I am somewhere liminal now
Ever since I wrote a tragic story about a crow and a woman in the woods who could not accept reality, I have clung to the idea that I would be a writer and that I would have to accept reality! How does the story end? Well, after the death of her husband, the woman hears words being whispered by the crows that her husband used to feed. This culminates with the woman running in a nightgown right smack in the dead of winter through the woods with an axe (attempting to murder a crow, of course). Upon the woman falling and cutting her own arm off (leading to her bleeding out on the ground), the crow speaks in actuality for the first time to the woman, chastising her for being unable to accept her husband's death and instead letting it lead her to madness and her demise.
I think I have personally been on a creative downhill trajectory since submitting that story for my fourth grade writing contest, but here I am still striving to node something nutritious for the eyes to read!
Thank you and remember you are invariably real!