dear | reader
The idea of the poor, forgotten postcard first came into my mind when my neighbor sent a very strange photo of a woman in a field of deer while on his honeymoon in Japan. It was frankly a little creepy, coming unannounced and without his name, but it now sits on display between the keys of my typewriter. I love the snapshot of life, the untold story I spend an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming about, the fact that it came halfway across the world to my partner and me.
The second happenstance occurred in an antique map shop in Cape Cod where my friend and I rifled through box upon box of old, local postcards. We were looking for ones that weren’t yet written on so we could add our own message and send to our friend who was getting married there that weekend as a small gift. It felt so special, reading through what people had sent to each other decades ago. Little observations, well wishes, future plans. You could imagine each individual, pen in hand, sat at a wooden desk, sharing a piece of themselves.
For a long time I’ve been looking for a way to share my writing. For years, I’ve worked as a ghostwriter, which means the work I produce belongs to someone else. As I’ve said more times than I can count, I’m fine with that. Because it’s not the kind of stuff I want to write anyway. But for the stuff I have wanted to write (‘my’ stuff), I’ve pursued traditional publishing to the exclusion of all other avenues. Maybe this was just out of fear. Probably, actually. I’ve allowed it to give me an easy excuse when someone asks to read my work: when it’s published. When someone else has validated it. When I have the proverbial leg to stand on.
Writing little stories (2200 character max) and putting them in Instagram captions started mostly as a ‘fuck it’ kind of situation. There was no hard fought bravery. Just desperation. I was tired of my endless patience, over my perfectionist tinkering. It was also the first time I’ve really written about myself. Real things from my life. My own insecurities, obsessions, insanities. It’s been a quiet breakthrough for me. And what’s more, I think these little stories are good. Really good sometimes. So I’ve either found a medium that works for me or delusion. But, hey, either works for success, am I right or am I right?
Smash two coincidental ‘ah-ha’s together and you get my postcards. What I want to do is create the same sort of experience people used to have when they received one. The simple excitement of getting mail. The sweet (and increasingly rare) comfort of seeing your name written at the start of a long message. The intimacy of holding someone else’s words in your own hands.
The postcards I send you won’t be from my travels per se, but still from a place I want you to see: my mind and heart and memory at a very specific time. Inspired just as much by what I saw, what I read, what I experienced in that week or so flash of life. I hope my little story on the back is a communication with you as much as a note about the beauty of the light on the water at Cape Cod was for ‘Darling’ back in Indiana in 1950. Simply something I want to share. Honest and little and yours.
So there you have it. That’s my idea. This is story | line. I hope you'll decide to be a part of it.
Sarah
