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Love Letters: A lost art?

Romance Writers Weekly with coffe cup underneath and a mocha foam heart in cupThe question on RWW this week is one I asked our authors.  Love Letters: Have you received any or written any? Has any of your characters written or received any? Share if you dare or make up one to a special someone.

In this modern day of social media, love letters seem to be on the route to extinction like the dinosaurs.  I met my future husband before he was due to leave town on a two week training with his employer.  This was back in the day before cell phones or e-mail.  Below is a copy of the snail mail letter I received while he was gone. It’s the closest thing to a love letter I’ve ever received. The year and his name were omitted to protect the innocent. 🙂

Although social media keeps us connected, it doesn’t usually inspire an environment for love letters. Also, a classic love letter used to be handwritten adding to the personal touch. Fonts can be so cold.

While researching for this post, I found Napoleon to be a naughty boy in one his love writings, mentioning his wife’s “dark forest” and firm breasts.  While Richard Burton alluded to Elizabeth Taylor’s “special and dangerous loveliness.” Whatever that might have meant. 😉

Instead of shooting a miss you text to your nearest and dearest, next time why not text them a handwritten note as a  picture! It may not be a true love letter, but it will be personal! Hope you have already visited Jenna Da Sie and will go on to visit Leslie Hachtel for their take on love letters.

A Rose by Any Other Name

Romance Writers Weekly logo with coffee cup and a heart in foam inside the cupThis week on Romance Writers Weekly I posed the question:  Tell us your favorite flower. Tell us why or write a short poem. Or if you’d rather, tell us about a flower used in one of your stories and include its significance.

A vase of multi colored roses
A double exposure of Maggie’s Collection

Since I’ve not used a flower in any of my stories, I’ll confide my favorite bloom. Let me start out by saying my mother, Maggie, had the greenest of thumbs.  The flower beds overflowed with Sweet William, Snap Dragons, Irises and monstrous Gladiolas I’ve not seen the likes of since.  She had to have grown them from seed because nurseries weren’t abundant in our suburbia back then, nor did we have the money.

She did have a couple of bush roses and a climber rooted from dad’s family farm in Santee, SC. Always prolific with blooms, the pale, pink beauty was my favorite and propagated my love of roses.

a blush colored rose in full bloom
“Blush” an 80s hybrid

Once married and in a house, I planted hybrid tea roses in the back flower bed. They flourished against the brick and baking afternoon sun. If it wasn’t for the constant fight with the aphids and the beetles, I’d probably still have them.  They provided many a bloom for various occasions and even gifts for teachers when my son was in elementary school.

Rather than a poem, I’ve posted a small gallery of recent pictures I’ve taken of roses. Now on to Leslie Hachtel joining me on the hop.