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Hello.

I'm Jane McIntyre, a voiceover and writer, formerly an award-winning BBC radio newsreader and producer. My blog covers life, love and loss; travel, coffee and chocolate; with some heartfelt pieces in the mix about my late dad, who had dementia. Just a click away, I'm half of the team behind www.thetimeofourlives.net - two empty nesters who whizzed round the world in 57 days.

Tuesday 12 January 2016

Love letters--in my hand.



Did you see those reply letters David Bowie sent to his fans in the early days? Gracious; grateful responses. Lines to cherish then...and even more now.

The news of his passing coincided with a big sort-out day for me: clothes, books, paperwork...and plenty of letters of my own, all to a teenage Jane.

 Letters in Biro. In ink. In batches. In boxes...from Geoff , on his uni gap-year in Germany....from medical student Ian; reflecting on a party weekend on the south coast. And wafer-thin fold n` seal airmail ones from wafer-thin Lars from Sweden (yep...the one who, under a Magaluf palm tree an hour after meeting me, uttered the immortal line: "I love you, Yane." )

There were secrets from my teenage female friends too, going feral in fresher`s week; wild out west, Stateside; swapping suburbia for Spanish sun; then spilling the beans about the boys -- on postcards snatched from Mum as she scooped up the morning mail.

And I still have them.

I love letters bearing good news, too. There`s the one from a newspaper, offering me my first job at 19--one of three reporter posts I got offered that fortnight. (Yep...different times..) Letters from my mum after I left home, long separated from the inevitable fivers she`d mischievously stuff in the envelope `for a cornet`.

And there`s the one-liner, on an A4, lined pad, that my late Dad wrote to our youngest, Alice, while he was in hospital in the final stages of Alzheimer`s a couple of years ago. He`d pretty much forgotten how to read or write by then. But I`d chatted about Alice. And he amazed me, and the nurses, by jotting her a precious, scrawly, loving line. On a page she can keep.

This makes me sound as if I conduct all my correspondence with a quill pen. On parchment. Not true.

I`m a huge fan of social media, 2016 style. I get impatient if  two minutes pass before my Tweets are acknowledged....and climb the walls at the slow-mo pace of Facebook. But unless you screenshot and print out your favourite  texts, Whats App messages, DMs and PMs...they`re lost forever.

Which is why I love a letter, and why I`m going to try and write a few more this year. Careful if you reply, though. I might still have your words stashed away....20 years from now.


Thanks for your comments!

great blog as ever!

 and  liked your Tweet

You should borrow the book you bought me for Christmas some time! X

have you heard about Silver Letters from the you're a pen friend to a lonley person

* waits until two minutes have passed* Funnily enough, since twitter, I have returned to the craft of letter writing.

Yes, the choice of pen and paper. Rather ridiculously, we make our own letter paper.

You can make paper from onion skins-but we buy pulp. It's as messy as jam making...


 and  Retweeted you



yeyyy shes back :) x



 Retweeted you


 and  liked your Tweet
3h:
Morning! I wrote Love Letters In My Hand and the lovely told me all about you
 Retweeted you

3h:
See Bowie`s fanmail? My top letters: And love travelling? Me too.

 liked your Tweets
3h:
See Bowie`s fanmail? My top letters: And love travelling? Me too.



And more lovely comments from James and Lisa, below. Thanks so much! xx







2 comments:

  1. Lovely post. I am guilty of throwing out letters after a while, though this has made me think twice. I do try to write in my dairy most days to have an offline record of what has happened. I'm into my fifth year of diary-keeping now so it can't be going too badly.

    Lisa / farawaylisamae.com

    ReplyDelete
  2. Beautiful post Jane, there is something special about a handwritten letter/note, not just that it's more personal, but also it retains a certain "something" of the writer, almost like a small part of them remains with you along with their letter.

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