Mere Correspondence
A letter, mailed monthly,
about things that don’t change.
Letter Zero is the first letter, free — printed and mailed to your address. The monthly letter is $15/mo or $144/yr.
A letter, mailed monthly,
about things that don’t change.
Letter Zero is the first letter, free — printed and mailed to your address. The monthly letter is $15/mo or $144/yr.
I
Letter Zero, free
Give me your address and I’ll mail you the first letter — printed, sealed, stamped. No card, no charge.
II
The monthly letter
If it’s for you: one letter a month, $15. Everyone reads the same letter each month.
III
Write back
The address is on every letter. This is a correspondence, not a broadcast — letters get read.
Almost everything that reaches you now was free to send — and costs you nothing to ignore.
A letter is different. Someone chose the words, set them on paper, folded them, sealed them, and paid to carry them across a distance to land in one pair of hands — yours. That friction is the whole point. It filters out everything that wasn’t worth the trouble. Gossip and noise aren’t worth a hand cramp and the price of a stamp.
So there’s only one question I ask of a letter before it goes out: is it worth the risk of sending? Worth the paper and the wax and the trip to your door. Worth interrupting your evening. Words aimed at truth, goodness, and beauty — with a little encouragement, and a little commiseration. If a letter clears that bar, it ships. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.
I learned to believe that a piece of paper could carry a person a long way from here — in a place, and a season of my life, that I’ll tell you about in the very first letter.
A taste of the voice — from a letter about the cost of a cheeseburger when you’re making minimum wage.
There was an era of my life where I priced things in hours. A cheeseburger didn’t cost $8.20, it cost 90 minutes of work. “Would you like that in a combo?” Dude, are you kidding? Fries and a soda are not worth 45 minutes of scrubbing baked-bean pans.
From “Say thank you to busboys”
That’s the light end. The letters go other places, too — but those you’ll have to hold in your hands.
Send me Letter ZeroOne idea, pulled from a real moment and followed until it reaches something universal. Ten to twenty minutes of reading, printed on heavyweight cream stock, folded and sealed. Not a pamphlet. A letter, from one person to you.
Tucked inside, a small card — original engraved artwork on one side, the month’s principle on the other. A single sentence worth keeping. Over time, they become a collection.
It never touches a screen, an algorithm, or an inbox, and there is no digital archive. When you’ve read it, it goes on a shelf or in a drawer — it doesn’t vanish into a feed.
Every letter carries her — a winged woman, crowned with twelve stars, standing on the moon, a serpent chained beneath her feet. She is not decoration, and she is not an accident. There is a reason she rides on the outside of every envelope — a specific one, and a true one. It is the first thing the first letter will tell you.
The only way to read these letters is to hold them in your hands.
The world is full of content that costs nothing to produce, nothing to consume, and nothing to discard. This costs something. It asks you to sit down, be still, and reckon with an idea. That’s the point. And if a letter moves you — write back. The address is on every one.
Every letter passes three gates before it ships.
Is it true?
Is it good?
Is it beautiful?
If not all three, it doesn’t go out.
Start here
The first letter is where all of this begins — how I came to believe a piece of paper can carry someone, why there’s a winged woman on every envelope, and what “worth the risk” really means. It isn’t on this website, and it never will be. Give me your address and I’ll print it, seal it, and mail it to you — no charge, no subscription. If it’s not for you, nothing else comes.
It’s on its way.
Letter Zero goes out with this week’s batch — paper, wax seal, a real stamp. No charge, no subscription, and nothing else comes unless you ask for it.
Spot a typo in the address? Write me and I’ll correct it before it ships.
The subscription
One letter a month, on paper, sealed — this month’s letter, the same one every reader holds. $15 a month, or $144 for the year.
Cancel anytime — one email. Free reship if it’s lost or damaged. Full refund on your first month if it’s not for you.
Giving it? A gift year is one payment — $144 for twelve letters — and it never auto-renews. Set up a gift ↓
Founding Correspondent · first 100
The first hundred subscribers receive a personal note from Tim and a numbered first-edition card. The price is the same for everyone; the number is what you get for being early.
Send twelve consecutive current monthly letters for $144 — one payment, no auto-renewal, and no back catalog. We’ll include a note from you with their first letter, and you’ll get a printable gift announcement to hand over on the day.
Anything else? Write to tim@merecorrespondence.com — a person answers.
