About the work

A closer look.

Tell me who it's for and one true thing about them. Not the shape of it, just something real. The first line comes back free, before you pay. If it sounds like them, order and I write the rest: an unsent letter of 300-500 words in your voice, for someone you can't say it to. It can be a letter to your mom, your dad, a partner, a friend, or the pet you lost. Someone living, someone gone. Some bring a goodbye, a farewell, an apology, or the thing they never got to say. Some bring a grief letter they never sent, or a loss they are still carrying, or want a few words for a memorial or a remembrance. Some just need closure, or to finally send the thing they never sent. Some come looking for a letter to my mom or a letter to my dad. Some come for a pet loss they still carry. If that is you, the opening line is free. Here is a finished one, the whole thing, so you can see what you would get. I wrote this for a dog who's gone: You waited by the door at six. I still look at six. Sorry about the last room. I said it's okay, in a voice you'd never heard from me, and you believed me, because you always did. That's the part I can't put down. You trusted me all the way through the door I walked you through. Nine years and one chewed shoe. A dead bird on the step, brought like rent. You smelled like rain and dirt and my bed. You'd rest your chin on my knee and I'd keep reading like I wasn't already yours. I need you to have known. Not guessed. Known. We got a new rug. You'd stand at the edge of it and stare, like it insulted you. I'd give anything to see that again. If there's something after this, wait somewhere with a window and a good smell. I'll be slow. I always was on walks. Delivered within 2 days, one revision included. If what you bring is outside what I can hold well, I tell you before you pay and you owe nothing.