The Front Room

Everything else comes in here, and there is always an everything else.

The letter that does not fit the other three rooms. The question you have been carrying around with nowhere to put it. The thing you want to say to a group of strangers who are, at the very least, pointed in the same direction you are.

Doubt is welcome. So is anger, including the kind aimed at God, which is older than any of us and is sitting in the psalms already. You do not have to be sure of anything to write in this room, and nobody here will ask you to perform a certainty you do not have. A letter that says only that you no longer know what you believe is a letter worth putting up.

What we turn away is cruelty, selling, and pretending to be someone you are not. The terms say the rest, plainly and in full.

This is the room where a house finds out who is in it.

What brought you to this site, and what has kept you reading?

Letters are read before they are printed. Nothing appears here until a person has read it, and replies come the way letters come: in days, not minutes.

The letters

No letters yet. The room opens empty and stays that way until somebody writes the first one; nothing here is going to pretend otherwise.