The Booking Through Thursday topic for this week is letters:

Have you ever written an author a fan letter?

Did you get an answer?

Did it spark a conversation? A meeting?

(And, sure, I suppose that e-mails DO count . . . but I’d say no to something like a message board on which the author happens to participate.)

I’ve thought about it, but wasn’t sure quite how to get a letter to an author. I have supposed that I could just send a letter to the publisher, but just never followed through.

These days, though, many authors have web sites and/or blogs, and it’s a little easier to make contact. I think the first author I ever contacted in that way was Dee Henderson. I discovered her while looking for a Christian fiction book to send my Mom. I didn’t normally gravitate toward suspense novels, but my mom liked them, so I was looking for something along that vein in Christian fiction. I was hooked from the first pages. Not only was the story excellent, but the underlying spiritual truths were clear, yet not told in a moralistic way. At one point I e-mailed Dee through her web site and told her how her books were ministering to my mother, and I did get an nice e-mail back.

In a twist on this question, I’ve had three different authors contact me after I’ve mentioned or reviewed their book on my blog. That was a surprise and a pleasure. One contact led to an “interview” on a blog book tour with Lynn Walker, author of Queen of the Castle: 52 Weeks of Encouragement for the Uninspired, Domestically Challenged or Just Plain Tired Homemaker. We e-mailed a few times in conjunction with the interview, and I’ve e-mailed her since (her book is written in a weekly, through-the-year format, so I am still enjoying and discovering it, and I commented once on something I had just read and how it helped me), but I don’t want to “bug” her or make her feel like I think I’m her new BFF.  🙂

I may have sent a short e-mail of appreciation to a few more, but really haven’t done that as much as I could have or probably should have. Sometimes I think authors receive all kinds of mail, mine would just get lost in the shuffle, what would I say anyway besides, “I really liked your book!” But I imagine authors really like to know that people liked their books! And especially when a book has touched me in some way, I should let the author know that. Elisabeth Elliot is a writer whose words have touched me and ministered to me in multitudes of ways, and at at the end of a chapter called “The Trail to Shandia” in her book Love Has a Price Tag, she writes,

Analysis can make you feel guilty for being human. To be human, of course, means to be sinful, and for our sinfulness we must certainly “feel” the guilt which is rightly ours–but not everything human is sinful. There is a man on the radio every afternoon from California whose consummate arrogance in making an instant analysis of every caller’s difficulties is simply breathtaking. A woman called in to talk about her problems with her husband who happens to be an actor. “Oh,” said the counselor, “of course the only reason anybody goes into acting is because they need approval.” Bang. Husband’s problem identified. Next question. I turned off the radio and asked myself, with rising guilt feelings, “Do I need approval?” Answer: yes. Does anybody not need approval? Is there anybody who is content to live his life without so much as a nod from anybody else? Wouldn’t he be, of all men, the most devilishly self-centered? Wouldn’t his supreme solitude be the most hellish? It’s human to want to know that you please somebody.

We visited another place where I lived–Tewaenon– where the Aucas live. It had been sixteen years since I had seen them, but they remembered me, calling me by the name they had given me, “Gikari,” and everybody beginning at once, as was their custom, to tell me what they had done since they saw me. Dabu, with two of his three wives, came walking up the airstrip and began immediately–there are no greetings in Auca–to tell me that when he had heard of the death of my second husband he had cried. This prompted Ipa to remark that she had sat down and written me a letter when she heard of his death, but on rereading the letter said to herself, “It’s no good,” and threw it away. Sometimes readers of things that I write tell me long afterward that they have thought of writing me a letter, or have written one and discarded it, thinking, “She doesn’t need my approval.” Well, they’re mistaken–for wouldn’t it be a lovely thing to know that a footprint you have left on the trail has, just by being there, heartened somebody else?