The Lost Art of Letter Writing

Letter writing might appear rather a foreign concept to today's culture. Some might consider it a sort of Shakespearean exercise or belonging to characters from Jane Austen or Dickensian novels. They might envision cozy hearths with blank sheets of paper laid out before some posh gentleman or lady as they begin to dip their quill pens into sticky black ink before writing their latest epistle, laden with local gossip and romance. Or, they could also visualize a small, cramped garret in some poverty-stricken part of Victorian London, a raggedy dressed man scratching out his living on ink-stained paper with an eloquent hand. Letter writing for modern society rarely exceeds business letters and informational memos. The art of writing letters for community and friendship, eloquently written with hilarious anecdotes and domestic prattle seems to be in scarce commodity these days. 

When I was roughly twelve years old, my family moved out of my childhood home and into a large town about two hours away. Left behind was my best friend of first grade and upon my departure, we made up our minds to write letters back and forth for the foreseeable future. I still have all those precious letters with various handwritings, stickers, tea stains, and the innocent chatter of two young children growing up. Letter writing surpasses a simple business letter. A letter should be something you can look back on, a memoir of sorts. A story of someone's life, their hearts hopes, dreams, and heartaches; the little daily things that make life worth living. Now, it is remiss of me not to mention that there are most certainly letters that are quite dull, which merely serve as business transactions or transitionary epistles from one person to the next, one position to the other. However, I am omitting these for the present as I wish to focus in particular on those fondly remembered by aspiring authors and romantic novelists. 

Imagine the scene, sitting down to the sound of the rain on the roof. There is a steaming cup of something hot, tea for me, and perhaps a biscuit or lob of chocolate. You take out a blank sheet of paper, maybe it is some expensive textured paper that feels beautiful and rich to the touch, or it is just a blank piece of printer paper. You poise your pen over it and look out the window, mulling over what to write first, the words forming eloquent patterns in your mind. Seizing on the one you begin to write, and write, and write.

Alright, so maybe this is a bit Charlotte Bronte of me, but does it not sound lovely? There remains something poignant and beautiful about the art of letter writing. It is a delicate process, an opportunity to chat about things you love with someone who shares that interest, or even the idea that you took the time to sit down and think of someone else. Writing a letter is quite a different thing altogether than shooting off a quick text message riddled with inconsistency and shorthand. A letter takes time, some thought, and heart. If one reads well, one will write well. If one reads at all, one will have things to say, opinions, and so forth. There is no shortage of things to write about, merely an excess of excuses with which we convince ourselves that we do not have the time or desire to write. 

It does not have to be a long letter. Nor does it have to be eloquently or artfully written, but I would urge you to at least begin for you will quite surprised at how quickly you will learn to love it.