Writing exercises

I love to brag on great books, and recently I read something amazing:  Sorcery & Ceceila: or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot by Patricia Wrede and Caroline Stevermer.

First of all, this is a lovely little Jane Austin with a hint of magic.  The characters are charming and fresh and the plot is clever.  The whole thing is simply delightful.  (No, I don't usually speak like that, but there is no better description of this book than "simply delightful"!)

Then I found out how it was written, and I was even more tickled by it!  It was a writing exercise!  It is called the Letter Game and this is how it goes.  The two players (writers) adopt two fictitious personas and write letters back and forth.  The rules are simple: 1) the two players must never reveal their individual ideas about the plot to each other.  2) the first letter needs to imply why the two characters must write to each other and not meet in person (see, the letters must be their main means of communication, or it doesn't work to do it in letters). 

In honor of Ms. Wrede and Ms. Stevermer, the prompt for this week is to write a "first letter" for the letter game.

Enjoy!

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My response:

My Dear,

It is now eight hours since the excitement of the day has ended, and the clock on the touchscreen by my bed says it is time to sleep.  I do not know how I will manage it.

I know you can quote these old stories - I've certainly told often enough - but I can't help reminiscing tonight.  I used to sit and listen to my grandpa talk about the lunar landing.  Every step, every moment, I celebrated as he told and retold that momentous trip.  And I dreamed about when I would journey into the stars!  I wish Grandpa could have been there this morning.  He would have been so proud. 

I did try to look out the window to where the officials and dignitaries (and you, my dear) were gathered to watch the launch.  It was an awkward angle, though, and at such a distance, I could only just make out individuals.  I can imagine how you looked in my mind, though, wearing the red pea coat I bought you for the occasion.  Do not consider it wasted.  I won't be able to buy you anything for three years, and it does look amazing with your hair. 

We could not have hoped for a more perfect launch.  The hoards of scientists and engineers are to be commended.  The roar of the ignition was awesome, and we lifted off like a bird!  Ten minutes later, only ten minutes, and we'd reached the outer atmosphere!  We checked our trajectory, made adjustments, and now we're on our way.  With a little bit of luck, we will reach Mars in just over seven months!!!

Now Alan and MaCraye have settled down into their sleep sacks, telling me to do the same, and are already snoring away.  Eli, who has been a rock all this time, has vomited three times and looks pale, peering out of his sack like a mouse peeking out of a hole in the wall, fearful that the cat is watching.  To think all his big talk was pure bravado.  I flatter myself to think my current mental state is somewhere in between the two extremes, and I said so in my personal report, which I'm required to make every night.

I would continue, my love, but there is an alarm sounding, and I must see to it. 

Yours,
Ty

PS. Do not be alarmed by my last line.  There are forever small alarms.  They set the acceptable parameters for most everything excessively tight, and we've already reset three life support systems.  We have enough redundancy in the systems that there will be no problems. 

PPS. I know the further we get from each other the longer it will be between sending and receiving email, so for now, I look forward to your prompt response.