Letters in the Regency style...

Here you can post YOUR OWN poems, prose, music, or art inspired by the 'Muses nine'.

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Postby Credo Buffa » Thu May 04, 2006 11:32 pm

My dear Sir,
The time passes so quickly in these early days of spring that it feels that but a minute or two has gone by since my last letter. I cannot quite say if it is the constant, nervous changing of the weather or simply the repetitive nature of my life at present which is to blame, but in either instance, I shall do my best to make a rather dull existence seem cheerful and lively for your sake.

You might imagine, for the moment, that I am sitting in my bed with my diary, desperate to keep up despite the late hour, but being so exhausted by my daily routine that I drift off into such a deep slumber that I awaken the next morning, the sunlight shining on me through the window, with my book and papers lying next to me exactly as I’d left them the night before. Then, as I slowly recover from complete confusion and discover that seven hours have passed almost in an instant, I find that, once again, I have overslept by nearly a quarter of an hour and must quickly rouse myself, as I am expected in Woodbury in a mere—some might say impossible—forty minutes.

With such a frantic scene as this, it must seem incredible to you that my day should be so tedious as I profess. However, consider that the above occurs in only a matter of half an hour, whereas the next third of the day can be related in sum using just one short sentence: I arrive at Woodbury, seat myself as comfortably as possible, and read.

I can almost feel your amusement from here, my dear friend, and hear you ask what could possibly be so uninteresting about spending such an extraordinary portion of the day immersed in the written word. And you may well shake your head and think me a simple girl, but let me enlighten you. Once again, I call upon your powers of imagination to conjure an illustration of a stack of two hundred manuscripts, at least half of which are poorly composed both in form and hand, and all expressing opinions (often misguided) upon the same theme. Now I am sure you understand my plight, and can sympathize with the despair of being trapped in a field of weeds when you have seen and smelled (or created yourself, in your case) such heavenly rose bushes elsewhere. That is not to say that this field of weeds may not yield at least a tulip here and there, but they are decidedly few and very rare indeed, though all the brighter and more handsome for it.

Now, I can anticipate your next question. Why should my precious days be thus unfortunately occupied? The only answer I can give is no answer at all, for I can hardly admit to myself why I should waste away in this manner, let alone admit it to another. Perhaps it is best to simply let these lingering weeks pass and spend the remainder of the time dreaming of better and more fulfilling ones to come.

I will not have you think, however, that your friend is confined to monotonous misery—far from it. I find ample time for daily walks into town (though I am resolved to refrain for today in order to allow myself a much needed day of rest from such strenuous activity), and enjoy reading and writing such correspondence as this to friends. Though I find myself far from them and rarely able to enjoy their company at such a distance, I take comfort in the knowledge that they look forward to my discourse as much as I do theirs.

Perhaps I should end on this happy note, that I may not be so distant from certain friends for much longer! I received some news just last week that Miss Thompson and Mr. Johnson may soon be arriving for the season. The thought of such dear companions so nearby is a comfort to my weary heart—and my tired hand, that I may have fewer letters to write by it! My hope, however, is that by the next time I write, I should have more pleasant details to share on this account. Until then, I am,

Your sincere friend,
Miss S. Peterson
"Holy Kleenex, Batman! It was right under our nose and we blew it!"
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Postby Saturn » Fri May 05, 2006 9:40 am

Excellent Credo - I thought I was reading a passage from a Jane Austen novel there :shock:
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby dks » Fri May 05, 2006 2:44 pm

Credo Buffa wrote:My dear Sir,
The time passes so quickly in these early days of spring that it feels that but a minute or two has gone by since my last letter. I cannot quite say if it is the constant, nervous changing of the weather or simply the repetitive nature of my life at present which is to blame, but in either instance, I shall do my best to make a rather dull existence seem cheerful and lively for your sake.

You might imagine, for the moment, that I am sitting in my bed with my diary, desperate to keep up despite the late hour, but being so exhausted by my daily routine that I drift off into such a deep slumber that I awaken the next morning, the sunlight shining on me through the window, with my book and papers lying next to me exactly as I’d left them the night before. Then, as I slowly recover from complete confusion and discover that seven hours have passed almost in an instant, I find that, once again, I have overslept by nearly a quarter of an hour and must quickly rouse myself, as I am expected in Woodbury in a mere—some might say impossible—forty minutes.

With such a frantic scene as this, it must seem incredible to you that my day should be so tedious as I profess. However, consider that the above occurs in only a matter of half an hour, whereas the next third of the day can be related in sum using just one short sentence: I arrive at Woodbury, seat myself as comfortably as possible, and read.

I can almost feel your amusement from here, my dear friend, and hear you ask what could possibly be so uninteresting about spending such an extraordinary portion of the day immersed in the written word. And you may well shake your head and think me a simple girl, but let me enlighten you. Once again, I call upon your powers of imagination to conjure an illustration of a stack of two hundred manuscripts, at least half of which are poorly composed both in form and hand, and all expressing opinions (often misguided) upon the same theme. Now I am sure you understand my plight, and can sympathize with the despair of being trapped in a field of weeds when you have seen and smelled (or created yourself, in your case) such heavenly rose bushes elsewhere. That is not to say that this field of weeds may not yield at least a tulip here and there, but they are decidedly few and very rare indeed, though all the brighter and more handsome for it.

Now, I can anticipate your next question. Why should my precious days be thus unfortunately occupied? The only answer I can give is no answer at all, for I can hardly admit to myself why I should waste away in this manner, let alone admit it to another. Perhaps it is best to simply let these lingering weeks pass and spend the remainder of the time dreaming of better and more fulfilling ones to come.

I will not have you think, however, that your friend is confined to monotonous misery—far from it. I find ample time for daily walks into town (though I am resolved to refrain for today in order to allow myself a much needed day of rest from such strenuous activity), and enjoy reading and writing such correspondence as this to friends. Though I find myself far from them and rarely able to enjoy their company at such a distance, I take comfort in the knowledge that they look forward to my discourse as much as I do theirs.

Perhaps I should end on this happy note, that I may not be so distant from certain friends for much longer! I received some news just last week that Miss Thompson and Mr. Johnson may soon be arriving for the season. The thought of such dear companions so nearby is a comfort to my weary heart—and my tired hand, that I may have fewer letters to write by it! My hope, however, is that by the next time I write, I should have more pleasant details to share on this account. Until then, I am,

Your sincere friend,
Miss S. Peterson


What a superior, gallant letter, Credo! Handsome in it's prosity and keen in its delivery. You guys are writers. :shock:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Saturn » Fri May 05, 2006 4:57 pm

dks wrote:
What a superior, gallant letter, Credo! Handsome in it's prosity and keen in its delivery. You guys are writers. :shock:


As are you - don't say you are not.

:roll:
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Malia » Fri May 05, 2006 9:04 pm

Love your letter, Credo! The rest of us (excepting Saturn--who's already written his excellent missive) have a lot to live up to! :)
Stay Awake!
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Postby Saturn » Fri May 05, 2006 9:47 pm

No pressure...



















:wink:
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Malia » Fri May 05, 2006 9:53 pm

Thaaaaaanks! :P
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Postby dks » Fri May 05, 2006 9:56 pm

Saturn wrote:
dks wrote:
What a superior, gallant letter, Credo! Handsome in it's prosity and keen in its delivery. You guys are writers. :shock:


As are you - don't say you are not.

:roll:


I'm a--I don't know what I am. Fledgling poet? :?
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Credo Buffa » Fri May 05, 2006 11:07 pm

Thanks all! :D It ended up being much harder than I thought it would be to describe my job. . . perhaps I should have waited for the weekend to talk about my day. :P

Good luck to the rest of you!
"Holy Kleenex, Batman! It was right under our nose and we blew it!"
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Postby dks » Sat May 06, 2006 8:36 pm

My letter is forthcoming--I'm in the St. Thomas library in one of those hermetically sealed rooms (that has only timed oxygen, it would seem) trying to write my Faerie Queen paper....

Someone get me a priest...give me my last rights...

:shock: :lol:
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Saturn » Thu Aug 10, 2006 10:56 am

I look forward to this thread continuing on a roll...

I have something in the works myself.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby dks » Thu Aug 10, 2006 3:09 pm

Yes, I agree. This thread was a fantastic idea and I, too, will be working on something...
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Brave Archer » Thu Aug 10, 2006 5:04 pm

Would anyone be put off if I were to post a couple of letters that i've written to a a girl I never gave them to. I know its kind of off topic, but i'd l like to know what you guy's think. The women, especially.
Why don't you really tell me how you feel!
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Postby dks » Thu Aug 10, 2006 5:22 pm

Brave Archer wrote:Would anyone be put off if I were to post a couple of letters that i've written to a a girl I never gave them to. I know its kind of off topic, but i'd l like to know what you guy's think. The women, especially.


Please do, Brave Archer. I'd love to read them.
"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections and the Truth of Imagination."
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Postby Saturn » Thu Aug 10, 2006 10:22 pm

Brave Archer wrote:Would anyone be put off if I were to post a couple of letters that i've written to a a girl I never gave them to. I know its kind of off topic, but i'd l like to know what you guy's think. The women, especially.


Oh I have many of those :oops: - letters poems etc.

Could you post them on a new thread though?

I would like to keep this one strictly on topic if you don't mind.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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