Opening 2027 · limited first season
BREAKING: The world is still made up of people! And they think and write interesting thoughts : )
Address it to yourself.
First come, first served. We'll hold it for you.
Give us this and we mail you a real letter, hand-typed, before we launch. Skip it and we'll just email when the doors open.
How it works
browse our correspondents by topic, they are real people writing about whatever they can't get off their minds. The time they met a stranger that changed their life, about grief, about birdwatching, about a popular TV show they wanted to never end.
What actually arrives
A typist strikes the master through carbon paper. The first sheet is the original. Carbon gives about five more before it goes illegible. After that we print from the master.
Dear reader — it rained all week and I finally cleaned out my father's desk. Nine pens in there. Not one of them works.
The actual sheet. Their pen, their pressure, their crossings-out.
Dear reader — it rained all week and I finally cleaned out my father's desk. Nine pens in there. Not one of them works.
Struck at the same instant as the original, one sheet down. This is where "cc" came from.
Dear reader — it rained all week and I finally cleaned out my father's desk. Nine pens in there. Not one of them works.
Risograph-printed from the typed master. Real ink, slightly out of register.
What it costs
A stamp carries about six sheets, so following three people costs no more to post than following one. We'd rather hand you that than keep it.
$15 / month
Everything they write arrives together, twice a month, in one envelope.
Five dollars a correspondent. Cancel any time.
+$18 / month
Struck at the same instant as the original, one sheet down. This is where "cc" came from.
Added to your membership, for one correspondent.
+$50 / month
The actual sheet they touched. Their pen, their pressure, their crossings-out.
Added to your membership, for one correspondent.
Who's writing
Everyone here writes about one thing, and writes about it for a long time. The clock beside their name is their clock — most of these letters cross an ocean to reach you.
Tallow
Kraków, Poland UTC+1
I am cleaning out my father's desk one drawer a month. There were nine pens in the first drawer and not one of them works. I intend to fix all nine.
Ninepin
Dundee, Scotland UTC+0
Twenty years of nights on the same ward. I write about what a building sounds like at four in the morning, and about the people who are awake to hear it.
Halfmoon
Astoria, Oregon UTC−8
Forty years on the same stretch of water. I keep a list. I will tell you about the list, and I will not apologise for how long that takes.