The waiting room was white; the walls, the furniture, the decoration, the floors. The entire room was so sterile and virgin that the only surface that seemed real and tangible was where the tears had fallen and not yet dried. The rest of the room was more like the pulsating shades of light than a hard surface where life could occur.
I sat in a chair that was neither uncomfortable or soothing. I had business to attend, unfortunately, it was the same business that the eyes that had spilled the evaporating tears had. I wished I was alone, perhaps I could have had a moment to prepare myself in the form of getting my emotions out. I imagine that I didn’t let myself break down for the same reason that the small family that sat in the room across from me did: my grief was none of their concern, nor was theirs any concern of mine. It’s a strange sensation, knowing that a near identical experience is happening across the room and being so enveloped in your own experience to not offer the same comfort that you craved. We’re a strange species, human beings.
“Mr. Miller?” my name was called by a disembodied voice; it was not abrasive nor soothing, the same level of tolerable that the furniture had been, “you will be seen now.”
Continue reading “STORY TIME: A Body’s Constellation [Halloween 2019]”
I had a very profound thought: why should I trust an author or a musician’s political opinion? Why should I trust them at all, I thought. I have opinions on things, a lot of the time I just keep them to myself. It’s a very primal world, the internet. I could post on Facebook about how much I love my Mom’s recipe for chili and I could get backlash from all sides about it. Peta might want to know if the cow for the beef was ethically treated, vegetarians might take issue with how the onions were chopped, and some depraved world leader might have lived on a steady diet of chili and by eating chili, I am advancing their cause. If I can’t clearly communicate my opinion without fear of offending everyone and their mother, should I mirror an author’s opinion? Continue reading “Ten Reasons to Never Trust a Fiction Writer.”
Dear Seventeen Year Old Me:
In a precious few months, you will be a legal adult and will be responsible for your own choices, by proxy. I want you to see this as a good thing; for all of the potential that you have to make catastrophic bad choices, you have the equal potential to make miraculously good ones. For every situation that you’re in that could be bad, there is an equally accessible one that is amazing; that responsibility to make the best of it is now up to you, do not take it lightly. Continue reading “Dear Seventeen Year Old Me.”
Let me begin by saying this: if you bought the book, thank you for your love and support. I get overwhelmed thinking about the selflessness of the people who bought it just because they are my friends or family. If you haven’t bought the book, what better time than now? Continue reading “25 Facts About “Broken Promise Records” that you (Probably) Didn’t Know”
Thanks to the subject of the writing that I am doing right now, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to ponder and postulate on who I am, who I was, and who I will become. I have questions, damnit! I need answers, I crave resolution; most importantly, I need to know that it’s not too late. This week, I wanted to share those questions with you, and invite you to reach out to me if you have the answers I seek.
In a world where there are no stupid questions, just stupid answers, I seek to change the status quo: Continue reading “The Once and Future A.P. Miller”