It's not that I haven't been thinking about what to write. I have. In between scores of chores, worrying about a hospitalized child of a dear friend, helping my son move into his new apartment, and going to the dentist for a replacement crown on my back molar. Perhaps some of you writers have had a similar experience of allowing the cares and concern of daily living interrupt your writing time.
I had been mulling over two or three subject matters when I read an email from a friend telling me of a Memorial Service she recently attended where a family member read from several letters the deceased individual had written to his children and grand-children, how very special it was to learn more about him in his own words.
That's what letters do, give an insight about the person. Sadly, with the new technology - email , texting, twittering - letter writing is becoming a lost art. I'm not sure about you, but I don't copy and save every internet note I receive. It's so easy to hit the delete button after I read and reply. Whereas, I have a box full of hand written letters from family and friends sent to me through the years, as well as letters of family members written long before I was born. They are precious to me, not only because the words are written in my loved ones own hand, but because they relay a history of time and place,and connect me to them through the sharing of their written word.
Just think for a minute about the many books of letters published of famous people; Authors, artists, politicians, and what they reveal. So much about their lives, their talent, their torment. Two that come to mind are
Henry James and Edith Wharton: Letters 1900 - 1915, and
The Selected Letters of Ernest Hemingway : 1917 - 1960. Through their letters they document their travels and projects, and give an account of the relationships that helped shape their life and work.
I glance at the bookcase nearest where I sit and notice a title I haven't read in a while,
Dearest Mother - Letters From Famous Sons to Their Mothers, selected and edited by Paul Elbogen. Copyright 1941. I pick it up and browse the table of contents to find names of poets and composers, prime ministers and presidents. I open to page 68 . Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart begins his letter from Munich, dated January 14, 1775
My dear Mama, Thank God! My opera was staged yesterday, the 13th , and turned out so well that I can't possibly describe the noise . Mama, in the first place, the whole theater was crammed so full that many people had to take their money back . After each and every aria there was always a frightening uproar with clapping and viva maestro shouting.
Isn't it wonderful we can share Mozart's detailed account of his triumph, and know the joy he experienced at his music being so well received because of a letter he personally wrote to his mother.
I turn the page to read an excerpt from a letter written by Walt Whitman to
his mother dated June 30, 1863. The scene switches from Germany to America and another era. Whitman, in Washington D.C. during the Civil War writes about seeing Mr. Lincoln ,
He looks more careworn even than usual,his face with deep cut lines, seams, and his complexion gray through very dark skin - a curious looking man, very sad.
While not all of us may be able to write letters about composing music, and performing as magnificently and marvelous as Mozart, or be witness to someone as monumental to history as Lincoln and the Civil War, we each have something to express and share, some observation or thought, a deed well done, or goal we hope to achieve . We write letters to correspond with those of this generation, and very possibly for those in future generations.
I'm not suggesting to stop the email, text, and twitter, but once in awhile to pick up pen and paper to write a letter in our own hand to parents, grandparents, aunt, uncle, cousin or friend. By doing so, we'll be sending a part of our self, and writing a little of our own history.
*** Note: Originally posted on Writing North Idaho Friday, September 23, 2011
