Janice MacLeod's Blog, page 9

You’re tired and it’s okay

You’re tired and it’s okay.

You watch too much TV.

You’ve switched out fruits and veg with chips and cookies.

You’re not sleeping.

You’re sleeping too much.

The simplest tasks are falling behind.

You’ve got the time.

And yet.

You’re hypnotically putting items in shopping carts online without buying.

You’re buying online just to have something to look forward to in the mail.

Your toenails are too long.

The books aren’t getting read.

The art you never had time for before still isn’t getting made.

Pasta is always on the menu.

In 5 years, you’ll look back at this time.

You’ll wish you cut yourself some slack.

So cut yourself some slack.

Even if you’re generally peppy and over-the-moon optimistic.

You’re still human living in a society.

That society is connected by a collective grief.

And that makes you tired.

And that’s okay.

Spring WILL come.

A few cheerful items: 

Paris Letters is still on sale over at the Amazon kindle shop… a mere $2.99 USD (plus price matched elsewhere).

Luke Evans singing “Bridge Over Troubled Waters.” He plays Gaston in the newer version of Beauty and the Beast. He adds empathy to his songs, and I find it helpful, especially if you’re tired (and that’s okay).

The 5 stages of emotion when forgetting your purse on a road trip in a snowstorm

Based on the title, we already know what happened.

I was heading to Big City Big Lights, a two-hour drive away, to do a few corrections for the audiobook version of Dear Paris. I was nervous because I needed to download the instructions onto the ol’ iPad before I left the house, had to rehearse how to correctly say Hieronymus Bosch, Anne Marie d’Orléans, beatification and other errors of judgment I included in the manuscript in the first place.

The roads were bad. Snow ahoy.

Now, having lived in California, I’ve had a lot of practice at driving fast in tight situations. I have less experience with slow and steady in snow, so I was nervous about that as well. I left early, reasoning that I would drive slow and if I was there very early, I’d grab lunch.

Halfway there, I noticed my purse was not along. And this moment is where we shift into survival mode.

1. Turn back? If I went home to get my purse, I would be very late. This was to be about an hour of recording. Was this worth it?

2. Take inventory. I looked at the gas. I had enough to get there and back. I had a half-eaten apple from my daughter in the backseat. Also half frozen. Bottle of water. I would forge ahead.

3. Map out contact points. As the snow continued to whip around the car in impressive drifts, I mapped out who I could find if I needed help: Uncles, aunts, friends… people I could count on to be cool with me showing up at their front door unexpected during a pandemic lockdown so I could ask for money, food, and maybe a bed.

4. Go Zen. I’d forge ahead and think about how to solve problems if they became problems. I remembered a moment when I was close to burnout at my job in LA. I was driving to work and was about to turn onto the road toward work. But what if I didn’t turn. What if I kept going? I had water, a yoga mat, gym clothes, a wallet. I could go for DAYS. I could sell my car at a dealership near an airport and just… go. But I didn’t have my passport. And if I never returned to my apartment, other people would have to sort through my mess. So I turned up that road, went to work, came home and began cleaning out my closets (I suppose this moment is the prequel to Paris Letters, now a Kindle Deal for $2.99 USD.)

5. Talk with ghosts. I consulted dead grandparents and asked them questions, requesting guidance and extra traction. They answered. All seemed quite calm in the car, when minutes earlier it was filled with the stench of my self-created anxiety.

In the end, I arrived, did the recording, repeatedly mispronounced words, thereby flummoxing the sound guy who was patient and kind (he probably had HIS wallet). Soon I was back in the car heading home. Five hours of driving. One hour of recording. One glorious tank of gas. One half eaten apple that I did, in fact, finish eating. And one finished audiobook. Praise the Lord, I was home.

Hear a clip…

PS If you like reading random thoughts about snowstorms, ghosts, and my errors in judgment, subscribe to the list. Freebies are coming. You’ll be the first to know. Subscribe here.

 

Library books… help, thanks, wow

Last summer there was a giant book sale at my local library. I went thrice. Each time, I was given a sturdy file box with a lid and instructed to fill it as much or as little as I wanted. Same price for every box.

This is one of those funny side effects of a pandemic. 

I’m sure the library volunteers noticed the lack of foot traffic. Usually, this sale is held at the big festivals and the boxes of books travel from festival to festival. They are sold off, the donations are put toward the library, room is made on the shelves for the new titles to come, and everyone is happy. However, since there were no big festivals, the books weren’t exactly flying off the tables. And near the end the volunteers were fretting over having so many books left to pack away and put… somewhere.

Fear not, help has arrived. 

Every person who showed up at my door last summer was escorted to the book sale around the corner. We were in between lockdowns at the time. When my guests discovered the fill-up-the-box system, they participated in earnest. And the boxes came with lids, so no one was going to see just how many or what titles we had chosen.

It was glorious. 

Months later, in a fresh lockdown, I have this STASH of BOOKS to read on my shelf. What a treasure trove! Some were rescues… hardcover copies of some of my favourite books, some were intriguing, some of them were duds, but that’s okay. It was all for a good cause… she says with shifty eyes. 

Right now I’m reading Help, Thanks, Wow by Anne Lamott and to her I want to say “It helped.Thanks! Wow.” A mere hundred pages, which suits this short attention span just fine.

Speaking of short attention spans, my new book Dear Paris has 1 and 2 page chapters. That’s it. A whole load of short attention span theatre. They say to be the change you want to see in the world. What I wanted was books with short chapters so I wrote one. Pre-order it if you please. It comes out a month from today so you won’t have to wait long. Also Forbes said nice things about it:

Hey Forbes, “Thanks. Wow!” I realize Forbes is a big deal. But to me, just as big a deal is being featured on Instagram in this cute way:

Paris Matchbox is an Instagram artist who started making matchbox Christmas ornaments and just kept going and going. I’ve been following her as a fan so I was surprised when a wee Paris Letters book showed up in her latest art. To her, another “Thanks. Wow!” I do so love when people take on an art project.

My art project for this year is my year long writing course. Each week I write up something poetic for the lessons and it is keeping my writing skills sharp.

Writing. You know how it goes.

At first you start writing in a journal and it’s all just CRAP and TIRESOME and BORING and DUMB and AWFUL. Then you kind of get in the hang of it and it isn’t so bad. You even start to miss it if you take a few days off. Later you run the risk of only having journals filled with “Gosh I’d like to write something great one day” instead of writing the great things. For me, A WRITING YEAR ecourse is a delightful way to edit my runaway journal thoughts into something nicely edited and lovely to read. To the journal, I wanted to say, “Help. Thanks. Wow!” (I did a new video on the writing course page… despite many versions, I still look thirsty, but it’s going to have to be good enough.) Technology during the pandemic. “Help. Thanks. Wow!”

Speaking of, I’m off to do some YouTube yoga. Technology again… “Help. Thanks. Wow!”

PS Kindle made Paris Letters a Monthly Deal, only $2.99 USD. Get links here. Hey, Kindle… “Thanks. Wow!”

The lost lovely company of strangers

I’ve been pondering the tenuous connections and how they have just disappeared with all our various forms of lockdown since last March. The coffee shop faces. The interesting encounters. The people we intersect with, but might not even talk with most days in a regular routine.

Those on the Périphérique of our lives.

The Périphérique is the ring road that surrounds central Paris. Living within the ring has a certain je ne c’est quoi about it. Living outside the ring probably means you’re not nearly as snooty as those of us obsessed with the inside of the ring.

The inner circle of our friendships. That’s happening. We try Zoom. We call. We text. We Thumbs Up.

It’s the other people… the faces we know but whose names we don’t… they are missing. Even the wish to see a familiar face is gone, or the hope of an interesting encounter. We meet more people and get more job opportunities from those on the outer edges of our relationships than from those in our inner circle. The connections are tenuous and we like it that way. If it doesn’t work out, no problem. No weirdness.

I remember having this crush on this guy at my coffee shop. Sometimes my day’s happiness would hinge on that daily morning encounter. Maybe that’s not healthy either but it sure gave a spring in my step during some dreary days. If this pandemic happened during the time I had my eyes on that guy, I’d be seriously bummed.

The only people we are, and should be, seeing are our inner circle and the cashiers. We shouldn’t even be tempting others with invitations because it puts them in a situation where it is difficult to decline. Even colleagues are harder to read with face coverings, so we don’t bother. We move on, zombie-like, in a half state of humanness. This article states “Strip out the humanity, and there’s nothing but the transaction left.” The article also mentions this startling fact:

 

“…social isolation increases the risk of premature death from any cause by almost 30 percent… People maintain hygiene, take their medication, and try to hold themselves together at least in part because those behaviours are socially necessary, and their repetition is rewarded. Remove those incentives, and some people fall into despair, unable to perform some of the crucial tasks of being alive. In people at risk for illness, lack of interaction can mean that symptoms go unnoticed and arrangements for medical care aren’t made. Humans are meant to be with one another, and when we aren’t, the decay shows in our bodies.”

Concerning.

After the Paris attacks in 2015, I was desperate to find familiar faces. My friends were fine, but the faces whose names we don’t know, whose contact information would seem odd to have… those people. How are they? Where are they? There was a moment on our street when we were huddled with people, each of us trying to find out about someone. We would describe “the older gentleman with ‘the hat’.” Someone would nod.  “Ah yes, saw him at the market yesterday.” Or “The cat lady… She’s fine but frazzled. Delivered her groceries this afternoon.” (This is still a service in France) Even the post office staff who are difficult and stern whenever I ask for too many stamps (!!!) seemed genuinely glad to see my familiar face.

There are weird side effects cropping up.

A lot of things in a lot of online shopping carts. Not buying, just mindless shopping.Went to the pharmacy the other day and even the compression socks were looking stylish.Amélie’s dollies have all been getting sick and have been sleeping under washcloths.Rereading books to visit beloved characters as a sort of salve on the current situation.Complete delight when a new blog post is available from some of my favourite bloggers. Here are five:Write MegDispatch from LAIn the Vintage KitchenThe Postman’s KnockDavid Lebovitz

These bloggers have been at it a long time. So many bloggers have stopped, including myself. Somewhere along the line the world’s gaze moved to Instagram. (But that just makes me put more clothes in shopping carts these days.) Getting a new blog post is great fun. Something nice to look at in the inbox full of GAP emails and junk I signed up for just to save 10% on my first purchase.

Ugh. Where is the humanity, indeed?!?!?! 

If you want my blog posts in your inbox as a nice treat in the otherwise monotonous half-life we are in, sign up here. I’m going to focus more on blog posts. I just think it’s nice to write nice things for nice people who might find it nice. I want it to feel like a good cup of tea. Plus, I’m trying to keep you alive. See 30% stat above. YIKES.

If you’re already reading this from your inbox, you are the best and I love you so much you are now in the inner circle, my périphérique.

If you have blog recommendations, please let me and everyone know in the Comments section. (I know it’s glitchy sometimes. I know you’re not a robot.)

PS My new book, DEAR PARIS is coming out in March. It’s the entire collection of 140 illustrated letters about Paris, European cities and other fun travel destinations. Pre-ordering is the best way to support an author. All the orders go through on the same day, which helps launch its success. Ordering just one day after is nice, but not nearly as helpful as a pre-order. Amazon link and other links here.

Now go out there and wave profusely to strangers as if your life depended on it. Because it just might.

Recording an audiobook and the sound of friends

Pivots ahoy with this COVID business. It makes a person feel rather out of control in any and all situations. I had to pivot recently when there was the question of recording the audiobook version of Dear Paris, which comes out March 2021 so order pronto. Thanks.

Shameless plugs.

Anyway, I never thought I’d be chosen to record my audiobook. Leave that to the professionals, like the talented Tavia Gilbert who recorded one of my previous books Paris Letters.

Just look at that face. That’s the kind of face you can trust to handle your book.

I remember listening to Paris Letters, the audiobook. I was on a midnight bus traveling through Poland, listening to Tavia say my words, grateful I didn’t have to listen to my own voice. Do we all feel we sound like we have a cold?

Anyway, the publisher brought up the audiobook and asked my opinion. I SHEEPISHLY offered up my experience and a sample of my voice and READILY forwarded Tavia to do the job once they discovered my nasal squeak.

Turns out, they picked me. Thanks? But there was the problem with a closed border. So we recorded in Toronto.

And to my astonishment and delight, the sound person was the kindest, most patient person who played back a few recordings of my voice to show me that the nasal squeak was literally all in my head. Hearing your voice from inside your head is much different than the real deal.

So for three days, Ashton the sound genius and myself recorded this audiobook. I don’t have a picture of him. Imagine a guy with a face mask.

Turns out, recording audiobooks is like sitting in the middle seat of a plane for three days. Don’t move a muscle. And in real life I don’t fall over my words, but in front of a microphone I averaged three sentences, flubbed up, went back half a sentence, continued on. And we did that until it was done.

Two steps forward, one step back. 

Half way through, the government announced a new lockdown, which was to commence about six minutes after the final sentence was recorded.

People who record audiobooks for a living are amazing. I’m not saying I’m amazing. But Tavia and Ashton… amazing people.

What if some of the obstacles we are dealing with these days are perfect timing in disguise?

Because of all these pivots, I was able to record near home with the patient Ashton. I could walk my familiar (but barren) streets of Toronto. I could avoid sleeping in a hotel. All these things mattered when faced with COVID and not knowing how vulnerable I am because of that chemo situation a while back.

These pivots are like bowling for children.

When you start bowling as a kid, they put inflatable tubes over the gutters so your bowling ball bounces from one side to the other and eventually makes it to the pins.

Best not to see obstacles as roadblocks, but inflatable tubes gently getting you down the lane. 

While all this recording was going on, I happened to be reading Julia Cameron’s new book:

Yep. A book about listening. And that’s exactly what I was doing while recording. Listening to the sound of my own voice for three intense days. I started by judging my own voice, but then there was just the desire to move the project along, one page at a time. There are 140 letters in the book, so when each letter was complete there was a delighted sigh from both myself and Ashton… okay, next one. So the previous judgements were replaced by feelings of accomplishment. Eventually, I was able to get into a groove, and talk from the cradle of voice in my chest rather than the fearful breathy nervous voice that I started with on day one.

Isn’t this where we all want to be? To be able to talk from the strong foundation of our true voice that comes from our chest and not from our nose?

I suppose that’s what my new writing courses are all about… finding that voice, but through a pen and paper. A WRITING YEAR is in its third week and it’s dawning on me that all the projects up to now: the books, the letters, the copywriting… they’ve all led me to teaching writing courses. And I’m starting to think this is what I was meant to be doing.

 

With the Paris Letter subscription, I wondered… gosh… how long can I keep this up? And with all these lockdowns in Paris, I truly do wonder how on earth I would have managed to write a positive and pretty letter at this point.

But I don’t have to because I’m writing sweet lessons with my writing course. The themes thus far have been:

The students have been volunteering up revelations about their own writing. It’s like candy.

If you feel compelled to adopt a consistent writing practice this year, join the course. You might discover that the sound of your own voice is also the voice of a good friend.

December Birthday Babies: Why we are so annoying yet amazing

I will accept this gift as it is not entirely Christmassy.

Yes, I was born soon after Santa parked the sleigh in the barn. Yes, I’m one of those who remind you that, though you’ve purchased all the Christmas gifts, you’re not done yet. I’m the one who will remind you, to insist, will offend easily. I am a December Birthday Baby.

Sorry. Not sorry.

December birthday babies have rules, so many rules:

Don’t forget the birthday… that’s the biggest one. Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.
Don’t wrap gifts in Christmas wrapping paper.
No combos unless expressly suggested by the birthday baby if she wants something HUGE.
No leftover pie from Christmas as a stand-in for a birthday cake.
Did I mention to not forget the birthday?

 

There are perks to being born around the winter solstice. If born after Christmas, you never had to go to school on your birthday, or even get out of your pajamas. And for me, I have managed to never work, not once, on my birthday… mostly to keep the pajama tradition alive.

This year, in a fresh lockdown, the birthday changed very little. The party has been postponed. Somewhere someone has a freshly baked cake sitting in the freezer awaiting COVID numbers to go down.

“Ice palace for one! Ice palace for one!”

We celebrated another year of moi by watching travel shows about Italy and France. For many birthdays I was IN these countries, so a TV version is less than ideal, however… pajamas. So it worked.

As the title of this post suggests, December birthday babies… and we really CAN be babies about it… are also amazing. This article gives 6 totally scientific reasons December babies rock… Two of which is that we are more likely to live to 100 and we become “strivers,” having to keep up with the older kids in our class. But I think we are strivers because the end of the year evaluation mixes with New Year’s resolutions energy and is topped with a thick icing of birthday self-reflection.

All this means, we’re driven when it comes to achieving New Year’s resolutions, as you can plainly see by my entire book ABOUT it, which is about how I had a resolution to write in my journal every day and it landed me in Paris:

The next book is travel journal that starts in January and ends in December…

Aaaaaannnnnd the new book also starts in January and ends in December, but has 10 years of Paris Letters in between…

Even more, I created a new writing course that, as you see, starts in January and ends in December.

I’m super psyched about this writing course simply because it forces me to be reflective and poetic about each week of the year. I don’t think all that daily writing will land me in Paris THIS year, but if there was any year for a reset, 2021 is the year. Join the course if you’d like to adopt or be more consistent with your writing practice. Starts Jan 1, 2021. Who knows, it might land you in Paris. Be warned… something like this might also happen:

Clearly in her birthday suit.

Sending you oodles of good vibes this season, aka, our birthday season… the presents neeeeverrrrrr endddddd.

A Writing Year… another fun ecourse

Look at that. Two ecourses in one week. The first one, the book writing ecourse, took for-eh-va to build. After I posted it, I had feedback from a few people who wanted to adopt a writing practice but didn’t necessarily want to sign up for a book writing course.

I get it. Book Writing. Sounds worky. 

Plus back in 2010, I started my own creative writing journey by making a New Year’s resolution to write in my journal every day for a year so I totally understand. Writing for a year led to quitting my job, traveling, meeting the lovely Christophe, books, glory… and a lot of cheese. Oh the joys of French cheese.

So if you like cheese, sign up. 

Just kidding. Sort of. Maybe not. We’ll see how it goes.

A Writing Year is a 52-week ecourse, starting January 1st. Each week there is a new lesson that includes a topic, inspiring prose written by yours truly, plus a few open-ended questions to provoke thought and get those thoughts on the page. So if you’ve liked my writing thus far, the course is like a really long blog post that lasts all year, but divided into complete and luscious bite-size pieces. (and not nearly as salesy as this post)

I’m doing this course for a few reasons. A little bit for you, based on the feedback about the book writing course, but also, now that a few big projects are done (the letter writing, the new book), I wanted to write nicely about each week of the year. I suspect near July there will be a lot of prose regarding tomatoes. I do so enjoy growing tomatoes. I’ll try to keep my tomato obsession to a minimum.

If you want to be swept away by the NICE things about going through the seasons of 2021, join me. It’s $97 USD and I think it will be a very good time to delight ourselves with quiet contemplation over a pen and paper. Already, I’ve been indulging in creating ads for it.

Because I love the orange journal.

Because the coffee, blanket, journal trifecta is perfection.

Because I like the gold, pink combo so I’m willing to overlook the heavy-handled pen.

And because yellow is cheerful and we could all use some cheer. Pantone agrees. The Pantone Color of the Year is a Yellow and Grey Combo:

For more information on A Writing Year, the ecourse, go to my swanky new landing page… oh ever so fancy, and LET’S GET WRITING.

The ecourse starts January 1st. FUN!

The ways 2020 has changed us, plus a book writing ecourse

Did you have any particularly LOW moment during 2020? I mean, there is the obvious collective letdown brought on by ALL THE THINGS. Except that one very relieving thing.

Ifyourepickingupwhatimputtingdown. 

For me, days were spent either “toddler butlering” in my kitchen or working in my office putting together the new book, filling orders from the shop, general taking over of the world. Very little time was spent in silent contemplation since all the moments in between were taken up with the news, exponential graphs and shared stories of who got it and where… followed by WHO DID YOU SAY and WHERE?!?!?

A year ago, there were articles questioning how much screen time is okay for children. HA! Those articles died a quick death the moment we were all snug at home, vacillating between “Parenting Is Wonderful” and “Parenting is Boring.”

Thank you Disney+. 

A year ago, the news was filled with protests. Now we look back at all those mask-less protests and think “germs… all those GERMS.”

During a rather low point this summer, I was at home but I wasn’t butlering or at the helm. I was watching gardening shows. One after another. Each one, same theme: plant the seeds, water, prune, feed, look at final blooms and vegetables. Repeat.

I even created a mini theatre for Amélie… big chair, blankies, snacks, stuffies, iPad. An *ask mommy for nothing* zone. Even the lovely Christophe was watching me, visibly concerned.

The only moves I made were when I clicked “Next Episode” and “Skip Intro.”

Then a glorious thing happened.

This miraculous, wonderful thing that is a non-event for most people. I was sitting at the beach with Amélie. We have a small secluded beach near our house that only locals know about or use. An elderly couple was walking out of the water and the man was wearing a shirt that said simply: 2018.

What a weird funny shirt.

And I thought back to 2018: Cancer, baby, living in between houses, renovations, care, needles, drugs, drains, waiting rooms, gowns, fear, hope, hats.

And I laughed. One thing 2020 is not, it is not 2018, which reigns supreme as the worst year of my life.

Then ZOOM happened, and ecourses about how to make ecourses, and exercise dance on YouTube.

Humans are so very adaptable. 

This little gem is the direct result of my pivot after that moment with the 2018 shirt:

I made a whole ecourse after not even knowing how to post a video with my phone. This is what 2020 does to us. It propels us forward with complicated technology that makes us weep right before we master it and feel like super heroes.

But I think it’s an upgrade from gardening shows, mental health-wise. 

It gave my mind something to chew on as I filled cups, wiped spills, peeled apples, changed channels, etc.

The course is a collection of all the things I know about writing books, all the things other authors have said, and all the things learned along the way. And it is full of videos and handouts and homework. Very scholarly.

Then I had to learn how to activate the thing, which was another week of watching gardening shows.

But I got there and it works. Check out the fancy landing page. Had to learn how to do that as well. Glory be!

For you, dear reader, it’s up and running. It starts officially on January 1st, but I opened it up for us here in this little acre of cyberspace. And for a special intro price of $97 USD. For readers of Paris Letters, we all know why. Hundred bucks. Easy math. It’s worth much more, but I’d rather get the information to many people rather than a few who can afford things with $$$$’s attached to them. And, like I said, easy math.

If 2021 is your year to write a book, let’s do it together. Or if you simply need something for your brain to chew on rather than exponential graphs of COVID, the course is good for that as well. It was certainly good for me.

Black Friday 20% off Paris Letters and Note Cards

Do you ever feel a sigh of relief when the BLACK FRIDAY SALES emails are over? Like there is a collective sigh. “Ahhh, glad the inbox is done yelling at me.”

Well, one more little shout out, then no more crazy sales emails from me.

SALE ENDS IN TWO DAYS!

That’s it. No more yelling. Visit the shop to take care of your philatelic holiday needs. (Philatelic… challenge to pronounce.. Phil-A-Tell-EEk)

The hottest ticket item is the 12 pack of the 2020 Paris Letters Collection:

Some people have asked for ANY 12 letters, rather than the 2020 collections. YES. Absolutely. A few from the collection (and sent flat for framing)…

 

Another fun holiday bunch of goodness are these note cards…

Best for anyone on your list who has a hankering for the Eiffel Tower.

And the annual Paris Letters Holiday Card Collection… bien sur.

 

The post office is threatening me within an inch of my life to get my orders in Santa’s sleigh. Take care of your holiday shopping at the shop before December 2nd.

The Dear Paris book cover hath arrived

 

Ta daaaa! A whole book of Paris Letters awaiting your perusal. How sexy is THAT?

A few other cover options that were considered…

Pas mal, as they say. I like how that Eiffel Tower looms in the back.

Very springy.

And of course, the beloved Seine.

But it was a café that won, in the end, and it looks good with these other two books in the series. .

 

You can pre-order it online and off. It will arrive just in time for spring, around March 2021. Read all about it and where to pre-order here. 

Now back to us, you and me. You, dear reader, and me, lazy blogger. I feel sometimes that so much time goes by between blog posts that when I finally do get to it, I have so much NEWS to give you and not much in the way of pretty pictures and funny thoughts. C’est comme ça. 

Etsy shop is FINALLY filled with recent letters. 

This is the letter that graced the cover of DEAR PARIS. It oozes literary Paris café scene. It’s about feet.

I love my stamp man. He’s a hot older dude who can barely stand how I care so deeply for worthless stamps. This was the March 2020 Paris Letter.

The November Paris Letter is about silent monuments around Paris. You don’t even realize they are there until you’ve done a deep study of Paris. Then you realize the glorious thought behind this museum city. It features a clock that is outside the main post office, obvs.

 

January’s Paris Letter featured perfumes of Paris. The paintings turned out so nice, I’m going to offer a note card series in the shop… but currently the paintings are in a pile somewhere in my office. My sister was looking for something in my office and laughed that the Eiffel Tower painting on the cover of DEAR PARIS was slipped in a pile of papers titled VARIOUS. I know you have piles like this. Admit it.

This is the August 2020 letter titled The Dancer. I don’t usually write what the letters say in my blog posts, but this one is nice and I love this broad, so here it is:

Dear Áine,

I’ve been tracking The Lady. Her window faces my window. Our courtyards are divided by an ivy-covered stone wall so that we cannot see into each other’s courtyards but we can talk to each other from the windows. She calls out for her cat, I peer into my courtyard and report if the cat is on my side. She is a good mouser—the cat, not The Lady. I don’t know her name and by now it’s too late to ask. She’s ancient and wears a pillbox hat wherever she goes. I spoke with her on the street and asked if she was going on vacation like most of Paris in August. “Too old,” she said. “Don’t want to spend the money to struggle on stairs by the sea. I have my own stairs in Paris for free. I just hope I don’t die in August. No one will be here for the party. All on holiday!” I asked about her health. “Same! But at my age I could ‘expire’ at any moment.” Then she went “Pouff” with her hands.

So I’ve been keeping an eye out for both her and her cat. I have also recruited Christophe to report when he sees her on the street. Today I saw her dancing at the Sunday market. Every Sunday on rue Mouffetard there is music, dancing, and a sing-a-long. She was dancing with a handsome man. She had a sparkle in her eye that led me to believe there might be other reasons she’s not interested in going anywhere any time soon.

Janice

PS “Screen door slams, Mary’s dress waves. Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays.” – Bruce Springsteen, Thunder Road

And here’s the December Paris Letter, which is also the last one… as in ever. Incroyable! 

 

Many have already received their final December Paris Letter. I sent it early because 1) the post office told me to, and B) I was excited to get it in the shop for this silly Black Friday event, and iii) to feel the feelings of being done a very big project.

When I sent out my final letter of the Paris Letters series, I felt the usual relief at being done a giant pile of mail, but also peace, like the air around me was thick with loving kindness. I don’t know if it was emanating out from me or me coming into contact with something, but there was SOMETHING in the air. I thought I’d be more sad about it. The grief might arrive in January when I prep to send out a letter and… do not have a letter to send.

Why on earth would I quit this job? 

I know. Sending letters is the best job ever. And to be the first who made it a success on Etsy, well, that’s a feather in my cap as well. Now people are sending out all kinds of fun letter subscriptions.

Why would I end this wonderful thing?

Simply to do other things. It takes a lot of time to whip these out. I’m focusing on learning these days. I’ve been revamping my site and am gradually moving to another platform. Gone will be the glitchy wordpress plugins. Oh rapture!

Over at yonder new website, I’ll be offering fun courses on all kinds of great things. I’ve often wanted to teach writing, creativity, hatching evil plans, but the learning platforms were clunky and tiresome. Now, technology has caught up to my vision. It’s gonna be fan-ecourse-tastic!

I’d also like to get back to blogging. It’s funny how life works. A blog starts, it becomes a platform for a letter writing business that gets so big that the blog goes quiet. I’d like to just blog even though some say it’s all sooooo 2015, but I don’t care. I love it. And in this modern age, I created a letter writing business with letters sent in the mail, so I’m kind of into reverse technology. Stay tuned for that.

Thanks, reader. You’re the best.