 Ross Cavins is 37, twice divorced and lives with his cat in the sunny South. He writes because his cat is whiny and can't hold a decent conversation. His current goal in life is to become a household name like Oreos, Liquid Drano and Tampax. He strives to be as famous a writer as Stephen Kingsley, his neighbor down the street that edits the Obituaries column on Sundays. You know who he's talking about.
He likes long walks in the woods (preferably with mosquito repellent and a crooked walking cane made from a broken branch), adores oatmeal creme pies, is fascinated by cleavage, and is easily amused by kittens playing. And more importantly, he is currently single, without an agent, a publisher or a significant other. He has been published at or is being published at the following places: hackwriters.com , usadeepsouth.com , swillmagazine.com , hissquarterly.com , Blue Mountain Arts , deadmule.com . His personal website is located here: rosscavins.com Email: me[@at]rosscavins.com
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Written by Ross Cavins
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Wednesday, 16 January 2008 |
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  I read an article the other day about how, after age thirty, your brains starts shrinking and your memory begins to fade. Things we remembered without a problem for years are suddenly harder to recall. The name of that band that played that song is still there, it just takes longer to access.
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