Welcome to the 34th installment of Letters to Dead Authors & Artists. This one is a double-header! Months ago I invited Julie Vick, a funny writer I admire, to contribute a letter and she chose Amy Krouse Rosenthal. Even those unfamiliar with AKR’s work might recall her Modern Love essay, “You May Want to Marry My Husband,” which was published 10 days before she died of cancer at age 51 in 2017.
I was planning to run Julie’s letter this month—Amy’s iconic umbrella made it seem a fit for April. But then I received a passionate pitch for a letter from Tami Carey, who also wanted to write to Amy Krouse Rosenthal! I generally try to avoid duplicate authors and will ask if there’s someone else a person can write to, but the power of Tami’s pitch was linked to her deep connection to AKR. So I decided to ask both Julie and Tami if they would mind if I published their letters together, and, in keeping with Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s spirit of generosity and community, both of them agreed.
I love how Julie, slightly daunted by the “portrait” requirement, takes inspiration from AKR to go out of her comfort zone. And how Tami playfully borrows from AKR’s alternate forms to compose her non-linear letter. Here are both of their letters, published on what turned out to be the day after AKR’s birthday.
Letter #1 from Julie Vick
Listen to the letter read by Julie
Dear Amy Krouse Rosenthal,
First, I want to thank you for breaking up the bedtime reading routine when my kids were little. When I became a parent, I first read many classic children’s books to my kids, which I enjoyed, but after recounting everything a hungry caterpillar eats hundreds of times, it starts to lose a little of its luster.
So, I started checking out books from the library and came across one of yours. It might have been Little Hoot or Little Spoon. I’m sorry I can’t remember the specific book, but my mind is overstuffed with to-do lists and schedules and writing ideas. What I do remember is immediately appreciating the clever stories in your picture books and seeking out more of them.
I later read your memoir Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, and I started to admire your work even more. I appreciated the unusual structure of the book, which offered a collection of micro pieces organized by letter of the alphabet. Many of the entries made me laugh (e.g. “Staring: It is hard not to.”)
When the opportunity to write something for this series came up, I thought of you, but I was anxious about needing to provide an artist portrait.
I am not an artist. (I think I am still somewhat scarred by failing to get chosen for a special art class in elementary school.)
But I’ve often wanted to try drawing more -- illustrated writing feels like it opens up a new realm of creative possibilities.
So, I said yes to writing this letter. I’ll just teach myself some drawing basics, I thought.
And this was my first attempt at drawing your portrait for this piece:
First of all, I’m sorry. Second of all, I know you probably have some questions that I will try to answer here:
1. What is the floating ghost dog on the left-hand side? That was my first attempt at drawing you. I’m not quite sure what happened.
2. And the girl with bat ears? Also, you. That was supposed to be hair but the umbrella was getting in the way so I figured I would draw around it. Also, when I realized I wasn’t sure how to draw clothing, I decided to take inspiration from Allie Brosh’s drawings. So that is why you are wearing a sort of muumuu and have stick arms.
3. And the umbrella? I know it’s a symbol associated with you, and I thought, how hard can it be to draw an umbrella? As you can see, kind of hard for me.
Then I decided maybe the problem was trying to draw digitally and I switched to post-it notes. Here are my attempts at that:
Then I decided to try digital again. I downloaded a drawing program and traced some images of you. As you can see from the drawings below, that was also a bit of a journey.
But after some practice I did arrive at one I liked:
I want to keep trying to improve my drawing and I’m inspired by all the creative projects you did.
Thanks for the inspiration,
Julie
About Amy Krouse Rosenthal
Amy Krouse Rosenthal was an author who enjoyed creating books, short films, and (according to her website) salads. She was the author of over 30 children’s books including Duck! Rabbit!, I Wish You More, and Little Pea, and she also wrote several books for adults. In 2017, she wrote the viral Modern Love essay “You May Want to Marry My Husband” shortly before passing away. She lived in Chicago with her family.
About Julie Vick
Julie Vick is a writer living in Colorado. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker, Slate, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, and the notes app of her Smartphone. She writes the Substack newsletter Humor Me about humor and writing.
Letter #2 from Tami Carey
Listen to the letter read by Tami
T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U
T- Tami
My name is Tami, but no one ever spells it right. Not even my grandma. Old birthday cards are like a collector’s deck of every imaginable spelling, including T-a-m-y. Which, you would surely note, is just Amy with a T. I think that must signify some kind of cosmic connection between us.
(see also: Kid’s Book)
H- Husband
I have so much to thank you for, including introducing me to my husband. After reading your memoir, I employed your encyclopedic structure for every introductory opportunity I had – cover letters, apartment applications, and, most importantly, my match.com profile.
(see also: Type A, Umbrella)
A- [Type] A
There are many positive attributes associated with being Type A, but creativity isn’t usually one of them. My creativity thrived best in containers, but I thought I was just doing it wrong. Until I read Encyclopedia of An Ordinary Life. Your endlessly clever, self-referencing memoir showed me it was possible (and delightful) to play within structure and to lean into the list-making, line-drawing, color-categorizing part of my creativity.
(see also: Husband, No one, Outsourced Optimism)
N- No [one]
Your story is filled with examples of people not understanding your ideas and you doing it anyway, building up a body of work that was ultimately undeniable. They say if you try to be everything to everyone, you’ll be nothing to no one, but, maybe we can’t worry about being anything to anyone other than ourselves.
(see also: Kid’s Book, Outsourced Optimism, Type A, Umbrella, Yes)
K- Kid’s Book
Exclamation Mark is my favorite of your children’s books. An exclamation mark not fitting in, finally finding his voice when he’s met with curiosity feels like it was written for me.
(see also: No one, Outsourced Optimism, Tami)
Y- Yes
This entry was part of every encyclopedia I created: “In Improv, the rule is to say yes to everything you’re given. You never want to stop something short of what it could become just because you don’t originally see where it’s going.” You embodied this completely.
(see also: No one, Outsourced Optimism)
O - Outsourced Optimism
After years of auditioning for opportunities to create (actor), I started Outsourced Optimism, a place where I could make any wild idea I had without needing anyone’s permission. I made an advice column for fictional characters, conducted experiments, and designed a summer camp for grown ups. I loved it! But, as the platform grew, more “real” writers joined. I read their beautiful literary essays and started to feel childish and insecure about my work. I tried to be more like them, but slowly lost my voice. And my joy. I’m returning from a pause and recommitting to my original intention. I pick your books up daily as a reminder to trust my weird, whimsical, non-linear brain.
(see also: Kid’s Book, No one, Type A, Umbrella, Yes)
U- Umbrella
I rewatched your Beckoning of Lovely video the other day. Watched you arrive at Millennial Park with your yellow umbrella. You sent out a call inviting people to gather and make something together. There was no social media and still a hundred people showed up. Someone once said that you have to create in your unique voice so your people can find you. You were a living example of that. Even now, your example lives on.
(see also: Husband, No one, Outsourced Optimism)
About Amy Krouse Rosenthal
Amy Krouse Rosenthal was a Chicago-based artist best known for her genre-defying writing, but she was a proud and prolific maker of many things – including 30+ children’s books (two of which were made into Netflix films), two best-selling memoirs, experimental films, and interactive experiments that invited her readers to engage with her work and the everyday world like a living piece of art we’re creating together. Which it is.
About Tami Carey
Tami Carey is a multimedia storyteller living in Los Angeles. She plays with words and pictures for a living and, while her list of careers is long, her mission is short: to bring people together with big hearted stories, playful imagination, and unexpected delight. You can find her over at Outsourced Optimism, exploring life with a kaleidoscope lens, or sampling ice cream flavors at Salt & Straw. Or at Instagram.
Dear Reader! Thank you for reading Letters to Dead Authors & Artists, a weekly newsletter curated by me, Kelcey Ervick. I’m an author, artist, creative writing professor, and a lover of letters. I write The Habit of Art newsletter on Substack. This is a new venture where I’m thrilled to publish letters from the community. I’m open to pitches!
-Kelcey
Thank you for welcoming me into this love fest of a post. I had so much fun with the creative exercise of it all. I'm such a fan of this whole series and what it invites from all of us!
It was great to contribute to this!