March One, 2018
There is a sacredness and intimacy about this art of letter writing. A beautiful tenderness of one me speaking to one you—though the you is multiplied. Perhaps that is why I have saved so many letters over the years. A hunter green metal foot locker hides under the bed in my office—a repository of memory and mystery. In it rest decades upon decades of letters. I have saved them—like a memory hoarder, sometimes not even knowing why. As if one day there might be a grand revealing of important plots and sub-plots. As if the aged smell of paper and stamp and glue would give up clues to my past. As if one line might contain a piece of my bigger story that longs to be heard, one that needs remembering and re-telling. If I would only pull the thread.
Click the link to read the subscriber based letter in its entirety, as well as receive access to the archives of The Notebook: These Pages of Mine.
Visit me on twitter @graceappears, Instagram @graceappears and on Facebook. These are just a few of the places my words appear. I would love to have you join me there.
These days, one of my favorite places to write is within the pages of my newly renamed monthly-ish subscriber letter—The Notebook: Pages of Mine.
A sweet spot of sorts for me, The Notebook provides a different feel and format. A place where as a writer I am finding my rhythm and stride as I weave a bit of narrative, a bit of storytelling, a bit of prose. I have grown to like the way the words link arms a little differently over there.
I hear nuanced differences in the voice of my art in the letter. It is a privilege and an honor to invite you to the pages of The Notebook. I hope you’ll join me and like what you hear and read.
Join me on this journey to take note of small ordinary wonder. Peel back the obvious to notice more of the hidden. Let’s take note and become notetakers.
There is joy in writing here, always for now, at my writing home. This is home for me. But I want to invite you there too.
I have just mailed my October letter to subscribers… Here is an excerpt from my October page, taken from my notebook.
If you tell me to put down my phone —if you tell me to unplug from technology, I may or may not listen to your wise advice. If you suggest that my brain, my heart and my soul, my creativity will all benefit significantly from blank spaces and pauses in screen time I may not act in the way I know “on paper” that I should. (Stubborn threads run rampant through me.)
But then again I may. It’s a little hard to say. (Because I am now on the other side of a new knowing.)
You could point me to research and to the science behind your wise admonition, building your case and supporting it with facts and truth. You can show me the neuroscience.
You can hand me your stockpile of evidence that points to the neurological benefits, mention the commonsense reasons, and remind me of the simple joy of looking a friend square in the eyes —without distractions.
Often the very best way to learn is experientially. And sometimes we have to get there on our own. There being this place that is better, smarter, healthier and wiser—a place of stepping off the trail. Off the beaten path. A place of going against the grain….
I look forward to seeing you there.