The lost letters
I’m feeling a little nostalgic here at the wee writing bureau. I always find December a month where I want to ‘go inwards’ and reflect. That is a bit of challenge as a teacher when the pace of school life is frantic and we are jingling all the way to the end of term. In previous years I have literally crawled into bed on the last day of term and slept for 24 hours so I could ‘do Christmas’ with my own family. In my current school we take a much lower key approach to the festive season and that means I can still have time and the head space to write. Hoorah!
I had two letters to write this week and as I began it took a while to find my flow. I sat wondering how often people do write letters now, real letters with a pen and paper, that are not related to their professional life. It is a dying art form and that is a real shame. A beautiful letter, written with intention, is a precious gift. It makes you choose your words carefully and allows you to express yourself fully. I believe that there is a kind of magic that happens when you write with a pen. In my case I think my subconscious intervenes at some point between my head and my hand to add a little creative flair. I love receiving letters too and sitting down to read them properly. Letters force us to slow the pace down, to step out of our heads and be truly present. Who doesn’t need that today?
When I was younger, letters were a regular part of my life. I had a pen friend who’s Grandad lived on our street. When she stayed with him during the holidays we played together and when she was at home we wrote to each other. We also received blue envelopes of airmail from Dad when he was at sea. They would usually arrive in bundles of two or three at a time addressed to The Brat Pack and signed by the Chief Brat. Before email and satellite phones, or when having to maintain comms silence, these little blue envelopes were our lifeline. We loved hearing about the dolphins or the seals and other sealife Dad saw and we tracked his progress on a map with pins from where his letters were posted. I have romanticised this and made it sound like we were little Victorian children! We most assuredly weren’t and besides it was the 80s.
All of this brought me back round to the wee writing bureau and the purpose of it. A place for correspondence and communication with little compartments for storing paper, pens and ink. I’m unreasonably pleased that it is being used that way again. I also began to wonder what might have been written by previous owners who sat right where I am now. What was in those letters? Who responded? How were they connected? Imagine, if you will, a figure hunched over a desk deeply absorbed in the letter they are writing, discarded sheets of paper strewn around them and ink stained fingers…
Well dear reader, given that this is a writing blog and goodness knows I’ve done enough foreshadowing I am sure you have guessed what is coming next. My new story is going to be told through letters discovered in a long forgotton box. This kind of writing is called an epistolary narrative and arguably the most famous example of this is Bram Stoker’s Dracula. This will be a new style for me to try and I am full of ideas for how it might unfold. A theme that keeps bobbing up (like a cork on the ocean… too far?) is that an inaccurate piece of information in a letter starts a chain of events which overtake the characters. I think this is why they say that the pen is mightier than the sword!
