I love the internet. It allows me to have this site, and email is so fast and easy. But it can also be impersonal. There is something magical and exciting about checking the mail at the end of the day and finding something addressed just to you. I have always loved mail. But there is nothing more depressing than opening the box and finding a stack of bills to be paid and and junk mail to throw away. Letters are nice that way. All they demand is your attention. They ask you to slow down, open them, unfold the paper, and read them start to finish. Letters from friends are like good novels. They are dated in a good way– they preserve a particular moment in time, a particular sentinment, and once the envelope is sealed and sent it has to travel, hand to hand, to get to where you are. You can’t delete sentences that aren’t perfect or change your mind about what you’ve said and shoot off another email to rescind it. Letters are permanent. You can tie a stack of letters together with twine, and put it in a box and read them over and over again as though you are having a conversation. That stack of letters will not crash, or have their memories erased, or get deleted. With reasonable care, they will remain. Letters have preserved the greatest and worst moments in our collective history, and are what allow us to know who came before us in an intimate way– if they are written, and if they are saved. With that in mind, I go off to write some letters to people whose history I wish to share.