Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them. ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
A deeply personal foray into the power of the letter as we prepare for The Letter Reimagined: Four Weeks of Highly Specific Epistolary Writing, Starting September 25
Letters are radical devices because of their intimacy. In an age of cynicism and cynicism’s cousin sarcasm, letters – personal, intentional – are wrought out of a posture of authenticity. Epistles, especially when they take the form of one human being sharing their life with another, require a genuineness that many of our common literary forms (namely, the listicle) don’t demand. ~Micah Conkling, The Subversive Power of Letter Writing
Dear WITDers,
My dad died last Wednesday.
To the great many of you who’ve already offered your condolences, I’m so grateful for the love, the empathy, the wise but not prescriptive advice, the generosity, and most of all the total acceptance and immeasurable kindness.
This community is a buoy of love and wisdom.
Thank you.
My father’s death was expected, and he was said to be comfortable and at peace. I was not there, and had not spoken with my dad for years, a story I’ve told here and here.
At the end of next month, my husband, kids (who’ve met my father just a handful of times in 35 years), and grandson (who has never met him) will go to Duluth, my father’s birthplace and mine, and hold a small memorial to honor his passing in a way that feels as healing as possible: we’ll share our respective visions for the family we want to be for each other now and in the years ahead, the traditions and hopes and intimacies we want to keep creating, nourishing, and protecting together.
This, to me, is the best way to honor my father.
For this memorial, my family will stay on the shores of Lake Superior, the most healing of healing places. I hope that this handcrafted memorial will allow me to take one more step in the lifelong work of releasing hope and yearning for love that was never to be. I talked about that after the DNC when all that dad love was running so high, and I appreciated that incredible thread so much.
Anyway, to no one’s likely surprise, I used to, as a young woman, write my dad a lot of letters, many that I mailed, some that I did not, like this one from 1992. This was right before the fateful phone call I wrote about in What My Father Knew. My firstborn was soon to turn two, and I was six months pregnant with my son and had just turned 24. My father had apparently mailed a late birthday card, and this excerpt of a longer, 4-page missive has been lightly edited for copious typos in the age of the real typewriter:
Dear Daddy,
Hi! Thank you for the birthday card, and of course the money. We can definitely use it—it seems like it’s always something. If not the car from our nightmares, then something else. Right now we’re trying to scrape together the cash to build a picket fence around the back yard so that Sophie and I can spend more time outside this summer. As it is now, she bolts so fast that I can barely keep up with her, and it’s only going to get worse as I get more and more rotund as the summer progresses.
I want to tell you that I don’t feel forgetting my birthday is that big a deal in the whole scheme of things. As you know, adult birthdays aren’t much hoopla, and we don’t make too big a thing of them in our house anyway. We just try to do a little something special, like a special dinner and a small gift, like a pick-me-up or something. So the birthday itself just isn’t that important.
I’ll tell you what means a lot more to me than remembering or forgetting my birthday. It would mean a lot to me if I felt that we had a closer relationship all around. I know that I have said this repeatedly over the last year or two, and I don’t feel that I’ve gotten far.
I’m beginning to suspect that you’re not very interested in maintaining a close relationship with me. If that’s the case, I think it would be better for all of us to know where we stand, don’t you?
…We have a lot of years left to live, and we can have a father-daughter relationship, if you want one. You are the only parent I have, essentially … and I’d like to know you. [W]hen I see the relationships my friends have with their parents, I know that most parents don’t drop out of their kids’ lives when they turn 18. And grandchildren, in normal families, bring grandparents a lot of joy and excitement.
And so I’ve tried to reach out to you since Sophie’s birth. I’ve sent letters, pictures and cards, and I’ve asked over and over for you to call, write, and visit. I understand that you have a life. A busy life. A family life. Well, we all do. It’s just a matter of what’s important to you.
…What I am saying now is that you just need to decide how you want it, because I, for one, will respect that. It would be nice to know you as a person and a father, but not if it gives you the crawlies just thinking of it, if you know what I mean. Maybe you simply do not want to know me or Sophie. That’s all I want to know. I have a rich and fulfilling emotional and social life, and I don’t need to force you into something you don’t have an interest in.
So this is your chance to get off the hook. I am not going to write another letter like this, or ask again for you to call, write, and visit, unless you can give me some sort of positive response to what I am saying now.
Although as a parent it is unimaginable to me that you could feel so unattached… I will respect it if that’s your feeling, because I’m honestly pretty tired of feeling rejected by you, and at least I’d like to know where I stand. This whole thing has made me sad since I can remember, and hanging my hopes out that you’ll come around someday only makes the sadness hang around, as well. So why don’t you think about how you’d like things to be.
…Well, time to wrap up—the noon siren is blowing, and that means Sophie will be up soon. I hope I haven’t totally blown you away, or made you angry. What I’ve said isn’t meant to be a guilt trip. It’s the opposite, actually. I would think you’d have to take some happiness in the fact that it matters to me so much. But remember what I said, and let’s not waste time trying to build bridges if it’s not what you want to do.
Love,
Jeannie
My dad, it turned out, did not wish to build bridges. And we no longer have, as this letter so brightly stated, “a lot of years left to live.” At least not together, we don’t.
Instead, I wave quietly from my separate shore, thus closing a long season of farewell.
And, more speaking of letters. If you are a letter writer, or want to be … you might want to join us for WITD’s upcoming seasonal intensive:
The Letter Reimagined: Four Weeks of Highly Specific Epistolary Writing, Starting September 25
In this intensive, we’ll read some excellent examples of the epistolary form—examples that both embody the earnestness Micah Conkling refers to and go beyond it. Examples that challenge and expand staid notions of what a letter can actually do to unlock our work and magnify meaning.
As Evan Fallenberg writes about the epistolary form in Lit Hub:
[T] he writer … has the opportunity to tell a story from a single point of view, two contrasting viewpoints, or many; they can play with the reliability of the narrator(s) while deepening the reader’s reactions of sympathy (or antipathy) without moving to omniscience; and the writer … often wins over their readers more easily and wholly thanks to the nonfictional feel of letters….
To note, what Evan writes is equally applicable to CNF and fiction. In Letters Reimagined, you’ll discover how and why!
Oh, the fun we will have … such serious, impactful fun. I can’t wait to see what emerges via this elastic, surprising form reimagined.
To write a letter is to send a message to the future; to speak of the present with an addressee who is not there, knowing nothing about how that person is (in what spirits, with whom) while we write and, above all, later: while reading over what we have written. Correspondence is the utopian form of conversation because it annihilates the present and turns the future into the only possible place for dialogue. ~Ricardo Piglia, Respiración artificial
As with our recent (incredible) four weeks of Strange Containers, this intensive is based on the most popular Writing in the Dark live workshop of all time, The Art of the Fractured, which I also taught through Catapult back when Catapult still had writing classes. Art of the Fractured sold out every time it was offered, and many terrific published pieces emerged from that workshop, some of which you can peruse on our big, beautiful list of published work born in WITD:
Born in WITD: A Big Beautiful & Growing Directory of Work Published by WITD Writers
The Letter Reimagined will be fast, playful & inventive, meant to help writers break out of the same old, same old and try some new ways into their own work.
Participants can expect the kinds of craft essays and resources you always find at WITD—this time, specific to epistolary writing. Plus, inspiring resources (especially published work you might not stumble across otherwise), detailed writing exercises, and lots of opportunities to share and read each other’s work, which is a beautiful facet of this community.
The Letter Reimagined is for all levels, and equally applicable to CNF and fiction.
This intensive will be very accessible yet oddly challenging and inspiring for all levels because it’s so inventive and off-map.
To note, The Letter Reimagined is not a writing class per se (no class meetings, no Zoom, no “assignments,” etc.). It’s a WITD intensive on Substack, for which we are now what would call “medium famous.” An intensive is where all the material is delivered through four consecutive Wednesday posts, straight to your email inbox (Letters post will start mid-September).2 I draw this distinction because I do ALSO teach writing classes! Which are different, which are tuition-based, and which are adjacent to and supported by but separate from the WITD newsletter on Substack.
Anyway, for Letter Reimagined and all of the other WITD intensives (we run several a year!), everything happens right here on the posts, and as long as you are a paid or founding member of WITD, you’re all set!
If you’re not a member, you can upgrade at a sale price through Labor Day.
You can also give a gift subscription to a writer you love, or donate subscriptions to our scholarship fund, which we appreciate so much. It allows us to comp subscriptions without any questions, and provide a sliding-scale on all of our synchronous classes.
What’s Included in The Letter Reimagined?
Paid members:
Full access to all Letter Reimagined posts, sent via email on Wednesdays, and rich with readings, writing exercises, direct instruction and inspiration for trying your hand at some unusual new short work.
Access to our incredible comments—WITD comments sections are what makes this place so damn beautiful, because of the amazingness of the Writing in the Dark community. Each week, participants share questions, insights, and snippets of work in progress—and your guides, Jeannine and Billie, actively participate, as well.
Founding members also receive cool interactive stuff, like:
Occasional Voice Memos and Video Notes.
Live Write-Ins and Live Salons on Zoom w/open mic readings to celebrate the intensive when we’re done (these are so fun).
If you love face-to-face stuff, voice stuff, and more interactivity, the founding membership is for you for $15 more annually.
All participants come away with:
A storehouse of valuable new ways to think about writing, and why we gain from stretching that way, plus specific tools to apply long after the the intensive is over.
A collection of new work in progress that you can continue to develop on your own.
An archive of readings and writing exercises you can repeat as desired.
A deeper understanding of the ways epistolary writing or an “epistolary POV” can enliven your writing practice.
Join now to start poking around our giant archive and maybe even dip your toe into our thriving Thursday Threads, or explore the full archive of past WITD intensives.
What People Say About Writing in the Dark Intensives
I am in awe of how you created this amazingly beautiful community-space.
I can’t believe what I’m getting out of this intensive. It’s changing my writing in the most unexpected ways, and I am beyond grateful. You are the most generous teacher.
You are magic. Pure magic.
I have learned much from you in the last year, through your weekly posts and seasonal intensives. The depth and quality of your content is unmatched on Substack (IMHO). That, plus the network of subscribers you have garnered is why I look forward to Wednesdays! (And Mondays for Lit Salon and Thursdays for the new Threads!) I have been involved in workshops that cost more but provide less. Thanks for all you are producing and the community you have created in an effort to bring the out our best writing selves.
As always, there's more to these exercises than I first anticipate.
I’m thoroughly enjoying this challenge and truly appreciate all the ways you’re helping each of us become more thoughtful and evocative writers.
It's actually been super helpful to work through the exercises in quick succession, like a little writing course... But so much more inspiring and thoughtful and generous and fun than any I've taken before. THANK YOU Jeannine, you are brilliant.
These assignments are like magic.
Your post gave me a giant AHA moment. You’ve unlocked my understanding of tension and storytelling in memoir.
This post was wonderful. Love the first quote especially. I had a couple of deeper realizations with this exercise.
Reading all the comments on my writing today, so full of enthusiasm and encouragement, really made my day! One of the things I will treasure most about this challenge is learning to trust myself and others with my writing.3
What to Expect From The Letter Reimagined
Unusual craft essays on epistolary writing, and the space between that explore inventive approaches to short work, along with structured writing exercises to get you started on some of your own!
Inventive writing exercises that invite you to try some really unexpected new approaches on the page.
Encouragement to participate each week—which is a very lively experience—or work at your own pace, or start the challenge later or repeat it, or whatever works best for you, because all of the posts will be tagged and permanently archived in order.
At the end, you’ll have up to 4 original, interesting, and intriguing new pieces you can revise and consider. If we’re lucky, these new works will really surprise us.
An immersion in the concept of “zero-waste” writing, where everything interesting can become something more than itself now or later.
Encouragement to record your experiences as part of the process—and you can expect to find me and Billie Oh in the comments, too, participating in the conversation.
Links to resources for further reading.
Exercises that are clear, doable, and scaffolded over the 4 weeks in a way that allows you, if you like, to “arranges the bits” toward an interesting suggestion of wholeness later.
Highly usable craft tools you can apply forever.
Specific, potent literary approaches to deepen and illuminate your relationship with language.
New discoveries about yourself and your life.
Less familiar readings as well as some crowd favorites.
Exercises that are specific and directive and clear, but also a bit feral and unpredictable. You can expect (as always in WITD) exercises that honor the truth of living in bodies that breathe and move and laugh and cry, while also living in a world that breathes and moves and laughs and cries, while also having unruly minds that are constantly escaping to the past and the future even when what we most need is to attend to this exact moment in order to live lives that are, as Mary Oliver said, “particular and real.”
To be imperfect and write imperfectly, and for that to be perfectly okay.
To come out of this intensive with new ideas about what writing can be, and how it can feel.
To come out of this intensive with new ideas of who you are, who you are becoming, and what is possible for you as a writer.
I know from the experience of Strange Containers, the Lyric Essay Challenge and Story Challenge and The Visceral Self that these things evolve and change along the way, but these are the main points as far as we can see, and I’m happy to answer questions if you have them! Just throw your thoughts into the comments.
I can’t wait to write with you. And I am eternally grateful you are here.
Love,
Jeannine
PS I still hope to eventually catch up on comments from last week, but it’s slow. Thank you so much for your patience.
Your letter broke my heart, as does your responsibility for being the strong one in that relationship. And your generosity in fusing your life and teaching is unmatched— it makes you the fiercest of educators.
Wishing you a lighter burden and green chutes of peace on those final, and finally defined shores.
Your family’s plan sounds perfect. All my love to you, and yours.
This is so beautiful, Jeannine, and what I hear is the strength and love in that young Jeannine voice, earnestness too, but more strength than maybe she knew she had. Rita said it so well below. My heart hurts for your loss, both current and ages old. It's so much work to soothe and heal the child inside who longed for a different parental relationship. My heart also feels joy for this stage of healing for you. xo