Melbourne, November, 2021
We write to each other. About writing, mostly. Its place in our lives. Its ups and downs. Its twists and turns. Its disappointments. Its frustrations. Its salvation. We steer clear, hopefully, of self-indulgence, of complaining.
Short letters. Handwritten. A page or two. Get to the point, don’t linger. Get it off your chest. Maybe an impromptu poem. Often a drawing from Paul. Posted. Sometimes even hand-delivered. We aren’t far apart, literally.
Sometimes a quick flurry of communiques. Then, quiet for weeks. A month or two.
Recently we wrote about how so many people call themselves writers these days. (On Instagram and Facebook and lord knows where else you can ‘post a story’ in a matter of seconds.). We wrote about the decline in pay rates for writers. And the lack of pay in general*.
We write to each other. A handshake in thought, as Paul often farewells.
Stereo Story # 653
*(And, yes, Vin acknowledged the paradox of not being able to pay contributors to this very site.)
Paul and Vin previously collaborated on Handyman Blues