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wind rattles the blinds

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About windrattlestheblinds

Three quarters of the way to a theatre BA. Persnickety writer. Perfectionist. Chronically incapable of sticking to an outline. Aro ace agender dork. Ey/em/eir or she/her for pronouns, thanks.

I'm from Wyoming. I go to school in Iowa. I've been making up stories since before I knew how to read. I used to hate giving constructive criticism until I took a creative writing class that was 99% intensive writing workshops and it changed my mind.

Chronically obsessed with Wonderland: A New Alice. Ask me about it. I'll ramble at you.


Interests

Theatre; visual arts and written word; eldritch abominations; Alice in Wonderland; musicals; villain protagonists; the psychological suffering of fictional characters.


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien