I have writer’s block, painful, mind freezing writer’s block.
Last week I thought I would pretend I have a passing acquaintance with words and send out some letters and cards.
I love letters. I love ‘snail mail’ and the idea of taking that moment to think out an entire letter, even a moronic letter, and sending it off to someone.
I have tons of supplies. I have sealing wax, stickers, and note cards, stationery, all kinds of stamps and colored pencils. The sorts of things one needs to share thoughts with someone.
I send letters, cards or postcards to friends and family. They always say they appreciate my efforts, but sometimes I wonder if there is some person out there, someone hungry for my letters. Someone that really would be excited to open the mailbox. Someone that would actually write back with the same obsessive, slightly manic glee. Although I do have to say that this is the only hobby that makes me feel even remotely feminine, so I suppose I should cling to that scrap of girliness.
I still sometimes think about Someone that is desperate to receive my bizarre little missives. Someone that would be delighted by the erratic change in length of these dispatches that could be anywhere from a half postcard in length just a simple sentence on a card, or maybe they would be pages and pages describing the rain and how it makes me feel. Or maybe I’m the one that is hungry for my own letters, but I can’t very well write to myself. So maybe instead of a Someone I should just keep writing to all the peoples I care about.
How odd, I’m not looking for a long time lover, I’m looking for a long time letter. Is it any wonder I still count Possession as one of my top ten novels, or that I loved You’ve Got Mail more than Sleepless in Seattle (and The Shop Around the Corner was far superior, but that could just be Jimmy Stewart).
Well I sent out five letters last week, and three this week, and if nothing else, I was able to tell my writing group tonight that there is one less brick in my writer’s block. One less brick in the writer’s block that has been sitting on my head for months.
At least that is a start. Some kind of a start. I wonder how many letters I should write next week to get rid of another brick?