Small dispatches from our desks, written slowly, on purpose.
I started this letter on the bus to the printer. We've been working on The Whimsy Archive for almost a year, and the closer we get to shipping, the more I notice how much I'll miss the making of it: the proofs, the late dinners, the moments where it almost fell apart.
There's a particular pleasure in choosing the right paper for someone you love. And a particular pain in mailing it, because for a moment the letter is out of your hands and you can't take it back. That's the whole point.
I spent three afternoons this month watching our postcards come off the press: wavy edges, a slightly off-register pink, a small flock of crumpled sheets in the corner. It's never just the design that lands. It's the misfires too.
