For the most part, the only writing I've ever talked about here has been about my Falling Series. While this consumes most of my writing energy, there are other projects I am working on simultaneously. This is one of them.
I started this letter-writing project in October of 2010, and I just finished it. For now, it is something few have seen, and even fewer have heard me talk about. It exists only between the covers of this journal, safely tucked away on my bookshelf.
In the beginning, I never thought I would show or tell anyone. But my family became curious, and soon I shared it with them. Then the best friend found out by accident, and I finally had enough gumption to tell my roommate in New York City when she saw me woking on it. I never thought I would actually finish these Dear You letters, but I have, and it feels amazing, and satisfying. But now, it seems like a part of me is missing. It's only been an hour since I wrote the last letter, and it already feels like I can never go back to those pages.
This is insane, because of course I can go back. Right now, however, it doesn't feel possible. Though this project is complete, I am hoping I can keep writing and working through this idea I got on a stormy fall night, and turn it into something that others will want to read.
I must admit, I have some qualms about ever really showing the things I've written here to the public. But I read somewhere recently that if the things you write embarrass you, or are things, which remain too close to your secret heart, then those are the things with the most impact.
Though I'm not entirely ready to say too much more about this burgeoning project with any of you invisible readers out there, I do want to preserve this feeling of loss that has eclipsed my joy over finishing this. Such is another part of being a writer that I never knew about. It seems I am discovering something new about myself and my writing with each project I work on, and that is something worth sharing.
So if you get to actually find this in a bookstore someday, and you've taken it between your hands to read, I know you might have many questions. Which is really great. Questions are things, which keep me up at night. Questions give me the stamina to continue writing when it seems I'm about to delete everything I've worked on.
And if you're reading these letters I've addressed as Dear You, and you're wondering, who me? I want you to know I started this for me, but finished it for my sister, and my mom, and the best friend, and you, my invisible reader. I hope these words find you some day, and I hope they give you the same strength they've given me the past three years.