Austin TX (1988) "I Want to Write You Long Letters"

The electric typewriter hummed and vibrated. When you typed, it sounded like a machine gun.

My writing career began with writing letters home from college. Those were the days when long distance phone calls were expensive and considered a luxury and—in my family at least—were only for special occasions.

At first, I wrote home out of a sense of obligation. My parents were paying for me to attend fancy Wesleyan University, 3000 miles away. The least I could do was write down some of my impressions and describe the experiences I was having.

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By the time I got to college, I was already a pretty serious musician. Playing guitar, writing songs, playing in bands. That was where my creative energy went. That’s how I expressed myself.

Writing letters was more like checking in. And maybe a little like therapy, since it was my chance to share my thoughts about school. I could say things I couldn’t say to anyone else.

But I soon noticed writing a letter did have a creative aspect. It felt a little bit like playing the guitar. Or composing a song. Like you’d sit down and you wouldn’t know exactly what you wanted to say but if you could just get started, and let the flow of it guide you, all sorts of interesting things would appear.

It was no substitute for playing in a band. But it did have its artistic rewards in the sense that you could surprise yourself. And you were not always in control of what came out of your pen.

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I would write home maybe twice a month. It really was better than a phone call. My parents could read my letters at their leisure and re-read them if they felt so inclined.

My mother wrote back. Her letters would come to my campus mail box. I’d slip them into my shoulder bag and wait for a quiet moment, like when I’d finished studying at the library.

Then I’d move my books aside, lean back in my chair and open the letter from mom.

I’d read about how things were going at the farm. Which cat caught a mouse. What valuable item of clothing the goat had eaten. What trouble my younger siblings were getting into.

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