When I was in second grade, I faced an existential crisis. The problem seemed so vital I dared not say it aloud. You see, I was going to die. Though a healthy, inquisitive seven year old, I realized that all my love, ideas, and memories would one day vanish. Everything gone. I felt shattered and sought any way to rise above my fragile impermanence. Weeks later, I came up with a plan… to write stories. This way, my thoughts would live for as long as they resonated with readers. The idea quieted my anxiety considerably but soon sparked a second crisis… what to write? Decades later, I’m still working on that one.