The quiet beauty of ink and paper
When was the last time you received a personal letter?
When did you last tear open an envelope and pull out a folded sheet of paper from someone who was thinking about you?
The first letter is thought to have been sent by Queen Atossa of Persia to Hellanicus (a Greek historian) around 500BC. It caught on,to a peak of 20 billion letters a year in the UK.
Times change of course. The number of letters sent is falling rapidly and digital communication is fast, cheap and convenient. But letter writing is more than just the passing of information.
Writing to strangers
Like a lot of kids in the 1980s I had pen pals, meaning young teenagers in far away places that agreed to share life updates with strangers. Jade wrote to me about school from her home in Instanbul. My Dublin pen pal would send thin airmail paper and describe her love for the band U2. I learned nothing about life in Dublin but I knew a lot more about Larry Mullen.
Thank you notes after birthdays and Christmas were the norm. I bought smooth paper and coloured ballpoints in WHSmith with my paper-round money. I decorated the letters with tiny stickers, licked bitter stamps and tried to get them on straight.
Love of long form
By the time I reached my forties, almost all my city friends had moved away while I remained by the sea. We became distant despite the efforts to keep in touch. Phone calls at a good time became near impossible, text messages got shorter and DMs became a stream of cat videos. We shared snippets of our lives as the years went on but missed the long, cosy chats and sofa catch-ups with story and details.
I warned an old friend, I was going to send a letter. “I’d love that, but I’m too busy to write back.” she apologised. I sat down to write anyway.
Another friend was excited by the thought of a letter. I wrote about my day, the rainbow I could see from my window and reminisced. She saved the letter for a Sunday morning, sent me a text full of gratitude and “I’m going to write back!” and she did. A wonderful ramble of events, memories and hope arrived.
Writing a letter is an act of care and attention that is so easy to skip in a world where convenience is embedded into every system. Receiving a letter is a delight and a gift of intimacy that lasts.
Wander, ponder and meander
There are no rules about what a letter should say and the etiquette of Jane Austin or Virginia Woolf has long since passed. A letter can still be traditional or a wander through shared histories. It can be descriptive, reflective and curious. It can be a favourite recipe. Let the words flow, just as friendships do.
I write for myself as much as my friends, a stream of thoughts and ideas that meander. It is an invitation to share openly. I ponder on the world like we did in the small hours and invite them along.
Keepsakes and memories
Now I have a small storage box filled with cards and letters that go back decades. Some are short slips of thin paper, others are envelopes packed with folded sheets of news and memories. They hold a moment in time in their fibres.
I have notes from people who are no longer here and I hold them with some sadness but also gratitude for these physical reminders. The paper has yellowed and some ink has faded, but they are tangible and precious. An email chain or device full of messages has no presence. The digital distance of a screen is cold and uninhabitable.
When my Dad died, I wanted to see his handwriting and hold the cards he chose. A touchstone that could not be reached in any other way.
The slow intention of handwriting
Compared to typing on a computer or phone, we write slower by hand, more intentionally, processing our thoughts differently, more creatively. There are times when speed and convenience are essential for navigating life. I see letter writing not as resistance to technology but more as a revival of my spirit and a strengthening of my relationships.
Also, I think I’m tired of moving so fast. Maybe it’s my age, but the efficient speed of the digital era that promised me so much is feeling superficial and compromised. I often feel like my heart is being squeezed out of our conversations but I want heart, nuance and thoughtfulness. Letter writing offers that and the anticipation of waiting for a response, the delayed gratification.
Stationery love
Should I be embarrassed that I’m a stationery nerd? I like notebooks with a tempting cover and the right binding. I love paper and checking the texture between my fingers before I choose a pen. Tiny glass ink bottles with fabulous names are lined up on the shelf. There’s a pile of greeting cards for every occasion in the drawer.
A trip to the local post office for some special issue stamps offered me themes of wildlife, Narnia, mushrooms and more recently Snoopy.
My Dad kept a pad of pristine, watermarked Basildon Bond in his desk that was not for sticky young fingers. There were matching envelopes wrapped in a paper band. You can still buy it today in its characteristic white, blue or champagne colours.
I’ve written letters on Poundland recycled paper with a Bic biro I probably got from work. I’ve also sent letters written with a Kaweco fountain pen on William Morris paper from the V&A museum. Each one was sent with care and received with love. I can recommend stickers and doodles.
So why do I think you might want to write a letter?
I am leaning heavily into tangible, meaningful things, towards intention and care. Convenience has its place but should not mean the loss of heartfelt, human connection.
Letter sending is in decline and physical birthday and Christmas cards are less popular. In Denmark, by the end of the year, the national postal service will no longer deliver letters due to low demand.
There’s no doubt that letter writing is a dying art, an exclusive hobby rather than a necessity. A love of ink and paper might not lure you back to the page but the warmth of reconnecting with distant friends might. It is a joy to write and receive letters. Something I believe we can make time for, offline.
I will say again, there is nothing like getting a letter from a loved one. Or going back to it when they are no longer here.
This essay was originally published on Substack.