I’m charmed by and wrestling with inquiries from subscribers to What Price Love? who want the back catalogue. No one knows just where they came in (in the course of the correspondence), and even those who subscribed in time to receive the first email don’t believe they have and write to ask to get the rest.
Something about: the assumption of missing out, the desire for a complete run, the whole story.
My work space for this is the web-interface of a group email application. It is the least romantic place to lay out a love letter.
I do lay them out. I pull a few up at a time, preserve the formatting, make it look convincing, proofing them (I mean for machine readability—I leave in typos, if I made any). Reading them over the few times I do in the process makes me see them with the sheen that a paper letter gets after you’ve folded and unfolded it from your pockets or a book a lot.
I don’t read ahead by more than a few days in real-time. I’ll be in San Francisco at the end of the month, so I decided to take myself at least as far as two days after my return back to New York from that trip. I don’t want to miss a day’s mail. I know just what it will be, or I could, but I don’t remember as much as I was sure I did.
Autostraddle wrote something very tender about the project, called For Anyone Who Likes Sex, Feelings, Love Letters, Books, All Of The Above.