Write it out.

8/9/2012

Good morning, Lynne.

This feels so strange — I don’t remember the last time I wrote a letter. I knew I had some stationery somewhere around the house but had to search to find it — a full box that someone gave me for Christmas one year, completely untouched. Hopefully I’ll remember how to do this and my penmanship (is it still penmanship if I print?) will remain legible or at least moderately so.

The funny thing is, for years I was an avid letter-writer. Friends at home when I was on vacation, college friends, random friends made at camp. I’d pen five or six pages and send them off. It was always an adventure to receive letters as well. Later I started collecting postcards: by that time I no longer wrote letters, relying on email instead (and usually failing miserably at that!). I joined a forum called The Kitchen Table comprised of fans of Anne McCaffrey. On the forum I found a section titled PCX — postcard exchange. Through it I connected with others who enjoyed sending and receiving postcards and for several years enjoyed finding cards to send, often to forty people per month from around the globe. I have most of the postcards organized into books, though I should add the couple stacks that I have. I no longer send posties (it became too expensive) but I still keep up with some of my PCX friends through a friend’s forum and Facebook.

Yes, I know, that was written a month ago. But I couldn’t finish the post right away, not until Lynne had received the letter that I sent. Right? So after I sent it I had to wait and I didn’t know for certain that she had received it until I checked my mailbox and there was a letter from Lynne.

And of course, then life got in the way, so I didn’t get back to it. Perhaps if the topic had come up during one of my general words writing months I’d have continued. But during August I was working on a sci-fi novel and needed to concentrate on that first.

Of course, my writing plan for August didn’t quite work out as it should. I had planned to write 50,000 words and finish that novel. I had also planned to write 50,000 words in June. FAIL. I did manage to write 26k+ in June and over 30k in both July and August, so not bad, but I didn’t meet the goal. This month I’m shooting for 800 words per day on either the sci-fi novel or the blog or both plus 20 pages of editing on a third project. So far I’m almost on schedule, just 150 words behind for the month and ahead on the editing.

But I digress.

Lynne complains that people don’t write letters anymore and that the world is a sadder place for that.

I think she’s right.

Back in May I volunteered at the Gaithersburg Book Festival. I told the organizers that I would work anywhere they wanted me. To my disappointment, they had me acting as a tent assistant in one of the non-fiction tents. The tent assistant part didn’t bother me; the non-fiction did. C’mon folks: I write fiction! Or at least at that time, I wrote only fiction. Obviously, I’m writing non-fiction now. Unless I’m lying. Which I’m not.

Ok, back to the Book Festival. The first author in our tent was Vincent dePaul Gisriel Jr. Never heard of him, right? That’s because he’s a local author — local to Maryland — and has written only one book, a non-fiction work. I’ll admit, I still haven’t bought the book: I didn’t have time to visit other tents that day to do so and I forget at other times. But I intend to buy it. The author stood up and told how he started researching in an attempt to write a book about his father’s career as a bombadier during World War II. I’m sure that appeals to some people, but not to me.

What does that have to do with this post?

That’s very simple to answer: to further his research, Mr. Gisriel decided to read through the stacks of letters that his parents had written back and forth to each other during that time — and saved. The result was NOT a military book but a love story, a story that outlined the lives of two people who were in love but separated by a war.

Wow. Just wow.

I have a few items of correspondence from older family members. Very few items. But I find them fascinating.

I think I mentioned in an earlier post (one entitled “Stuff”) that when we were sorting out all of the stuff in Gammy and Pappy’s house, I claimed a wooden box. Nothing fancy or beautiful, but it appealed to me.

There were lots of interesting things inside:

Including a manila envelope.

Yeah, I know — like you really needed a photo of that. But when I was snapping pictures today, I was also trying to see how many I could get before the almost completely discharged battery gave out. I managed all that I wanted and more and still made it to the charger before my camera shut off.

Anyhow, the manila envelope. Inside were a variety of papers. Several of my grandmother’s knitting patterns — and a crochet one that I had jotted down after I “read off” a chicken-shaped egg cover that she liked to use at Easter time but wanted to have more. She had written out some prayers.

No idea why. For her own use so that she’d remember? Prayers that she intended to use with her church women’s group? Or had she read somewhere that writing prayers helped to focus? The pages are there but they’re incomplete, lacking background.

Also in the manila envelope were the folio-type pages with two of my great-grandfather’s poems.

Those could be dated at about 1911. Ok, no date on them, right? But there was also a postcard.

The postmark reads Fort Des Moines Iowa, Jan 6, 1911 and was mailed to Miss Harriett Reynolds of Des Moines.

The message:

Hello S.H. (or that could be D.H. — Sweet Harriett or Dear Harriett). I hope you are better by the time you receive this. Will see you on said date. A.C.S.

That’s followed by an inverted pyramid of X’s and the words “love you.”

It was written from my great-grandfather to his future bride, my great-grandmother.

Nice, huh? Other correspondence in the box included a note card.

Inside was a lengthy letter from an 85-year-old woman, Mabel. It may have been my grandmother’s cousin but I’m not sure. I am certain about the age, since it’s mentioned in the letter. And seriously, at 85 she was writing a lengthy and legible letter of encouragement when I can barely get out a line.

Even Christmas and birthday cards.

These have no postmarks or stamps so they must have been placed in envelopes, and yet. . .

Those are longer messages than most of us write nowadays.

And they saved them. I’m sure that many of the letters were thrown away. Ouch. I really wish that I could have read them.

Me? I can remember writing letters. And letters. And more letters. I’d write about everything, and I do mean everything. At Christmas time I’d send everyone lists of everything I’d received. Boring, right? But it took up pages and pages of that new stationery I received each year. And sometimes I’d write something with more meat. I can remember in the summer of ‘72 (Hmm. Sounds like a song title.) — Hurricane Agnes. I was home from college and I chronicled all of it in a letter to my friend Ed. When we arrived back on campus he commented that maybe he should save it because some day it might have historical significance.

I wonder if he did save it?

As for me, I’ve saved very little. There might be a few things tucked away in my parents’ attic, but I doubt it.

I did come across one letter — or at least a message. It came from my friend Karen.

If you can’t read it, she complains that if she waits to write a real letter it’ll be way too long before what she wants to send gets to me.

Cool stuff. She was on a writing tour for her first novel and these are promotional items. Since then she’s written and published more novels, but I’m still waiting for the letter.

Of course, I haven’t written to her either. But I saw her just a few weeks ago.

Back to my letter-writing.

I managed to write to Lynne — four pages. Why? Well, she asked for my address so that she could send me a postcard and gave me her address, in case I ever wanted to write a real letter. That seemed like a challenge, so I did, and sent along a packet of postcards for her collection as well.

And in return I received this:

She even used sealing wax.

Talk about memories. Once upon a time I wrote and wrote and wrote. I had an assortment of stationery and seals and wax and stickers and pens, and I also occasionally made my own envelopes from magazine pages. Letter-writing took up my time and energy and I took it very seriously.

Now I have the internet and I’m writing a novel and other things. I can keep in contact instantly with email and Facebook.

But I still feel guilty and one of these days I’ll have to reply to Lynne’s letter.