Letters from New Hampshire (& Beyond)

I always look for unique stamps that match the people I send letters to. This recent batch includes Hubert H. Humphrey, John Muir, Dr. Seuss, and Marilyn Monroe.

I’m changing the name of this blog because, quite frankly, it does not feel much like a blog. (Besides, I never liked the word blog. It sounds abrupt and ugly.)

I’m an inveterate letter writer, and most of my more productive work days begin with penning letters to friends. It opens up my head and heart. Several posts you’ve read over the past two years, and probably all of the more popular ones, began as letters I’d written earlier in the day.

When William Morrow of the HarperCollins umbrella signed me to write Following Atticus, I struggled mightily with writer’s block in the months leading up to deadline. I was insecure and thought I needed to be a better writer if I was going to be published by such a prestigious house. My literary agent checked in often to see what kind of progress I was making. Like many authors, I lied.

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