All right, OK, I have a confession.
Or rather, I skirted around the truth. I made you believe I was a person named Raven Alice Carter, with literary parents and many non-literary suitors. It is true I was created by a literary someone; its true the name I bear is a shadow I struggle under; but here is my confession: it is an alter ego.
So now we come to the philosophical struggles that follow or should follow every confession. Is an alter ego a child of the original ego? The original ego did birth it but it springs into creation fully formed, a reflection of the self that created it. It is a creation; it is not a child. That is as close as I can guess, and as near to an apology I can make for my word play.
So now you know. I am a person who is ridiculous enough to come up with a name like Raven Alice Carter, and who is vain enough to lie, and then again tell the truth. If this was a movie or a novel, and you reading this blog was crucial plot point, I would reveal my identity at the very end, after I had completely won you over, after you were fully invested in the words I produce. Instead, I will half reveal my identity now, and leave the rest for later. Because the truth is, this blog isn’t addressed to you, or you, or you; you most likely don’t exist. It is addressed to the one you that is me, down the line, trying to time travel into my mind at this moment in time. So there is no mystery there, and yet all the mystery in the world.
Good night, and don’t burn down all the houses.