Three Things: Handwritten Letter Edition, II
Let’s find some more inspiration among old, handwritten correspondence, shall we? This week I’ve pulled three excerpts from three very different letters, the contents of which I like to think are reflected in the authors’ penmanship. A responsible nature shines through the first letter’s careful, deliberate script; likewise the carefree, jovial humor in the second missive’s loose scrawl. And the last? One doesn’t even need to read the words to feel the frantic, distracted desperation (poor soul).
Just who are these scribblers? You tell me, dear writers. You tell me.
1917. “He was willing to have me write you to save him the trouble. Do up the pkgs for him. Pay the postage & insurance for him. He to get all the honor and I the trouble and no thanks from him. I made up my mind he had made a cat’s paw of me long enough.”
1898. “A few days ago I met Eugene Marshall – quite an interesting gentleman – who said you belonged to the L. tribe and thought from appearance that we might be relatives. You must be a ‘mighty handsome man’ for him to spot us so readily.”
1924. “I know you will think I am weak but this note which comes from the very bottom of my heart and which is bathed with the bitterest tears I have ever shed is a testimony to that superhuman love you have created in me!”
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Inspired only from a signauture on the inside cover of a book. Jolene Montgomery – Trout Fishing in America. A ship in a bottle now…
Dear Jolene Montgomery,
I have your copy of Trout Fishing in America. I picked it up at a used bookstore in Tucson Arizona almost 25 years ago. From the publication and printing information I have guessed your purchase date to be 1973. The book doesn’t feel like summer, fall, or winter so I am imagining that you bought it sometime in the spring. The spring is a good time to read a book like this with the words blooming like algae in a still pond.
In the spring of 1973 I was 5 years old and wore a Cub Scout bandana all the time. I wasn’t in the Cub Scouts but I was a fantastic pretender from even this early age. As a point of fact, I once pretended to be the roof-liner of a 1974 Chevrolet Monte Carlo. I spent 6 months drooping and sagging with cigarette burns and a large tear in my shirt. After this I did an ironing board but felt too pressed upon to continue and quickly changed to a vase. Watching flowers slowly die isn’t as bad as it sounds. Dying flowers are very noble. At any rate, I have enjoyed the book as much as is possible and picked up several other books by this same author, though the ones with penned names inside the cover do not match yours. Perhaps if you should read this I could return the book and we could share a coffee.
Your friend,
The blank page
I’m quite late in responding to this, but I’d just like to say: this is great. I love finding small things that are packed with enough character to inspire a story — like the simple signature in a book that you found. Do you troll flea markets and antique shops in search for inspiration? I do. It’s fantastic fun.