A multi-story house on a hill at sunset with a vibrant orange and purple sky.

This is the hardest page to write, because this wasn’t just some fun, quirky hotel where every room was themed after an author—Mark Twain, Shakespeare, Gertrude Stein, Dr. Seuss, and so on. It stood for something far greater: the most beautiful, romantic side of humanity.

And it was sacrificed on the altar of greed and ego.

Whist I was living my own version of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer—homeless, writing out of my car—I was also creating this website, building the writing project contest, and shaping The 23 & We. During that time, I became deeply entangled in the community’s desperation to preserve this place, which had become such an essential piece of people’s peace of mind.

Most nights, I’d come in off the clock for an hour or two just to chat with the co-workers on the shift before mine. We were close and those little gatherings were a heartwarming way to spill the tea.

It also gave me the chance to spend even more time in the hotel as the final guests arrived, or returned from their evening adventures. Meeting so many incredibly like-minded, intelligent people was like a dopamine drip every night.

A man and a woman sitting at a table in a cozy cafe or restaurant, smiling and laughing. The man is taking a selfie, and the woman is holding a smartphone. The table has some papers, a cup, a bottle of juice, and a map. The background features a staircase, water dispenser, and a welcoming interior with artwork on the walls.

Okay, I can already feel myself starting to ramble on and tear up. Ahhhhh! It’s hard to keep this part short!

At the time of my hiring as a Knight auditor, guests had just learned that the beloved hotel was sold to a regional bed-and-breakfast chain on the coast. Their worries, fears, and questions about losing such a place poured out to me in earnest.

While visiting in the hours before my shift, I’d pull up a chair on the other side of the desk, blending in like just another guest chatting with the wonderful staff. But by 10:00 PM, there I was behind the desk, manning the haunted hotel alone and with my own stories to share. That’s when the magic deepened even further into my core.

In between telling my own stories, I listened to the final guests as they shared their most wonderful, heartfelt memories of staying at the Sylvia Beach Hotel and what it meant to them.

As the date for the hotel’s “renovations” drew closer, the phone calls increased too. Sometimes in the middle of the night, from England or the Netherlands, or anywhere around the world, people who had been coming here for decades were calling to ask about what was going to happen to the Sylvia Beach Hotel. (National Geographic Traveler had once featured the hotel, sharing its charm with the world.) Each call brought more tears, stories, and grief.

The community’s efforts ran so deep that a group of millionaires even tried to buy the hotel out from VIP Hospitality before the so-called “renovations” could began. Passionate patrons met with executives (or anyone from the company who would listen) pleading with them to preserve the hotel’s vision. A place without Wi-Fi or TVs. A sanctuary where the noise of the world fell away, and the quiet left space for books, conversation, and imagination to breathe the salty ocean air.

My job, beyond simply looking after the hotel at night, became listening and empathizing with the many people who felt like they were losing a piece of their soul.

I see everything in A Man Cut Into Slices as my version of art. The Sylvia Beach Hotel was my first real canvas, and every poem or story I made during that time, came to resemble another brushstroke.

I will always cherish the fact that I was able to be a part of the SBH experience, and in such a unique way too.

One day, if I become a successful entertainer, I vow to reincarnate the soul of The Sylvia Beach Hotel.

One day…

Black and white photo of the Sylvia Beach Hotel, a multi-story building with multiple windows and a sign indicating it is a hotel and restaurant. There is a garden with flowers and a sidewalk in front.

A Collection Of Digital Preservation

A young man wearing glasses and a black leather jacket sits at a window-side table, reading a book. The table has a lantern and some papers on it. Outside, a beach with sand and ocean waves is visible.

The Sylvia Beach Hotel’s Legendary Journals: Memories Locked In A Cage

Empty dining room with tables and chairs, one table in front with a plate holding a half-eaten sandwich, a fork, a spoon, a black mug, and a small bowl of fruit. The background shows windows with curtains and dim lighting.

The Ghosts Of Sylvia Beach Hotel

A cluttered office or reception desk area with a computer monitor, keyboard, papers, a mug, black napkins, and a bell. Behind the desk are chairs, a water dispenser, wooden furniture, and a staircase with a wall display of postcards and pictures.

The 23 & We Project

An open wooden drawer with a framed quote inside, and a sticker labeled 'SHANE' on the front. The drawer is part of a wooden desk or cabinet, with other drawers and a shiny metal object partially visible.

A Portal To A Blog Cut Into Slices—The Story Of A Story Being Written

A mural depicting a scene of two people seated at a table in front of a bookshelf and wall filled with black-and-white photos and posters, including one for Arnold Bennett's book on Ulysses.

When Your Thoughts Start Thinking Back