Isn't it pretty?

The official unofficial Nick Miller fan page.
She lay next to me, almost in me like books in a shelf, and I felt her warmth but I also felt the light pressure of her weight, and it was so goddamn addicting.
Nick Miller (via simplyserendipity)
lettersfromnaoko:

5.14.12
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMGI CAN’T STOP SAYING OMG
photo sent by nick miller (thank you thank you thank you !!)

lettersfromnaoko:

5.14.12

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG
I CAN’T STOP SAYING OMG

photo sent by nick miller (thank you thank you thank you !!)

nickmiller:

I received this in the mail today. After recovering from a momentary heart attack, I read the note taped to the front: “Congratulations on publishing your first novel. You now have 4 days to read through it for any errors. Then the book goes to the printer for the last time.” Wow. Thank you to everyone who has supported me during this long journey. I really couldn’t have gotten through this without you.

nickmiller:

I received this in the mail today. After recovering from a momentary heart attack, I read the note taped to the front: “Congratulations on publishing your first novel. You now have 4 days to read through it for any errors. Then the book goes to the printer for the last time.” Wow. Thank you to everyone who has supported me during this long journey. I really couldn’t have gotten through this without you.

The very first page of Miller’s notes for “Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?” over 2 years ago.

The very first page of Miller’s notes for “Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?” over 2 years ago.

nickmiller:

My timeworn copies of Silverstein’s A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends.

nickmiller:

My timeworn copies of Silverstein’s A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends.

nickmiller:

Harper Lee, you win.

nickmiller:

Harper Lee, you win.

When Summers Were Magical …

nickmiller:

A family of four was having lunch at the far end of the courtyard; the two children played under the table in a shielded little world of make-believe, while their parents seemed concerned with much more solemn matters up above.

“You know,” I said to Henry, “every time I see a child playing, I have the same feeling—this warm, nostalgic sensation for the days when summers were magical and time itself seemed infinite. You remember that? I mean, as kids we could unlock a world of imagination simply by climbing a tree. We could fantasize about everything, imagine ourselves growing up and doing anything, because the possibilities were endless, you know? We were still young enough not to be laden with thoughts of doubt and meaninglessness. It just made more sense.”

“You speak fondly of childhood. I’ve also noticed it in your writing,” Henry said. “I hope you don’t let it tarnish your experiences in the present. Surely you remember the miserable times of childhood: the braces, the bullies, the heartbreak, the insecurities, the fear of darkness—”


nickmiller:

The vintage beauty resting elegantly on my floor.

nickmiller:

The vintage beauty resting elegantly on my floor.

Miller enjoying wine from a paper cup.

Miller enjoying wine from a paper cup.

: ; — - , . ! ? ’ ” ( ) …

nickmiller:

Look up and meet the members of my riotous, badass posse  … I’ve spent so much time with these little guys. I’ve even given them nicknames. Here are some:

  • I call the parentheses “Smiles A Lot,” in honor of that kid in Dances with Wolves
  • I call the question mark “Confucius.”
  • I call the colon “Gollum” (from LOTR), because it has no idea what it is. 
  • I call the comma “Dimples.” 
  • I call the period “Shel Silverstein,” because it’s where the sidewalk ends.
  • I call the apostrophe “Lil Freckle.”
  • I call the semicolon “Fassy,” after Michael Fassbender, because it’s sort of the big dick in the punctuation world. 


City of Neon

nickmiller:

City of Angels. City of Dreams. City of Lost Memories. City of Neon. That was it—the neon lights: manufactured color pouring down over the city, like acid rain, slowly eroding the souls of the city-dwelling youths, while poisoning their minds with an insatiable craving for manufactured highs. It was the lights. It had always been the lights.

nickmiller:

If there’s a book or, better, a bookcase in the background of a scene in a film I’m watching, I always freeze the frame and investigate.

Damn, J.D. — you really fucked up all of us, you know that?

Damn, J.D. — you really fucked up all of us, you know that?

nickmiller:

Henry David Thoreau. Give me truth.

nickmiller:

Henry David Thoreau. Give me truth.