Pen and Ink
June 30, 2007 by Veronica Mitchell
I am an unreliable letter-writer. I left home for boarding school when I was 15, so letters to far away friends have been an obligation for more than half my life. I might write joyfully and frequently for a couple of years, and then something in my life changes and I don’t write anything. Since my first daughter was born, I have written almost no one.
I used to try. I love pens and stationery and all the accoutrements of writing. I can remember fondly the favorite stationeries I have used in the past. Crane’s cotton rag papers, creamy white with a gold-embossed heron, or flannel gray paper that was a pleasure to scrape my pen across.
I once bought a cheap set of dishes for parties at a home goods store, and the clerk wrapped each dish in a heavy, multi-patterned butcher’s paper. The paper was so thick and strong that once I was home, I ironed it, cut it into 5″x8″ sheets, and wrote letters on it for the next two years.
By the time I had enough energy after JellyBean’s birth to try writing again, she would not let me. If she saw me writing she would cry to be held in my lap. Once she was there she would grab my pen and try to eat it, or pull on it when I was in mid-word. My writing became long, gouging lines to the bottom of the page. I gave up on writing letters.
Then last year I discovered blogs. I was looking at my church’s website, and I saw a link to my pastor’s blog. I had heard the word before, but didn’t really know what a “blog” was. I started reading his. The magical moment happened when I realized that blogs were (or could be) free. I signed right up.
Blogging fills my need for writing, but it isn’t the same as letters. A blog post doesn’t mean as much to the reader as receiving a handwritten letter. The feel of typing is not the same as the scratch of pen on smooth or rough paper. Waiting for comments is not the same as eagerly watching for the mailman, feeling disappointment when there are no letters, or anticipation as you open one.
My brother is going to Afghanistan soon. I don’t know what sort of access he will have to blogs, or if he would be interested in reading mine. But I know he will want letters, and I will write them. Today I picked out my new stationery, ready for that long trip east. I hope it brings him joy.
Letters are almost a thing of the past for me too. They were the breath of life for me when I was at boarding school, the only form of communication with the outside world, and I wrote to all sorts of friends and family just to get letters in return.
Then the phone took over, then email and now blogging, but you’re right, pen and ink does mean a lot more. I still have shoe boxes of letters from my school days - emails have gone to the virtual bin long ago.
i used to be a pretty good letter writer, too. (although, perhaps, not quite as into the sensations of it as you were, with your lovely descriptions!) Getting mail is great. Your brother will be thrilled.
I tagged you for a meme.
I too am an unreliable letter writer who looooves letters and stationary and the like. And I too wonder, sometimes, whether blogging really replaces the scrape of ink on good paper, the satisfaction of sheets piling up, of folding them into an envelope. Sigh.
This is a beautiful post. I have often mourned the loss of letter writing in our culture yet I have never found much joy in the process myself.
I used to be a letter and diary writer before children. But as you say, I ended up with too many little helpers to get any writing completed. I’ve just discovered blogging, and I can’t tell you how excited I am. Thanks for communicating what I was feeling. Goodluck and God’s safe keeping for your brother.