A Word Re: The Postcard Club

I have always loved the meaning of sending and receiving mail. We all need the occasional proof that we’re thought of, and what better way than with a note from a faraway place. Recently I found myself wanting a reason to send mail, and I thought there might be others who would love to receive mail. So I created this cute little club and priced it to be as accessible as possible to anyone who wants to be in it.

Travel and literature have always been two sides of the same coin for me, each feeding the other—defining the seasons of my life; defining the places I choose to visit and the books I choose to read. Creating a snail mail club inspired by travel, original photography, and iconic literary quotes seemed like the natural thing to do. And to send them once a quarter to coincide with the changing of the seasons seemed fitting. The Postcard Club formed very quickly, but as the Postcard Club began to take shape so did a larger project.

Not only did I find that I craved a way to send mail, but I found myself wishing a place existed where literary essays, travel notes, my reading world, and other observations could live. Cue Printed Works—a project I’m sincerely excited to build. I imagine it to be a hub for everything literary, and look forward to introducing more elements of the project soon. Maybe even collaborating with you - fellow literature enthusiasts. :) Printed Works only exists because the Postcard Club existed first. Thank you for supporting both.

What to expect:

As you know, you will receive four postcards in a 12-month period. If you ever want to write us a note, don’t be shy. We love them! Your subscription also includes access to the Printed Works newsletter, The Monthly, which includes exclusive writing, and you’ll be the first to hear what shenanigans we’re getting into.

Welcome to the club!

And a heartfelt thanks for supporting independent literary work.

Cheers,
Sarah J.

“Then I’m going down the steps, and my wife calls up, “Where are you going?” I say, “Well, I’m going to go buy an envelope.” And she says, “You’re not a poor man. Why don’t you buy a thousand envelopes? They’ll deliver them, and you can put them in a closet.” And I say, “Hush.” So I go down the steps here, and I go out to this newsstand across the street where they sell magazines and lottery tickets and stationery. I have to get in line because there are people buying candy and all that sort of thing, and I talk to them. The woman behind the counter has a jewel between her eyes, and when it’s my turn, I ask her if there have been any big winners lately. I get my envelope and seal it up and go to the postal convenience center down the block at the corner of 47th Street and 2nd Avenue, where I’m secretly in love with the woman behind the counter. I keep absolutely poker-faced; I never let her know how I feel about her. One time I had my pocket picked in there and got to meet a cop and tell him about it. Anyway, I address the envelope to Carol in Woodstock. I stamp the envelope and mail it in a mailbox in front of the post office, and I go home. And I’ve had a hell of a good time. And I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you any different.”   

— Kurt Vonnegut