When was the last time you wrote a letter?
No, not email!
Or text.
Or a bunch of acronyms that no one can figure out without a dictionary.
I mean, put pen to paper and wrote out the words, one by one.
Hmm! I didn’t hear anything. You’re not alone. Unfortunately, the practice of letter writing is a lost art, but there’s something about a letter no email can take replace.
The crisp, crinkly paper.
The lingering scent of the writer’s perfume.
The personal style of every curved letter, dot and period, and question mark. The hidden message in their writing style that only you can see.
Especially during wartime.
Those letters are precious, the last letter from a soldier to his sweetheart is the epitome of love eternal, which is why I’ll be reading letters from LOVE ME FOREVER exchanged between my heroine and her Union Army major at Lady Jane’s Salon on Sunday, January 8, 2017 at the Ripped Bodice Bookstore in Culver City, California. I’ll be joined by other authors and the program starts at 4 p.m.
I’m grabbing my parasol and dancing around in my hoopskirt, getting ready to read from the letters of my time-traveling heroine and the handsome major she’s fallen in love with.
But can never have!
Best,
Jina
Website: www.jinabacarr.com
Blog: www.jinabacarr.wordpress.com
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Love Me Forever is on sale for the month of December for 99 cents!
Women Soldiers in the Civil War from “Love Me Forever” from Jina Bacarr on Vimeo.
Author Details
Author Details
I discovered early on that I inherited the gift of the gab from my large Irish family when I penned a story about a princess who ran away to Paris with her pet turtle Lulu. I was twelve. I grew up listening to their wild, outlandish tales and it was those early years of storytelling that led to my love of history and traveling.
I enjoy writing to classical music with a hot cup of java by my side. I adore dark chocolate truffles, vintage anything, the smell of bread baking and rainy days in museums. I’ve always loved walking through history—from Pompeii to Verdun to Old Paris.
The voices of the past speak to me through carriages with cracked leather seats, stiff ivory-colored crinolines, and worn satin slippers. I’ve always wondered what it was like to walk in those slippers when they were new.
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When was the last time you wrote a letter? No, not email! Or text. Or a bunch of acronyms that no one can figure out without a dictionary. I mean, put pen to paper and wrote out the words, one by one. Hmm! I didn’t hear anything. You’re not alone. Unfortunately, the practice of letter […]
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When was the last time you wrote a letter? No, not email! Or text. Or a bunch of acronyms that no one can figure out without a dictionary. I mean, put pen to paper and wrote out the words, one by one. Hmm! I didn’t hear anything. You’re not alone. Unfortunately, the practice of letter […]
-
I discovered early on that I inherited the gift of the gab from my large Irish family when I penned a story about a princess who ran away to Paris with her pet turtle Lulu. I was twelve.
-
When was the last time you wrote a letter? No, not email! Or text. Or a bunch of acronyms that no one can figure out without a dictionary. I mean, put pen to paper and wrote out the words, one by one. Hmm! I didn’t hear anything. You’re not alone. Unfortunately, the practice of letter […]
-
When was the last time you wrote a letter? No, not email! Or text. Or a bunch of acronyms that no one can figure out without a dictionary. I mean, put pen to paper and wrote out the words, one by one. Hmm! I didn’t hear anything. You’re not alone. Unfortunately, the practice of letter […]
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I discovered early on that I inherited the gift of the gab from my large Irish family when I penned a story about a princess who ran away to Paris with her pet turtle Lulu. I was twelve. I grew up listening to their wild, outlandish tales and it was those early years of storytelling that led to my love of history and traveling.
I enjoy writing to classical music with a hot cup of java by my side. I adore dark chocolate truffles, vintage anything, the smell of bread baking and rainy days in museums. I’ve always loved walking through history—from Pompeii to Verdun to Old Paris.
The voices of the past speak to me through carriages with cracked leather seats, stiff ivory-colored crinolines, and worn satin slippers. I’ve always wondered what it was like to walk in those slippers when they were new.
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