If Wishes Were Fishes

I want a fish tank. Preferably with fish in it. I have had tanks before and so I have a taste of what I'm up against. I'm always sad when a pet dies, even a wet pet, and fish are the most mortal of the bunch. But this time I am determined that it will work out. Mainly, becuase I don't have to pay for a tank, a stand and a light. I discovered my Dad wants to get rid of his empty 20 gallon tank. Currently, it is home to two wooden sculptures of tropical fish and some gravel.

Besides, I have this pet advice column on Hub Pages. This could be great research for future articles. Perhaps I could even write the fish off as a business expense? And watching fish is supposed to lower stress. I could write about that in my new professional blog for We-Relax.com.

Well, I talked to Dad just a few minutes ago and he is all for giving me the tank, stand and light and even helping me set the tank up. He has even offered to buy me a pump for an early birthday present.

The only snag is that I live in my Mom's basement. So I have to convince Mom that a 20 gallon fishtank is a good thing. I have no idea what my dog Pony is going to think (probably "Blah, blah, blah Pony blah blah blah" as suggested by a Far Side cartoon). Cross your fingers that I swim and don't sink!

Speaking about luck, I have recently had another website pay me for one of my original poems about a strange bit of luck called, "How To Determine There's A God When You Are On The Return Flight To Philadelphia From Orlando". Enjoy.

New Moon

A new moon is an omen of a new direction or start in life, fortunes or projects. A new moon is the most auspiscious time to start working on life goals. Today is the new moon. It also happens to be the sixth anniversary of Sept 11. I hope that America will get a new attitude and get on with life from this new moon onwards.

After six years, what have we learned, folks? That's it's probably not the best of ideas to swat a mosquito with a bazooka. Honestly, if the Bad Guys were supposed to be so evil, I think we would've all been toast long before now. So let's get things in perspective and start tackling the REAL issues that need money and manpower, like world peace, fixing the enviornment, reducing the human overpopulation, feeding those who are already here, lowering the cost of things and shifting our worship of Money to a worship of Let's Get Our Shit Sorted Out.

Sorry, not feeling funny today. But I don't want to end on such a bummer of a note. Here's a video of a duet between Bono and the late, great Luciano Pavarotti. One of the highlights of my tumultous five years in England was getting to see The Three Tenors performance in Bath. I always thought Pavarotti would outlive me. Perhaps he will, after all. That's a fair trade-off.

God & The Lottery

Last week a Wiccan won The Lottery (and not the Shirley Jackson kind, mind you). Elwood "Bunky" Bartlett won over $30 million after some intense spiritual negotiations:

Bartlett, an accountant from Dundalk, Maryland, said he made a bargain with the multiple gods associated with his Wiccan beliefs: "You let me win the lottery and I'll teach." Both tickets he purchased had numbers chosen randomly from the computer.

I'm a Witch as well and have yet to win the lottery (although once I think I won a copy of short stories with "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson in it). When you read Wiccan, think "Witch". As far as I'm concerned, "Wiccan" is the wussy name. The thinking behind calling oneself Wiccan rather than Witch is that the name Witch has a whole lotta archetype baggage associated with it. And that's exactly the reason why I call myself a Witch...or at least, a Pagan.

ANYWAY, the media seems quite interested in Bartlett's religion. I hesitate to think that Bartlett is the first Wiccan/Pagan to ever win money, but apparantly he's the first for a major multi-million pot. I hope this does not lead people to look into Wiccan/Pagan spirituality just for the dosh. They will be sadly disappointed, let me tell you.

Oh, you get what you ask for if you really really want it, don't get me wrong. On the day I devoted myself to The Path, I asked for wisdom. Silly me. I had no idea what the consquences of asking for wisdom would be. I thought I would learn how to organize coupons better. No. I wound up falling in love with a homeless alchoholic in England, ran away from home to follow him and lived in poverty for over five years. I had to come back to America after my litte home in the woods was burnt down. But I am a hell of a lot wiser.

Having said that, I suppose I could do a spell to win a lottery. But what would be the point? Would I be truly happy? Well, I'd be a lot more comfortable, but I wouldn't be any happier.

Hopefully, Elwood "Bunky" Bartlett will not have to go through what I had to go through to get what he wanted. Free advice, though, Brother Elwood -- most spirits and elemental forces and the human student body do not obey anyone named "Bunky". "My Goddess! We're in for it now! It's Professor Wizard Bunky!" Heck, even Tim is a scarier name.

And speaking of true magic, one little wish of mine has come true. Peter Gabriel has finally gone and found himself a distributer for his new album, I/O...but whenever that comes out, God only knows.

Gid God

Apparantly God has decided to be a graffitti artist. He doesn't seem to have too much of an original tag (the name graffiti artists go by, such as the immortal Spaz) but at least He is using an extrememly original medium -- eggplants.

I've read about cracking the cosmic egg, but this is ridiculous.

I was born in Delaware County, PA which is a hearty scream outside of South Philadelphia. I always knew Delaware County was going to produce something extraordinary one day. And it did, producing Jim Croce, but he's sadly passed on now so we've been waiting for something else to fill in the gap.

And it's here -- On August 12, 2007 in a humble mostly agnostic home in Boothwyn, Delaware County, Feliecia Teske was carving up an eggplant for, presumably, dinner. When she sliced the plant, out popped the image that is still hopefully at the top of this post. The seeds seem to be spelling out the word "God" (although to me it looks like Gid). She did what any normal person would do -- alterted the media and then put the Holy Eggplant up on eBay.

Incredibly, owners of more Holy Eggplants have come forward. Even more incredibly, they are not getting any bids.

I think Delaware County would've rather had Jim Croce back.

Puppy Mojo

Bless Hecate -- today is Pony's third birthday. Yes, the world has been blessed now with THREE FULL years of my dog, Pony's, presence. Her birthday just happens to coincide with an ancient sacred day for the great pre-Hellenic Goddess Hecate, who just happens to be incredibly fond of dogs. Months before Pony was born, I had chosen Hecate to petition for a new dog (my first dog Rusty dying over a year previously). That Pony was born on a sacred day of the Goddess I asked for help from seemed to be too much of a coincidence.

And Pony is a magickal dog. Her wishes come true much more often than mine do. She has a penetrating stare that wakes me from my sleep. She often stares unblinkingly at you for minutes if she wants something. My Mom calls this her "puppy mojo". Don't laugh -- it works.

Pony was nored living homeless in the English woods, for instance. So our home burnt down and we needed to move. Saint Mom took us in. Now Pony gets to see mots of people, lots of doggies, and sniff new sniffs every day here in America.

Then Pony did not like when I had a job at Macy's. Whenever I got dressed for work, she would cringe and whine. She wanted me to stay with her. So I quit my job, became unemployed for a year and now make enough money to meet Pony's needs (if not my own, but that;s not the point)with telecommuting.

You want to get some magick in your life? Forget the spellbooks and Wiccan workshops -- just get a dog.

Thank God For Atheists!

It is seems atheism is hot again. There are a lot of books being sold written by atheists proving that religion is detremental to life, the universe and everything. And I think the Gods (any and all)are part of the buying public.

I'm not an atheist, but that doesn't mean I'm against atheism. Atheism does not equate with immoratlity. We do seem to be inborn with a set of ethics (except for the mentally ill) that often coincide with religious laws or duties. Although I haven't yet read the book pictured (Xmas gift hint), I have had long, happy discussions with atheists and agnostics. And they all seemed to be responsible, moral people. Although those who I talked to might not hold the views all atheists do, I think I've talked to enough to get the general gist.

The atheists I've talked to aren't aginst God or Goddess. They look at God or Goddess the way non-atheists look at an art form. It's religion that they are so worked up about. And religion is an entirely different animal from God/dess.

So, if your view of God/dess is that they set laws and punish those who break them and demand that all of nature worship them 24/7, then I can't agree with that view of God. God/dess made the damn universe -- what does He or She care a rat's ankle if someone doesn't go to Church? I think They've got more on Their plate than wagging fingers at every little naughty-naughty.

God has gotten a bad rap from organized religion. He or She is probably loving books like those on the left and saying , "Me bless all atheist authors!"

In other news, I've had another story published in the e-zine Susurrus: The Literature of Madness. (Let that be a reminder to you to take this Blog with a spoonful of sugar) It's about the quest to find a personal God, among other things. Hope you like it, especially all you Peter Gabriel fans. The editor went to great lengths to find illustrations for it. It's called Lost & Found.

Resistance Is Useless

What do you think of when you hear the word "teacher?" If you're me, you think of variations of the image on the left. So, whenever anyone said to me, "You look like schoolteacher," (because of my glasses, I guess) I cringed and promptly lived a live as non-schoolteacherish as I could. Being a sterotypical Scorpio, I prided myself on being completely unpredicatble.

And now, so what am I doing to earn a living? I'm writing how to and instructional articles on the web. In other words... I'M TEACHING. There are just times when everyone else except you can see your destiny and you just can't fight Destiny Hall. Fight it, no...compromise greatly, yes. I don't have to wear a dress code, speak in front of a group and can run with scissors and call it "research".

All of this has lead to me finding (at last count) over one hundred of my "teachings" on the web. To try and add links in one post or in the sidebar of this blog would be ridiculous, so I'm proud to announce that The Perfect Blog Title now has a spin off blog rraven's ghostwritten whispers. Now if I could only somehow get tenure...

Wanted: A Few Good Elders

Well, it's been an exciting week in the world of rraven, including the beginning of what is hoped to be an exciting experiment in world diplomacy and human rights. I am referring to the formation of the ultimate diplomatic consultation firm -- Mandels, Carter, Tutu & Co. -- otherwise known as The Elders. Although the global village is full of people fighting for the post of Global Village Idiot, what is needed is a few good Elders to sort the idiots out.

The Elders concpt was started and initially funded by Sir Richard Branson and Peter Gabriel. Now, this blog contantly teases PG about the incredibly long time he takes between albums (because what else is there to tease Peter about?) but I am actually glad that he does take the time out to do other projects. Most of them never quite come about as originally planned, but The Elders has.

I'd love to join the Elders. Sadly, at 37 and not even a Z list celebrity, I don't have much of a shot. But I will gladly donate a helpful hint to the current Elders about my plan for bringing about the end of a humanitarian crisis:

No more ice cream for anyone in the world until this Darfur thing is finally settled.

Seriously, think about it. No one cares about Darfur outside of those directly affected because they aren't affected. Take away the ice cream, and we're all affected (probably even those scientists in Antartica as well). That'll put Darfur at the top of the pile of Things To Do so we can all get back to ice cream.

BTW, sadly, that's not me In the photo (much to PG's releif, I'm sure). But the sentiment is there. Well done, Peter, Sir Richard, Desmond Tutu, Nelson Mandela and everyone else involved with the Elders. Brightest Blessings.

Ghost Writer On The Fly

Hello, and hope you had a good week. Well, there's beedn lots of religious and spiritual news lately, including that mischevious Pope sticking his foot in his mouth again (I can't wait for the explanation to this one!), but for the most part news has flown right over your blogger's head. Becuase I have discovered some of the articles I wrote for web content sites are now online.

WHOOP! WHOOP! Of course, they don't have my name on them, but they still count as clips for my portfolio, don't they? And lo and behold, hardly a word was changed -- even the typos are still there in all their glory.

Now, what I do is technically called "ghost writing". Sadly, it has nothing to do with Stephen King. That is when I am paid to write material that another person or website gets the credit for. Yes, this is legal. Also sadly, I didn't realise some of these articles were already up and I sent them off as submissions. Is my face pink, or what? Anyway, Its fun to be a ghost writer now that the checks have cashed and the comments are starting to fly. Especially since I found out that all of us ghostwriters writing about ponds have the name of the same ghost -- Steve Madigan. Who knew! And when we ghostwriters want to get the proper vibes on debt relief, we channel the energies of a spirit named Raoul.

And what Perfect Blog Title post is complete without a link to Peter Gabriel's current European tour? (Um, quite a lot, actually...)

The Puppetmasters

Yesterday was apparantly the luckiest day in one thousand years (7/7/07; but what about 7/7/77?) so that got me thinking about luck, which got me to thinking about predestination. Are we players or victims? When we fall down a flight of stairs and break our leg, should we say, "What bad luck!" or "You got off lucky this time, mate." So, are we just puppets of bigger forces like God, Nature, Genentics or Money?

Despite the image I chose for this post (if it bothers showing up!)I don't think we are helpless victims of any impersonal, sadistic, bored force. This image was nabbed from Peter Gabriel's video Steam. It contains a series of Peter being a puppet in the hands of a red dressed (ie-dangerous) woman. Then the situation is reversed. Hell, just click the Steam link to be cure of what I'm taling about.

I do think we are connected, but not in straight two-way lines such as puppetmaster and puppet. I think we are all connected on a vast spiderweb or cyber web network, if you like, and that although others might sometimes pull our strings, we also pull the strings of everyone else. this not only gives us freedom, but also great responsibility. So, you can't blame it all on Lady Luck. Damn!

My Ephitaph

I'm getting cremated. I'm putting it on record in the blogosphere -- don't bother burying my dead ass, just burn it. And I don't care where the ashes go, 'cause I'll be DEAD. I'm mentioning all this because "what happens to you after you die" is the big questiona ll spritualities must answer, and I'm not waiting for the answer to come to me when I die. I'm telling you now. Snap, crackle, pop me.

When you are cremated, there is less for your grieving family to have to do. I always like to think of other people, even when dead. And, by not using a burial plot, six feet of good fertile ground is spared. We're overpoulated enough with the living as it is without getting crowded out by the dead.

And, most importantly, after being cremated, I will not have a tombstone. Why is that important? Because no one will be able to write my epitaph. No one should write my epitaph but me. And quite frankly, since it's not a paying writing gig, I'm not interested in taking the assignment.

The best spitaph ever written was the one Spike Milligan did for himself. The one for Buffy The Vampire Slayer was pretty good, too.

If certain people ever wrote my epitaph, it would probably go something like this:

*My brother: "She Didn't Like David Tennant"

* My ex, Mitch: "Couldn't happen to a better person."

* My other ex, Dave: "Huh? What?"

* My dog, Pony: "Bones? What bones?"

* Stephen King: "To Be Continued...Mmmwooo hoo haa haa!!!"

* Peter Gabriel: "Obligatory PG Link Here"

OK, I Am Now Officially a Geek

It's been nearly a month now that I've been writing material for Cyber Defender, the free and low cost total online security softwear that's won a ton of awards...there, I'm writing for them again! But I'm thrilled with the job. Which, if my bosses ever risk a peek at this blog, I'm sure they'll be relieved to hear. My family is a little boggled that I'm having such a good time writing about online security. Doorknobs confused me when I was a kid. Now I'm the computer expert.

But it is suprisingly fun. Ever like those espionage thrillers or spy movies? The spy vrs spy aspect is just the same as with Internet security. One group sneaks over here in a neat-o way to get your personal information for nefarious purposes like sending you pop up ads and the other James Bond types sneak around with even more neat-o gizmos and not only saves the Internet, but gets the girl in the end (pun intended).

Alright, perhaps I exaggerate a bit, but you do have to keep your energy levels up writing about phishing over and over again. I did learn why phishing is spelled with a "ph" instead of an "f". Turns out, it is a spelling of respect for the pioneering hackers and crackers who walked ten miles in blizzards and hailstorms to a phone booth in order to hack into a computer with a phone line. Geeks have much different ways of giving memorial monuments to our pioneers. We would set up a statue or wall of some sort, but we're too busy watching piano playing cats on You Tube.

Other news:

* Mom is doing well after her multi-hour spinal surgery and will be coming home this evening. HOORAY! Last night I actually turned the telly on just to hear another human voice in the house. I've never done that before. Hell, I've lived alone in an English wood for three years, and last night I had to put on Nature before I could make dinner. I've turned into my Grandmother!
* Peter Gabriel is still on tour and there is, sadly, no chance of it coming over to Philly. What a time for me to move back to America, eh?
* Duct tape does not work in the vacuum of space. Am I alone, or did you get a powerful chill down the spine when you read that? I thought duct tape was how God made the Universe You know, "E=MC duct tape two for a one sale at Kmart squared".
* I have been throughly chastised by my brother about not liking the new Doctor Who. Although I have been humbled by Big Bro's explanation that I should be free to new concepts and not but the good Doctor in a pigeopn hole, I CANNOT get over the fact that the actor now portraying Doctor Who is THREE YEARS younger that I am. SO, I will watch the new Doctor Who episodes when I am old enough that EVERYBODY is younger than I am.

Gimme That Old Time Doctor

My Mom is getting her back operated on this Thursday, June 14, the day of a new moon, happily enough (for all of us who believe in omens in the sky). She has decided to go with the same surgeon we first visited back in November. You remember the guy -- has a humungous Heironymous Bosch triptych print in his consultation office along with a silver skull decorated with Celtic crosses. Unsuprisingly, Mom was pretty adamant that, should she need surguery (she still wouldn't face the inevitable), she didn't want Dr. Waterman. I thought it was because of his choice of decor. No, Mom didn't like him because he's young. (Younger than I am).

Now, I laughed and laughed at this. The docotr has diplomas up the wazoo; he's articulate and eccentric and Mom holds his age (or lack thereof) against him. What a silly predudice! Ah, silly old-fashioned Catholic Mom.

Then, last Saturday, I decided to finally watch a tape of the most recent Dr Who episodes, made when I was still living in England in the woods. I remember hearing about the episodes being made and I felt bad at the time. I wondered what I was missing. I was a HUGE Dr. Who fan until I discovered Peter Gabriel. In fact, I dream that someday Peter Gabriel would become the next Doctor Who, but that would take him even further from ever getting an album done.

So, my brother, bless him, taped all of the new Doctor Who episodes made in 2005 or so from Canadian TV. It must've taken him hours. Then he mailed me the tape...over a year ago. And I just found time to watch the tape last Saturday. Hey, I've been busy not getting published and not listening to Peter Gabriel's new album. So sue me.

The new Docotr Who is portrayed by actor Daivd Tennant. My brother, a connissour of all things sci-fi, mind, thinks David Tennant is the second best Dr Who actor ever. (The first, of course, being Tom Baker). I had my doubts, but decided to give this david Tennant a chance.

I lasted less than one hour of that tape. I couldn't stand it. At least I wasn't missing anything. I just could not tolerate the actor.

Mom asked me why.

"He's so YOUNG!" I complained, "My God, he's younger than I AM!"

All right. So I am my momther's daughter in more ways than one. But there is a difference in choosing a spinal colum surgeon with references than a fictional time travelling alien-human hybrid doctor. I'm sure I can convince some insurange agent of this eventually.

All good Doctor Whos should have these three characteristics, or they are NOT real bone fide Union Jack stamped Docotr Whos:

1) He should have wrinkles. He's meant to be pushing 1000 years old, for Pete's sake!

2) He should dress very disctinctly, like with a twenty foot long scarf or frills. This is mandatory.

3) He should be easily pissed off. Otherwise, he would have no motivation to work against the bad guys. All of these characteristics are wrapped up in my favorite Doctor Who (well, until Peter Gabriel gets the role) the late great Jon Pertwee(pictured), of Worzel Gummidge fame.

Also, I know too many guys in Bath and Bristol who look too much like David Tennant, including this guy. Tell me I'm not completely predudiced, but after meeting so many buskers, I automatically run a mile in the other direction, even if they only LOOK like they might be a busker.

Body Parts

One of the wrting jobs I had to do the other week was a series of articles on tattoos. I do not have a tattoo, but would never want to take anyone's right to turn themselves into a human pincushion. I had to write about wolf tattoos, phoenix tattoos, Japanese tattoos, Irish Tattoos and celebrity tattoos.

Celebrity tattoos? I assume that meant tattoos of a celebrity you put on your bod, as opposed to the tatoos celebrities get for themselves. So, for this article, I decided that one day I might want a Peter Gabriel tattoo and wrote the article about how I would (theoretically) go about getting one. (Not while the man is still alive though, and probably not when I still have feeling in all of my limbs). As a joke, I typed that I would get the Peter Gabriel tattoo "on my ding-hooey." For those of you familiar with spell check programs, you will know that that set the spell check alarm off. Just to be crancky, I typed in "hoo-ha".

And it WORKED. "Hoo-ha" was already programed into Microsoft Word Spell Check! Why that and not "ding-hooey", I have no idea.

On a more sobering note, my real first name, Rena, sets off the spell checker alert. However, Arnold Schwartzennegger's name doesn't. Go on and try it if you have Mircosoft Word.

I will know I have truly made a name for myself in the world when my name does not set off the spell checker red squiggle alert on Microsoft Word. And the day that happens will be most likely when the real Peter Gabriel asks me, "What the bloody hell is a ding-hooey when it's at home?"

Is Blasphemy Scary?

I'm getting quite an interesting collection of rejection letters. In less than a year, I now have well over a hundred and I will never, ever again think , "Well, now I've seen 'em all!"

I occassionally pick publications at random to constantly submit to. As soon as they reject one piece, I fire off another. The theory is that they will even tually publish something of mine just to get rid of me. I wish I could say that I came up with this theory. I actually nicked it from a parable told by Jesus. I'm not going to name this esteemed publication, as that is unprofessional. Let us just say that it is a low-paying annual horror magazine.

Horror. As in, scary. Stuff that frightens. Keep that in mind.

I'd tried three (or four?) poems that people have told me "gave them the creeps". Each one was returned as "not being scary enough." SO, I sent of a fun little poem called "God" (which I can't reproduce here or it will be considered "published") where God appears as The Eternal Rapist. It was also rejected.

But not with the usual "not scary enough". This time, it was "I'm not into blasphemy."

That was the entire reason. Wait a minute, I thought this was supposed to be a horror publication? Horror takes what is normal and safe and secure and completely splits it open. Blasphemy fits right into the definition. God is NOT in His heaven and all is NOT right with the world. Isn't that thought the least bit troubling?

So, in other words, "Sorry, rraven -- your poem is OVERQUALIFIED."

Go figure. I think I'll go light a candle to Edgar Allen Poe and ask for some clarification on this matter of no blasphemey in horror.

Pay Attention To The Speaker

Since I work now about eight hours a day on the computer, I need music in order to tolerate some of the keyword writing assignments I get. On one day, I had to write about Roofing and Rape Recovery. (That's two separate subjects, folks). My Dad is now really impressed that I know what the rise and run of a roof (or a step) is. (I didn't tell him about the rape recovery article). Music is a vital component of my work environment. Since my writing is also my spirituality (which now incorporates tips on how to obtain roofer's licence to roof in Illinois, in case I need to know that in the afterlife) music is also an important part of my spirituality. That and Petergabriel.com now uses PC-friendly video, so I can see monthly updates on how distracted Peter Gabriel is from finishing his "new" album (which is now five years in the making and counting).

So, after a visit from the cat who insisted on lying down on the computer keyboard as I tried to write, the computer speakers suddenly went dead. I was just a wee bit perturbed. I had recently dusted around the compute, and so both my Mom and I thought I may have broken something.

I took out the flashlight, waded through the wire jungle and checked and re-checked connections. Everything was in place. Still no sound. This means I could see Peter Gabriel's lips move but not hear whatever he was saying. Oh, the humanity! This took about an hour of shoving heavy equipment around. Mom sighed, "I guess I'll have to call the computer repairman." Since it is her computer.

The next day, I discovered the computer keyboard has a "Mute" button, which the cat must've stepped on. Suddenly, instant sound. All I had to do was press one dumb button.

"Oh well," Mom laughed. "At least you got a good work out."

Football Apolcalypse

Here's some true news that, if you wrote it as a story, would be rejected for being too unrealistic:

A friendship-building football match between Muslim and Christian clergy in Norway was called off after a row over the participation of women players.

Now, what do you think really happened at that interfaith conference in Oslo? Both Christians and Moslems were probably hyper-sensitive and told to be friendly. At the beginning of the day, when everyone was full of energy and coffee, someone suggested a football game (soccer matich, for those American readers). The other side said "Okay," just to be friendly.

Then the day wears on while you have to listen to upteem speakers prattle on with a stupid grin on your face. While you may have been able to play all night after school, you're just not as young as you used to be. Now, after a day of "school", you just want to put your feet up and vegatate. But, you've made a commitment for a long, intensive bout of running up and down a field after a ball. How do you gracefully get out of this commitment while not leaving the other side insulted.

Simple! You do what organized religions have done for thousands of years -- blame the women! Problem solved.

In other news, another short story of mine has hot the web. It only took about 15 years to write. It's called "A Little Ways Up."

Ethical Dilemma

Hi, all. I'm knackered. Since last blog post, I sold another poem that's coming out in June, but also was hired by two web content sites. One is an American site, and addresses me by my name. The other is a Russian website, (but they want me to write in English, fortunately) and refers to me as Writer 870. Wow--I think I've discovered my true alter-ego. ("Aha! Writer 870! So, we meet again!") I'm also still scribbling and submitting as well as doing keyword articles and trying out for other writing gigs. I'm amazed at how little time you get to spend writing when you're a freelance writer. Most of the time is spent in sales and blagging your talent to invisible editors.

Now, I've noticed that most online and hard-copy publications will not consider anything that has been "previously published". Unfortunately, I've discovered that this blog counts, for a majority of editors, as a publishing source, even though I don't get any money for it.

Which brings me to my ethical dilemma: what do I post on this blog as free to the world and what writing to I try and squirrel away and sell? I cherish my loyal readers, both of you, and want to treat you as the extra special souls that you are. But I'm also flat-ass broke. So don't be suprised if I don't post as frequently anymore. No offence.

Jewish Lesson

I guess someone does want me to post about the history of the Jews and Judiasm, for I haven't sold anything in a bit and the freelance/columnist jobs haven't panned out. (I know -- pity party for rraven!)

I'm not Jewish (not that I know of, anyway)and I do not profess to be any sort of expert. But I can't help but notice that the history of the Jewish people is one of the grimmest stories out there. I'm hard pressed to say that they've been blessed. Pograms, concentration camps, Krystal nacht, the whole "didn't they kill Jesus?" bugaboo, Woody Allen...definately not any stories you'd like to tuck your kids in at night with. And yet, after all the thousands of years of Gentiles determined to wipe out the Jews in the name of God or country or whatever, they're still here. In fact, most of the peoples and kingdoms who bullied them are now dust. We haven't heard a lot from the Babylonians or the Chaldeans, huh? Heck, Jews were around long before AND AFTER the Roman Empire, and we still haven't completely gotten over that.

Why?

Personally, I think it's for 3 reasons:

1) They arguably were the first peoples to REALLY develop a sense of humor. hat gets you through quite a lot. It has been reported (I don't know how true it is) that Jews in Auschwitz wrote and told each other jokes. Now that is one hard room, let me tell you.

2) Someone has always kept the myths, traditions and little rituals going. This gave a sense of comfort, continuity and inner strength, even whe exiled (helLO, Tibetans!).

3) In one way, I do believe that they are a chosen people. What they've been chosen for, I do not envy. But they have continually shown triumph over adversity, grace under pressure and thrived. No matter what your religion or nationality, there's a lot to learn from sturdying the history of the Jews.

"Beware of Goatfeathers"

(NOTE: This has NOTHING to do with any businesses/resteraunts named Goatfeathers! Thanks for your patience. We now return you to your regulary scheduled blog post, already in progress...)

"Let's pick our target, set our aim, but let's beware of goatfeathers."

I'm currently reading one of the best kinds of books in the world -- FREE. This book was in a give away bin so I took it. It's called Your Creative Power : How To Use Your Imagination by an Alex Osborne (no relation). It was published in 1949. It's quite good.

But what the heck are GOATFEATHERS? I asked my Mom and she'd never heard of the expression. We assume it means horsefeathers, just the feathers are a lot smaller. But what a great title for a book, huh? I've got to keep that on file.

I do still firmly believe that books are kinda blocky looking spirits that travel from who needs them to who needs them. When they're thrown out is when they're dead and going on to the next reprint and no one goes through the trash to pick them up...not that I do that anymore, but I think you get the idea.

That's one of the reasons I'm so drawn to writing. When I'm really in the "zone", I feel as if more of a reporter than a fiction writer, because the scenes and charactes are so vivid. There have been times when the pen/typewriter seems to move by itself, but those episodes are happening less and less often. Perhaps the Prozac has something to do with that. But it's a brilliant feeling and I enjoy it.

Ooo! Ooo! One of my poems is now published. Go read it. And I got the check, too. Makes all those goatfeathers worthwhile.