I've written a couple thousand letters in my life, and that's a conservative estimate. Add the other forms of written communication such as holiday cards, birthday cards, postcards, and emails, then the number is much higher. I get very few communications in return, so I freely admit I don't understand the compulsion. Sometimes I wonder if my family and friends considered me a letter-stalker all those years. I was especially prolific when I was living away from the U.S. being so terribly lonely each time that I wrote way too many letters to way too many people.
Now I subscribe to Letters in the Mail that's offered by The Rumpus. I get two letters a month, each time from a writer I've never heard of before. Then I go online and find out who the writer is, and I'm always impressed by their bio. The letters are a cheap thrill at $5.00 a month.
I save all of the letters I receive and have done so for years. I finally sorted them by writer. This letter-hoarding always seemed odd to me since everyone else I know tosses their letters into the trash after reading them. Still, I can't part with them. And people, including myself, don't write great epistolaries these days. There are tomes out there comprised of nothing but the letters of great writers. Have you read of Out of Africa? Isak Dinesen was a wonderful letter writer. Her letters are now a book called Letters From Africa: 1914 to 1941. My letters are nothing special. Just written down small talk.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
(Omar Khayyam)
In May, I received a Letter in the Mail from an author named Maud Newton. I hadn't remembered her name but I remember her story titled When the Flock Changed that was published in Narrative Magazine. Her letter was about letters. I was really pleased to read, "I guess most writers like to hoard and revisit written communication. I know I do." Thank you for that, Maud.
Now I blog. It feels like a combination of letter writing, a journal entry, and a one-sided conversation. I like it. Feeds that need to reach out into the world I suppose.
Hello.
Now I subscribe to Letters in the Mail that's offered by The Rumpus. I get two letters a month, each time from a writer I've never heard of before. Then I go online and find out who the writer is, and I'm always impressed by their bio. The letters are a cheap thrill at $5.00 a month.
I save all of the letters I receive and have done so for years. I finally sorted them by writer. This letter-hoarding always seemed odd to me since everyone else I know tosses their letters into the trash after reading them. Still, I can't part with them. And people, including myself, don't write great epistolaries these days. There are tomes out there comprised of nothing but the letters of great writers. Have you read of Out of Africa? Isak Dinesen was a wonderful letter writer. Her letters are now a book called Letters From Africa: 1914 to 1941. My letters are nothing special. Just written down small talk.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit,
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
(Omar Khayyam)
In May, I received a Letter in the Mail from an author named Maud Newton. I hadn't remembered her name but I remember her story titled When the Flock Changed that was published in Narrative Magazine. Her letter was about letters. I was really pleased to read, "I guess most writers like to hoard and revisit written communication. I know I do." Thank you for that, Maud.
Now I blog. It feels like a combination of letter writing, a journal entry, and a one-sided conversation. I like it. Feeds that need to reach out into the world I suppose.
Hello.
To which liturgical epistle are you referring?
ReplyDeleteI don't think I'm referring to any liturgical epistles, even if I knew what the hell that means. (I get the epistle part though) Isn't it too early in the day to be drinking?
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