This morning, I met with my First Book friends recapping recent events like a wine tasting where we drank wine (oh – and raised money) and a literacy fair where we gave away lots of books to kids. Both were successful and even more importantly, fun. Two of my favorite things: wine and books. At our meeting I offered to write a handful of thank you letters. Afraid I’d forget about this if I did not write them immediately, when I got back at the store I found a pen and stationary and sat at my cluttered desk. I wrote these letters on beautiful, plain paper. By the time I was done with the third one, my hand was cramping. Beyond signing my name or scribbling a quick note, I never, ever write and the necessary muscles seem to be atrophying. And they looked like they were written by a 4th grader as if each successive word were climbing a little hill across to the other side of the page – slanting up. Supposedly that’s an indication that I have a positive outlook on life – true – but that doesn’t make for a lovely looking letter. Still, it counts for something to have someone handwrite a note these days so I folded up the letters and mailed them, quirky penmanship and all.
I won’t moan about the demise of letters and all that — I actually prefer the immediacy of email — even texting. But I did used to love getting letters when that was the only option, so wrote them regularly myself, sometimes pages and pages. And I saved most of the letters I received so boxes of yellowed envelopes are in my basement – if any old friends are looking for a glimpse into their past. Two friends of mine still write me – at least one fantastic letter a year: Jane in England and Jenny in Australia. Usually, just after New Year, they send out at least a page or two written to ME – not one of those dreadful group letters. I love these letters, and love that I recognize their handwriting. At certain points, we all shared at least one mailbox – Jenny and I shared a house in Japan and Jane, in Kentucky and later, also Japan. We all had the same rush of excitement when we heard the metal drop of mail being delivered to our house, the thrill of a glimpse of white through the slat of the box — letters!
Later on in the afternoon today, an unbelievably calm and endearing customer whom I had told last week about my latest agent rejection (sigh – and it seemed so close!) gave me a beautiful pen with a note of encouragement. This was after I’d written the thank you letters. So there you have it: time to write a letter — at least two — one to Jane and one to Jenny.