Letters, A New Project
So, a funny thing happens when you "finish" a novel and you're trolling for an agent (a long, lugubrious process). You start, rather I start, organizing. What I've discovered is a trove of good old letters and postcards. Remember those? Maybe you don't. But back in the olden days people used to write things on paper, on postcards, on stationery. So I've been bundling them up, and I have a plan. I'm going to find these people who wrote me and get their home addresses. I'm friends with most of them on Facebook, so this shouldn't be difficult. I want to write them back--letters or poems, I'm not sure what.
I want to tell them about their old selves, about my new self, and I will cross my fingers that I'll wind up eventually with another bunch of letters to bundle in ribbons and keep in boxes. I've already discovered some long-forgotten not-so-impressive moments from my past, but also lots of love and silliness, too. And yes, ironic Reagan postcards, and postcards of Woody Allen before he was scandalous, and a card from the former USSR that says, "Cheers, Eileen, Now the KGB has your address. Love, Jim."