Relics, Part 1

I have totally forgotten to blog about this. Must be a mental block of some sort.

When we were in Florida for the holidays, I went into the west closet in the office of my parents’ house; this is the only place where my possessions are still stored. Eight years ago, that closet was crammed full, but now it’s dwindled to a crate full of photo albums, a box with some really random memorabilia, a box of books, and a Rubbermaid tub full of memories.

80% of the space in this tub is taken up by letters. I was an avid correspondent in my youth. I wrote letters not only to friends at summercamp but to friends who were not at summercamp. I wrote to my mother, my brother, my older sister, my boyfriend, my girlfriends, and everyone else. When I went to college, that circle expanded to include teachers. Summer between freshman and sophomore years, I wrote random letters to two of my film school classmates. One of them was a guy I hadn’t known very well until we worked on a project together at the end of the year. He found out I’d broken up with my boyfriend and took me to Waffle House to cheer me up. I didn’t know at the time that six years later, we’d be married. (The other guy I wrote a letter to is a good friend.)

One of the crowning achievements of letter-writing, Ever In the History of the World, is an epic called “The Play” written by myself and my friend Alex (used to be Scott). He was a freshman in college and I was a senior in high school, and every letter we exchanged also contained an act of The Play, starring him, me, our friend Kelly, my cat Tigger, an evil antagonist who cannot be named, Bill Gates, a Swedish man named Oter, and a cast of millions, including a talking snake.

The Play, an Excerpt
Act 23: My Once-In-A-Lifetime

SCOTT: I have an idea. We’ll get arrested and put in the dungeon*, then we can rescue Kelly!
KATIE: Scott, that is totally the most brilliant idea you’ve ever had, and I’m not just saying that because I’m in a drunken stupor ** with 65% of my judgment impaired. Let’s go!
(They go.)
END OF ACT 23

Everyone loves to get letters, yes? I’m sure I brightened a lot of mail-fetching expeditions (and the volume of letters I received indicates the same about my correspondents). But let’s be honest; in most cases, I was writing for myself as much as for the other person. Why? Because I had something to say and I wanted somebody to hear it. I guess you could say I’ve been blogging all my life — just on paper.

But at the same time, a letter is more than an open missive to the internet; it’s a connection, a moment, and a reminder that, even if you’re just looking for a brain dump, the recipient is the person whom you chose to dump toward.

I still have two or three boxesful of stationary; at this rate, it will last me the rest of my life.

I think I need to start writing more letters.

* Bill Gates’s dungeon; he had kidnapped Kelly.
** I didn’t drink in high school, I just wrote plays about it.

Next blog: Relics, Part 2: The Ice Cream Notebook

Comments from original posting:

Alex said…
Hey – I have all the letters and that nice, bound copy of the play you sent me. What I really want in life is to see Kelly’s film school short that was based on one of the acts. I want to see someone playing me.
8:49 AM

Katie said…
I have a copy of that somewhere.
9:11 AM

Alex said…
You have a copy?!?! Can you not sense my excitement by the use of intermixed “?” and “!” marks?
How can I get a copy from you?
12:10 PM

Katie said…
Bribery is usually a pretty good option.
8:47 PM

Related posts:

1. Relics, Part 2: The Ice Cream Notebook
2. Kayli wants more pony stories.
3. 5 things you shouldn’t say to a newly published author

January 3rd, 2007 Katie Alender

Tags: ah youth, geekery, writing