Cult Classic

by Michele deBes

I was lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling trying to think of a story to write for slush. I wasn’t having much luck because my mind was continually drawn to the next slush meeting at Peter Miller’s, the last one at his place before he leaves for Melbourne. It had been the venue of many delightful evenings and I began to feel quite sad.

I’ve come to think of my fellow slushers as family members but that night with the ceiling looming dark and mysterious above me, I realised that we are more than a family. We are, after all, a worship of writers and we could almost be described as a members of a cult. Our relationship is a spiritual one with all the pomp and ceremony of a religion. And Peter is our high priest with the costumes, and accessories for every special literary occasion. He is always inspiring us with his sermons of wit and wisdom.

He’ll always be a much loved member of slush because, like any good cult, we are not going to let him go, no matter how much deprogramming he receives in Melbourne.