Once a month I write a letter and mail it to you. Real paper, real stamp, and a card inside so you can write back.
The first two letters are free. All I need is your address.
Not a bill, not a flyer. A real letter, once a month.
The kind that takes you back to a kitchen, a car, a person. Twenty minutes off your phone.
The envelope back is stamped and addressed. I read every card.
Dear stranger,
Your phone has ten thousand photos on it. When did you last scroll back past this year?
Nobody asks us to look back, so we don't.
Mailbox Memoirs is a letter that asks.
Your life is already full of stories. Someone should ask you for one. Wade Sellers
Yes, I write my letters on a 1947 Royal typewriter.
My answer
The smell of my childhood is our basement. Concrete, dust, a little cold. I loved it. I still do.
Years later, the stairwells in our barracks at Coast Guard boot camp had the same smell. We were up and down them all day, and every time I'd breathe it in. For a few seconds I wasn't at boot camp.
So, what's yours? Where does it take you?
Wade
Now yours
What's a smell that takes you straight back to being a kid? Where does it take you?
Only if you want to. It comes to my PO box, and I'll read it.
I live in New York. Before that I was in the Coast Guard, then lived out of a backpack for two years, and in 2024 I ran the New York City Marathon. Everywhere I've been, the best stories in the room belonged to the people nobody asked. So I'm asking you. You write it, I read it, and it stays between us unless you say otherwise.
One of them is yours, addressed by hand. Get on the list by the week before and it goes out with the first batch.
The first two letters are, October's and November's. In the second one I'll ask if you want to keep going, and it'll cost about what a paperback does each month. You can decide then, not now.
Onto your envelope and into a spreadsheet only I can see. I don't share it, sell it, or send you anything you didn't ask for. If you ever want it deleted, ask and it's gone.
Nothing happens. You still get next month's letter. The card is there if you want it.
You pick, on the card: you can share this, you can share this anonymously, or please keep this between us. If I share something, it's a few sentences in the next letter with a first name and a city, at most.
Not yet. The reply envelope has a US stamp on it. Leave your email and I'll tell you when I've figured it out.
Letter one goes out Friday, October 16, with a card and a stamped envelope inside so you can write back if you like. Free, and your address is used for that and nothing else.
Letter one goes out Friday, October 16. Give it a few days after that, then check the mailbox.
One favor. Everybody I've told about this has said "my sister would love that." If you have one, send her this page.