was taken when I was in line for soup and sarnies being given out to the homeless in the Bath Hilton parking lot on Monday nights. Ahh, the memories.

I've decided that both my writing career and my spiritual life would greatly benefit from a catch phrase. I've decided on "So scary, it could cure hiccups", because I came up with it myself (sadly, all of the other clever catch phrases had been taken). I wonder how long this will take before it goes viral. I think it's a much more accurate description of 2007 than "Woot". It's also a frankly accurrate description of my writing career, physical appearance and spiritual life.

As proof that wonders never cease, I have been interviewed for my writing (not for a police interview, thankfully) by Every Day Fiction. It turns out, my flash fiction Peter & Sid was the most read story on the website in the month of December. To reward me, I was interviewed.

Also, I just got notice that one of my wacky articles made it to the home page of Helium for the week of January 21. Hopefully, those hiccups are all gone now.

This Is Pony

Can you resit the cuteness? Bow down before the might of Pony, you mere mortals!

Yes, I have finally been able to get onto the web a photo of my beloved English Mongrel who has saved my life more times than I care to admit. I promise I won't turn this blog which is suppossed to be about my spiritual life into a slide show of my dog. Pony is my guru, so she deserves some space on the blog.

This Christmas, I finally got a scanner. Be prepared for The Many Ears Of Pony (which I might develop into its own blog. Just show Pony with her ears in a different position for each day of the year. Well, if Chris Leavins can do it...)

What Will Happen When The Dalai Lama Dies?

EDIT:  If you want to see a better-written, more thought out version of this article, please check out my Yahoo! Voices version.  Thanks!

Yeah, I'm opening the new year with a heavy thought. This was originally a blog about my spiritual journey. and I've strayed from that a wee bit. In the last few years, my spiritual journey has been heavily influenced by the teachings and the life of the Dalai Lama, one of my personal heroes.

The Dalai Lama is considered the soul of Tibet. The Statue of Liberty has nothing on the Dalai Lama as being the major symbol of a nation. However, Tibet as a country really no longer exists since the Chinese did whatever they are calling their forcefully taking over of a country now. However, being a Tibetan is more than just living in Tibet. The Dalai Lama is perhaps the most quintessential Tibetan and he hasn't set foot inside Tibet since 1959. It is theorised that when he dies (and he is currently 72), that with him will die any hope of a free Tibet.

The current Dalia Lama is considered the fourteenth incarnation of the God of Compassion. Wouldn't the Dalai Lama just come back in another life? Possibly, but the odds are this Dalai Lama would be killed by the Chinese if discovered. Also, since the troublesome Tibetans revere the Dalai Lama so, the Chinese are sure to present a new and Chinese-friendly 15th Dalai Lama.

However, we've seen this before haven't we? We have with the nation of Israel. Perhaps today's Tibetans are the new Jews...I guess that didn't sound right. But the Jewish people lost their homeland and were persecuted for thousands of years (still are, arguably) but finally got their own nation back.

How did the Jews survive for thousands of years? Tradition and a unique spiritual life.
Perhaps this can serve as inspiration for those displaced and exiled Tibetans living today. We can also extrapolate this into other areas of our lives, even if we are not Tibetan, Chinese, Jewish or Buddhist.

Right. Back to the usual silliness next time.

We're Number 4!

Santa has given a little prezzie to me early this year. As a freelance writer, one of the things I have to deal with that's even more mind-boggling than English grammar is Search Engine Optimization (SEO). This is the fine art of word manipulation mated with algorithyms in order to make your website high up on the rankings of places like Google, Ask.com or Yahoo. One of my blog posts for Where We Relax has shown up at Number 4 out of about 4 million for the keywords "how to be liked". WOOT!

And, also, my flash fiction piece "Peter & Sid" was published by Every Day Fiction. No prizes for guessing who the "Peter" character is based on.

Speaking of Peter, isn't this a festive image? This image was created by Mrs. RatBag on the Solsbury Hill Forums. It was so good I had to steal it. As Peter once said:

"Historically, all great art is based on theft."

Off to collapse. See you next year.

Response to Peter Gabriel's 24 Nov. Video Post

Since I mention Peter Gabriel so frequently in this blog, you probably have gathered that I keep an eye on his official web site. Once a month, Peter posts a video blog complete with backing soundtrack about why he still doesn't have another album out. Well, he yet again forgot my birthday, but I don't mind. Yesterday, he asked his fans for responses to his delectable little video blog in a video format. Well, since I don't have a video anything, this'll have to do.

That was the introduction. My letter to Peter is the rest of the post. If you're a little uncomfortable about eavesdropping, just go talk to each other and I'll see you next month.

Dear Peter

You asked for responses -- you got it. As you've probably noticed by now, this isn't in the requested video format. Trust me, darling, my words are far more attractive than either my face or my voice. You could always print this out and put it behind a lava lamp for any needed special effects.

Anyway, I'm quite pleased that you are so busy not working on I/O. This gives me something to tease you about. God/dess knows, you give me precious little opportunites to do that.

You mention that there are those fans who do not like it when you talk about anything other than your music or lack thereof. I am not one of those. I'm glad to hear about your humanitarian activities. I marvel at it.

I do admire that you see the human race as something worth saving, which is a point of view I wish I could share. I would add points about my point of view, but I honestly do not wish to damper your enthusiasm. Some day, I hope to share it. Right now, I concentrate my efforts on animal rights and hope to expand someday.

And the quality of your music is still as high as ever, probably because of the extracirricular activities. I have a feeling that you'd get bored very quickly if you just sat in a studio all day, and that would definately show in the music.

So, keep on talking about Witness, The Elders and anything that excites and inspires you. It all sounds good.

Sweet dreams,

rraven (Rena Sherwood)

God, I'm 38. What Happened?

Yes, it's time for the annual posting of the Solsbury Hill Commitee's picture of a partying Peter. That means my mortality clock has ticked on one click. Translation: Yesterday was my birthday.

Now, I'm coming down from a major sugar and Breyer model horse buzz, so I can't really make a big post, as my eyes are still not back into focus. That and a killer sinus headache this morning didn't help things. However, yesterday my Mom and Dad got together to have me have one of the best birthdays of my entire life. For a few hours, I was a little horse-mad girl again! Mom found about a "Breyer Fun Day" held locally and had my Dad drive me to it (my folks are divorced).

I used to have about 1,000 model horses of various sizes and Breyer was and is my favorite brand. At this Breyer Fun Day, I got to eat free cupcakes, shop for boku Breyers, play a Breyer game, talk to other collectors, enter (and loose) at free to enter raffles and got a free poster, stickers, dealer's catalogue and a free Breyer -- well, I had to paint the little Breyer pony in order to get him for free, but I'm not quibbling.

Now, it's back to work (which I love, incidently.) Showcasing some of my recent work on HubPages, you can read such diverse topics as:

*Practical Crystal Healing
*What To Feed Your Ferret
*How To Set Up A Goldfish Tank
*The Medicinal Properties of Clove Oil

Fish Acting Fishy

Now that my five goldfish have gifted my home with their presense for about a month, I'm noticing something peculiar. All of them are growing -- except for the smallest one, Napoleon. The other four also hang out together more -- even sleep at the same time -- while Napoleon is on the other side of the tank, doing his fishy thing.

It is possible that Napoleon is just a genetically small Comet goldfish, as there are small members in the Plecostomus family that can stay one inch all of their lives or suddenly shoot to a foot and a half in length. But Napoleon isn't a Pleco -- he's a baby goldfish living with four other baby goldfish. The other four are growing -- why not him?

I'm doing the right things -- not overfeeding, doing weekly partial water changes, keeping the cat away, keeping the light on to mimic the sun -- and this guy isn't growing while the other four are.

I've got a bad feeling that one day I'll look in the tank and see only Napoleon swimming through a floating cloud of shredded fins and decapitated heads. And he still won't have grown any. In that case, he can have the tank to himself. I'll have a hell of a job explaining the situation to any onlookers, though. I never had this problem with guinea pigs, at least, although I did have it with hamsters.

In other news, I guess you've noticed all of the links to my HubPages articles. It's not a way to brainwash, you, I assure you -- just a requirement from the HubPages maestros.

And the writing career stumbles onward...

Happy Halloween!

I love Halloween. I always have. That's probably one reason why I became a Witch. I love dressing up (even when it's not Halloween) but I haven't got to the point of dressing up my dog. I think she's just rip the costume off. But if I did, I'd probably get something like the costume pictured.

I used to love getting the candy during trick or treat. Now, I'm on the other side of the door and I think I get more of a kick out of that. Tonight, I'm dressing up as a Witch (what else) and handing the candy out. Pony will be The Hound of the Baskervilles, running up and down her new yard to scare the crap out of all the trick or treaters. I have this really grisly looking bone for her to chew on. Should be a blast.

And as a treat for you, Gentle Readers, I'll cut off this blog post early.

FEESH!

Yes, the fish have finally arrived and life as I know it has ended. Anyway, the Fab Five are doing great and have been helping me get my head together and learn some valuable life lessons.

The fishy five were from the local PETCO. We usually don't go to PETCO, but it is the closest pet shop to us and a shorter trip is less stressful to the fish than a long one. I barely slept the night before Mom drove me to the stire to get the fish. She even greeted me with "Happy Fishy Day!"

I decided to save five feeders' lives (SAVE THE FEEDERS) rather than splurge on pedigreed goldfish. You don't get to choose your fish if you want any from the feeder tank, so I let fate and the nice (and cute) PETCO employee dude choose. And he chose well. There are two Comets, two Common goldfish and one undecided. I have no idea what sex any of them are, so I just assign them personal adjectives at random.

They are:

• Napoleon, the smallest and the leader of the group. About a half inch long, the usual goldfish gold, a Comet and first to figure out everything.


• Redcap, a pinto colored fish with a bright oprange cap (hense the incredibly original name), a Comet baby about an inch long.


• Belly, another itty-bitty baby goldie that's just a wee bit bigger than Napoleon, named after the bright silver and usually fatter belly than Napoleon. Since Belly is so small and active, I can't see her tail shape well enough to determine what breed she is (hey, maybe she's a mongrel! So am I!)


• Twin Comet, the biggest fish, with a honkin' big tail. He is a metallic gold and looks almost identical to


• Twin Common, who has a smaller tail but othersise looks identical to the other Twin.

I promise not to turn this blog into a repetative journal about my brilliant fish, but I just needed to get all this news out of my system. Back to the usual prattle next week.

Why Atlantis Sank

I have solved the mystery of why Atlantis, the mysterious island that knew everything about everything except that it was going to sink, sunk. I actually have some scientific facts to back me up. In 2000, in Venezula, a multi-national team of scientists discovered the remains of the world's biggest guinea pig. How big? 1500 pounds big. My God, even a Thoroughbred stallion weighs less than that! This guinea pig has been officially christened Phoberomys pattersoni but is known among the scientific community as "Guineazilla".

Guineazilla lived eight million years ago, when Atlantis was most likely not only high and dry, but a lot closer to what is now South America. Atlanteans, with nothing better to do, wandered over to South America, where they find cute little baby Guineazillas who have somehow wandered from Mommyzilla and Daddyzilla. The Atlanteans take them home.

Then the babyzillas grew up.
Under their combined weight, the mighty island sank like, approprately enough, a stone. The grown up Guineazillas, bouyed by their fat, floated leisurely back home to South America.

I'm sure it happened.
But I'd need federal grant money in order to pursue this theory further.

The Bristol Shubunkin

I collect neat sayings that would make either dynamite book titles or names for show horses. Hopefully, this post will live up to the tilte of "The Bristol Shubunkin", but I kinda doubt it. And what is a Bristol Shubinkin? It's a kind of goldfish developed in Bristol, England (duh) which is hopefully pictured above. Perhaps one day this will be the title of a book of my poems ... if it's not used by Robert Ludlum first.

With the coming of fall, a girl's thoughts naturally turn to ... that's right...

Goldfish.

In my last post, I was working on a way to let my Mom allow my Dad to give me his twenty gallon aquarium and stand. (Mom and Dad do not live together anymore -- partially due to aquatic issues just like this). Well, Mom said yes and mentioned something about "keeping me too busy to keep playing those damn Peter Gabriel CDs." Ah, Peter comes through for me again!

So now I have an almost fully equipped aquarium with rocks and plastic plants and a really hyperactive heater (uh-oh) all bubbling away a few feet from my bed. the theory is that not only will I get to relax by watching the fish, I will be able to write articles about my fish keeping experiences and make a little money so I can support this new hobby.

But, as any fish keeper knows, you just can't start an aquarium and plunk the fish in. Oh no. There isn't any benficial bacteria built up yet to support life. It's very much like your intestines -- if there aren't any beneficial bacteria in your guts, then the food can't digest. So, my goldfish tank is kinda like a rectangular water filled gut.

Eeewww.

Anyway, the earliest any goldfish can move in is October 15th. This is as bad as waiting for Christmas when I was a kid. In order to keep me from annoying my Mom and to keep out of trouble, I've been a very busy freelance writer. Here are some of the places I contribute regularly to:

* Where We Relax (a blog about relaxing, believe it or not)
* Dealing With Headaches
* My articles on Helium (as soon as I figure out what Helium is, I'll let you know).
* Ghostritten articles galore gathered together in one place in rraven's ghostwritten whispers.