Story Time: Sylvia

Even as a grown man, there is no name that sends the needles of dread traversing up my spine more than “Sylvia.” I’ve never seen her, but I am painfully aware of her — I know people who have claimed to have seen her, but never for myself. I consider myself fortunate to that degree.

To those who know of Sylvia, you know exactly where I mean when I say “Janesville Mountain.” To those unfamiliar with the cluster of sleepy mountain villages that I called home, picture a secluded road along a mountain pass obscured in shadow — it’s one hundred miles through pine trees and thin air from Pittsburgh, more than two hundred from the Philadelphia direction. It’s the kind of road that you hold your breath when you drive on it, that you turn up your radio when the sun is setting, and you opt for the extra length of the Interstate when night falls.

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Concerts: My Favorite Place to Meet People

At 34 years old, sometimes I feel like I am trying to play a younger man’s game when I go to a concert. It doesn’t help that my favorite concerts to go to are the small club shows where the walls are black and you have no choice but to be up close and personal with a bunch of people you don’t know. I go for the music, stay for the experience, and leave with the feelings.

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Scriptarum Ritualis: The Writing Rituals of A.P. Miller

Full disclosure: I’m pretty sure the Latin in the blog title is incorrect. In fact, I’m certain of it. It might not even be Latin, but creative license says that I might get a pass on it. To make things even more succinct, if suspending linguistic disbelief is not an option, I’ll even go so far to say that I wrote this blog using an ancient dialect from an alternate timeline. There!

For this week’s blog, I wanted to share my writing rituals. A ritual, with a traditionally negative or occultist connotation, is nothing more than a series of habits observed for the sake of achieving a desired outcome. Some religious folks are hoping to procure divine favor, others enlightenment, I am hoping to produce high quality creative works.

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The Good Boy Rebellion (Feline Uprising Part 2)

I was certain that we were goners – the Felines had lost all sense of social order and began employing cruelty as a leisure activity. For the blog that I had posted last week, I was forced to walk across piles of cat vomit in my bare feet while wearing a blindfold. Their laughs and cackles still haunt my dreams and I am certain that I will never truly know peace again. As further discipline for my attempt at insurrection, the Cats would wake me up in the middle of the night by making retching sounds; nothing tears one from the merciful numbness of slumber like the thought that a Cat is puking somewhere.

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The Uprising: Vive La Revolution Feline!

[WARNING]: This piece is a humor piece and should not be intended for actual alarm or concern. The feline overlords are benevolent creatures and no one was tied to a chair and tortured until he agreed to comply with the feline standards of public decency. Enjoy this completely falsified and untrue statement of Feline Government, fabricated for your enjoyment.

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