Write to a writer - and be heard
No therapy. Just writing
No messages.
No calls.
Only correspondence
No calls.
Only correspondence
| I live many lives. No, I’m not immortal like the Highlander. And no — I don’t suffer from split personality. The truth is far less dramatic: I’m a writer. Which means that, alongside my own life, I also inhabit the lives of my characters. I share their fears. I search for a way out with them. Sometimes I argue with them in dialogue. At times, I become a father, a son, a friend — or simply a stranger passing through. I care for my characters. I feel with them. I stay with them. A critic once observed — not without some surprise — that my stories lack villains. It hadn’t occurred to me before. But perhaps it’s true. Perhaps I’m only drawn to people who are trying their best. Those who stumble, falter, suffer — and yet remain, in some quiet way, good. Even when their choices are hard to explain. You can write me a letter. I can’t promise I’ll be able to help. But I will answer. And perhaps — just perhaps — that’s already something. |
| About Me This project isn’t meant to be public. I don’t use my real name on the site — not to create an air of mystery, but simply to keep two parts of my life separate: literature, and my correspondence with readers. That said, if you ever feel like writing and we begin a real conversation, I’ll gladly share my name with you, along with my books — and you’ll know you’re speaking to a real person. What can I tell you about myself for now? I never liked having a boss. I’m something of a romantic. A bit sentimental. I never liked studying, though I usually got good grades. I’m not much into sports, though they’ve been a part of my life since childhood. I stopped reading books the moment I began writing them. I love film and wine. I dislike unexpected phone calls — but I enjoy welcoming guests more than I like being one. I don’t care for expensive things, but I’m hopelessly in love with distant countries. I’m a father of three sons and a devoted husband. I cook every day. I sleep poorly at times. And I’ve always trusted the written word more than the spoken one. |
Conversations with My Characters
“What is complicated?”
“Everything. Life, happiness.” Vito stared at the plate with its uneaten food.
“No, son, on the contrary. One day you’ll understand that happiness is not complicated. It’s sometimes difficult to achieve it, but in itself, in its essence, it’s always simple. And happiness never consists of a lot of parts, but when life’s puzzle finally takes shape you are frequently left, as it turns out, with a multitude of superfluous pieces, in searching for which you spent so much time previously.”
Vito raised his eyes to Genarro.
“How can one understand what is superfluous.”
“You can’t, dear boy. You can’t outwit life. In that lies its essence: first you become happy and only then do you understand why.”
_____________________________________
“What is complicated?”
“Everything. Life, happiness.” Vito stared at the plate with its uneaten food.
“No, son, on the contrary. One day you’ll understand that happiness is not complicated. It’s sometimes difficult to achieve it, but in itself, in its essence, it’s always simple. And happiness never consists of a lot of parts, but when life’s puzzle finally takes shape you are frequently left, as it turns out, with a multitude of superfluous pieces, in searching for which you spent so much time previously.”
Vito raised his eyes to Genarro.
“How can one understand what is superfluous.”
“You can’t, dear boy. You can’t outwit life. In that lies its essence: first you become happy and only then do you understand why.”
_____________________________________
“It’s a pity we didn’t go down. It must be beautiful there.”
“It’s terrifying there.”
“What are you afraid of?” said she, turning round.
Well, I don’t think I’ve got any particular fears. Probably a more or less standard set of them.”
“Of death?”
“Well, that too. Everyone’s afraid of death. It’s instinctual.”
The girl did not reply, and Robert yearned to continue a conversation which was so important for him and in which he hoped to find important information for himself.
“Judging by the way you rushed down the path, you’re not at all afraid of death.”
“Fear stops you being free. All fear does.”
_____________________________________
“It’s terrifying there.”
“What are you afraid of?” said she, turning round.
Well, I don’t think I’ve got any particular fears. Probably a more or less standard set of them.”
“Of death?”
“Well, that too. Everyone’s afraid of death. It’s instinctual.”
The girl did not reply, and Robert yearned to continue a conversation which was so important for him and in which he hoped to find important information for himself.
“Judging by the way you rushed down the path, you’re not at all afraid of death.”
“Fear stops you being free. All fear does.”
_____________________________________
“In all honesty?” said Angelo, pleased at being allowed a taste of wine. “A motorbike!”
“My dear boy! You can’t dream about a motorbike,” said Genarro with a wry smile.
“Why not?”
“A motorbike can’t be a dream.” Genarro laughed good-naturedly. “It’s too small.”
“Ah, you speak like that, Genarro, as if you’ve got one,” said his grandson excitedly.
“I’ll get one, if I want one. But I don’t want the purchase of a motorbike to represent the fulfilment of a dream for me. You can’t plonk your backside on a dream! You can on a motorbike. Do you understand?”
“No. What’s bad about my dream?!” Angelo complained, somewhat offended.. “If it’s too small, I’ll try to dream about a more expensive model.”
“Are you ready to die for a motorbike?” asked Genarro unexpectedly.
“Die? No, of course not.!”
“There, you’ve answered the question yourself.”
“All right. Who is prepared to die for a dream?”
“Well, them, for example.” Genarro poked his finger at the photo of the mountaineers.
“They’re mad.”
“That’s just it. Everyone with a real dream seems mad to other people.
__________________________________________
“My dear boy! You can’t dream about a motorbike,” said Genarro with a wry smile.
“Why not?”
“A motorbike can’t be a dream.” Genarro laughed good-naturedly. “It’s too small.”
“Ah, you speak like that, Genarro, as if you’ve got one,” said his grandson excitedly.
“I’ll get one, if I want one. But I don’t want the purchase of a motorbike to represent the fulfilment of a dream for me. You can’t plonk your backside on a dream! You can on a motorbike. Do you understand?”
“No. What’s bad about my dream?!” Angelo complained, somewhat offended.. “If it’s too small, I’ll try to dream about a more expensive model.”
“Are you ready to die for a motorbike?” asked Genarro unexpectedly.
“Die? No, of course not.!”
“There, you’ve answered the question yourself.”
“All right. Who is prepared to die for a dream?”
“Well, them, for example.” Genarro poked his finger at the photo of the mountaineers.
“They’re mad.”
“That’s just it. Everyone with a real dream seems mad to other people.
__________________________________________
What form can this take?
You always get to choose — there are two options:
You always get to choose — there are two options:
- You can write to me as you would to a real person — a writer, flesh and blood.
- Or you can talk to one of my characters. You get to pick the age, the personality — even the gender is up to you.
What will we talk about?
Honestly? I never really know. But I can tell you this for sure — we won’t just talk about problems. And we won’t talk only about you either. After all, I’m not a therapist. I’m a writer.
What I do know is this: it’ll be something you find interesting. And no, we won’t be making any boring lists of “approved topics.”
Honestly? I never really know. But I can tell you this for sure — we won’t just talk about problems. And we won’t talk only about you either. After all, I’m not a therapist. I’m a writer.
What I do know is this: it’ll be something you find interesting. And no, we won’t be making any boring lists of “approved topics.”
Where do you start?
It’s actually super simple.
It’s actually super simple.
- You fill out the form on the website, and I send you my email.
- You write the first letter. Anything you want — whatever’s on your mind, whatever you feel like, whatever you can manage.
- I’ll definitely reply. And if we both find it interesting, we’ll keep writing to each other — in whatever format you choose from the ones I offer.
| A Few Gentle Guidelines Early on, I realized this project wasn’t meant to live inside rigid rules. For example, I don’t promise a specific word count in my replies — that would miss the point. When I write back, I’m not counting sentences. I’m just trying to say something real. I also don’t limit how often you can write. You might send two letters in a row, or disappear for six months. Either way, I’ll be here — ready to pick up the thread whenever you are. I can’t guarantee a response within three or eight hours. But I will always let you know I’ve received your letter, and I’ll give you a rough idea of when you can expect a reply. Either of us can choose to end the exchange at any time. If that happens, I’ll refund any unused balance. And of course, everything we share — the content, and even the fact of our correspondence — stays confidential. You’re always free to skip any question or topic that feels uncomfortable. While I’ve never had to invoke that rule, I believe it matters that it’s there. There are many subtle rhythms to this kind of written connection. It asks for thoughtfulness, patience, and a little trust. And I hope — truly — that we’ll be able to build something meaningful out of that. |
Three Ways We Can Correspond
Three Letters
I’ll reply to three of your letters.
Think of this as a kind of trial run. By the time we’ve exchanged a few thoughts, we’ll usually know whether there’s something worth continuing.
Are we curious? Interested? Is this useful to you? Or maybe you just needed to say a few things and move on — which is perfectly fine too.
Some people stop after three letters, content with what we’ve shared. Others take a breath and keep going.
€39 per letter × 3 = €117
I’ll reply to three of your letters.
Think of this as a kind of trial run. By the time we’ve exchanged a few thoughts, we’ll usually know whether there’s something worth continuing.
Are we curious? Interested? Is this useful to you? Or maybe you just needed to say a few things and move on — which is perfectly fine too.
Some people stop after three letters, content with what we’ve shared. Others take a breath and keep going.
€39 per letter × 3 = €117
Ten Letters
This is the most popular option — and for good reason.
Ten letters give us enough space to find a rhythm, to let the conversation unfold without rushing or second-guessing.
I like this format. It feels generous without being overwhelming.
It’s also more practical, both financially and emotionally, for those who feel that this quiet space between us is worth keeping for a while.
€29 per letter × 10 = €290
This is the most popular option — and for good reason.
Ten letters give us enough space to find a rhythm, to let the conversation unfold without rushing or second-guessing.
I like this format. It feels generous without being overwhelming.
It’s also more practical, both financially and emotionally, for those who feel that this quiet space between us is worth keeping for a while.
€29 per letter × 10 = €290
No Limit
Unlimited correspondence for one month — as many letters as you’d like.
I don’t usually recommend starting here.
It’s better to send a few letters first, see how it feels, and only then decide if you want to keep the door wide open for a while.
But if you already know you need that kind of space — it’s here.
€490 / month
Unlimited correspondence for one month — as many letters as you’d like.
I don’t usually recommend starting here.
It’s better to send a few letters first, see how it feels, and only then decide if you want to keep the door wide open for a while.
But if you already know you need that kind of space — it’s here.
€490 / month
If you’ve already purchased one of the letter packages, you can always add - one extra letter — €49
Application Form
Once you’ve submitted the form, I’ll send you my Email