I started my writing career at age five, more out of necessity than a passion for creating. Impeded by distance, I wrote to my father. In the days of long-distance telephone calls, stamps were more economical. I can remember my first stationery — blue folding postcards adorned with bears and balloons. My letters consisted of the few words I knew. Love you. Miss you. Those first written words are the best words. Truth. And words every person wants to hear.
Before social media, notes were passed in school, folded into tiny, discrete triangles to fit in the palm of your hand, out of sight from your teachers. A little victory won when passed successfully. A reply could be written on the same paper, refolded, and passed back again. That was communication at its finest.
At some point, letters went out of style as email proved to be more economical, yet. Later, we couldn’t even be bothered with salutations and closings, just simple instant messages. This is great sometimes. Everyone has a device to communicate with.
I like to text and message and email and all of those things. It’s human nature to want to feel connected. I get that.
I prefer to communicate with letters, though. Choosing paper and pen. Choosing words. Perhaps a theme to make it all flow. What are we writing about today? What do I want to say to you today? As my pen moves across the paper, I think about the recipient. I think about them opening their mailbox, tearing the envelope, seeing my hand-written words. Nothing is more personal than a hand-written letter. Handwriting is like a fingerprint of the heart.