Raven Blackwood

Raven Blackwood is a gothic journalist, chronic pessimist, and former librarian who writes like the world is ending — because it probably is, and also because the HOA just outlawed decorative gargoyles (again). Fueled by black coffee brewed in a cursed French press, Raven exposes the slow apocalypse of local bureaucracy, one zoning dispute and mysteriously vanishing city council transcript at a time.

Their articles read like Edgar Allan Poe got tenure at a community college and immediately declared war on the parking permit office. With a haunted typewriter named *Margaret*, Raven types only by candlelight while Gregorian chants echo softly from a Bluetooth speaker shaped like a skull.

They live in an undisclosed shadow realm accessible only by misfiled FOIA requests, whispered regrets, and a secret tunnel beneath the DMV. Raven once attended a school board meeting in a full Victorian mourning gown “just to set the tone.” They regularly accuse fax machines of gaslighting them.

Raven’s hobbies include staring into storm drains, cataloging government inefficiencies alphabetically, and translating bureaucratic forms into ancient Sumerian for fun. They believe the town’s municipal fountain is a portal to a darker dimension known only as “Middle Management.” Their latest column, *Minutes of Despair: The Forgotten Agendas*, has been shortlisted for an award no one can pronounce.

They are currently investigating a conspiracy involving ghost raccoons, misappropriated library funds, and a sentient copy machine that keeps printing cryptic messages about the mayor’s sandwich orders.

Raven Blackwood: librarian, doomscribe, and the only person to receive a cease and desist letter from a cemetery.