#letteraday

A letter a day for 30 days. 

I can do that.

This is a challenge I’ve given myself for no reason other than that I want to be writing more and maybe this will spark something else. It’s so funny, so many people call themselves writers, but have this insatiable desire to do anything aside from write. I’d rather make a new google drive folder for these letters than I would actually like to write one.

Today is a letter to you. You, dear reader, who certainly doesn’t exist yet. That’s a bit freeing. No one will read this first letter. Likely no one will read any of them, but this first one especially. The first letter will go down in history, to myself, as the one with way too many commas and no real goal. It’s a letter wherein I will begin to discover what this project could be, what these letters could mean. Will they be apologies? Will they even be true? Will I write fictional letters to fictional people? Or real letters to fictional people? I do think the fanfiction part of my life is over (no shade, it’s just not for me), so we’ll see where this leads.

I think I can write. I’m literate, for sure. But I do think I have important things to say and I think I can say them well--please disregard this letter from that statement. But I can, I can write things that mean something and that people want to read.

Maybe I will write a jar of prompts, and I’ll have to write a letter to the person listed on that prompt, or maybe the jar will be full of phrases or images. I’m now establishing this as a freewriting exercise which hadn’t been the intent, but isn’t an awful idea either. God, how long do these letters have to be. I think a page. I think a page is fine. Too much for someone to want to read, but enough to make me feel like I’ve done something.

Right. Back to you. Dear reader, thank you for engaging with this nonsense (it’s better for my sanity if I believe someone is really on the other end). I believe that something will come out of this. I believe I will at some point say something that will mean something to you. I hope I don’t give up before that point.

Here’s what you need to know about me: I’m 24; I’m living in a foreign country where I barely speak the language; I’m bored and fairly lonely; the only person I’ve ever told I love them cheated on me for our entire relationship. This last bit seems more important than it is from its placement and its severity, but it’s true.