Afterword — Newsletter: the free Sunday letter

Afterword

The Sunday letter

A short essay, the notes from the week and what I am reading. Free, and one click to leave.

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The latest letterNo. 48 · Oct 12, 2026The first windowMornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.— Mara

Readers12,400
Recent letters6
AlwaysFree

The Sunday letter

A short essay, the notes from the week and what I am reading. Free, and one click to leave.

Subscribe Read the journal

The latest letterNo. 48 · Oct 12, 2026The first windowMornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.— Mara

Readers12,400
Recent letters6
AlwaysFree

The Sunday letter

A short essay, the notes from the week and what I am reading. Free, and one click to leave.

Subscribe Read the journal

The latest letterNo. 48 · Oct 12, 2026The first windowMornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.— Mara

Readers12,400
Recent letters6
AlwaysFree

Every Sunday · free

One letter a week, written on Saturday night and sent before your coffee. No ads, no links you did not ask for.

Inside every letter

01One essay, before it goes up here
02Three things I read this week
03A photograph from the walk home
04A question, and your answers next time

12,400 readers · every Sunday · free

No. 48 · Oct 12, 2026

The first window

Mornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.

— Mara

Past letters

Every Sunday · free

One letter a week, written on Saturday night and sent before your coffee. No ads, no links you did not ask for.

Inside every letter

01One essay, before it goes up here
02Three things I read this week
03A photograph from the walk home
04A question, and your answers next time

12,400 readers · every Sunday · free

No. 48 · Oct 12, 2026

The first window

Mornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.

— Mara

Past letters

Every Sunday · free

One letter a week, written on Saturday night and sent before your coffee. No ads, no links you did not ask for.

Inside every letter

01One essay, before it goes up here
02Three things I read this week
03A photograph from the walk home
04A question, and your answers next time

12,400 readers · every Sunday · free

No. 48 · Oct 12, 2026

The first window

Mornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.

— Mara

Past letters

The archive

Each letter, sealed the way it went out. Open one to read it, or search by title.

06 letters

No. 48 · Oct 12, 2026
The first window
Mornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 45 · Sep 21, 2026
The borrowed bicycle
Lisbon, part three, and the hill I did not climb.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara

No. 47 · Oct 05, 2026
Weather report
Why I write about rain so much, and a reader's answer.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 44 · Sep 14, 2026
Margins
Strangers' notes in second-hand books.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara

No. 46 · Sep 28, 2026
Cuts
On deleting the paragraph you love most.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 43 · Sep 07, 2026
Night shift
The hour after midnight and what it is good for.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara

The archive

Each letter, sealed the way it went out. Open one to read it, or search by title.

06 letters

No. 48 · Oct 12, 2026
The first window
Mornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 46 · Sep 28, 2026
Cuts
On deleting the paragraph you love most.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 44 · Sep 14, 2026
Margins
Strangers' notes in second-hand books.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara

No. 47 · Oct 05, 2026
Weather report
Why I write about rain so much, and a reader's answer.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 45 · Sep 21, 2026
The borrowed bicycle
Lisbon, part three, and the hill I did not climb.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 43 · Sep 07, 2026
Night shift
The hour after midnight and what it is good for.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara

The archive

Each letter, sealed the way it went out. Open one to read it, or search by title.

06 letters

No. 48 · Oct 12, 2026
The first window
Mornings, a radiator and three books for the dark months.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 47 · Oct 05, 2026
Weather report
Why I write about rain so much, and a reader's answer.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 46 · Sep 28, 2026
Cuts
On deleting the paragraph you love most.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 45 · Sep 21, 2026
The borrowed bicycle
Lisbon, part three, and the hill I did not climb.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 44 · Sep 14, 2026
Margins
Strangers' notes in second-hand books.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara
No. 43 · Sep 07, 2026
Night shift
The hour after midnight and what it is good for.
I wrote this one at the kitchen table, with the window open a crack and the street still deciding whether to wake up. Most weeks the letter starts as a sentence I cannot shake; this week it started as a sound.
What follows is the long version: where the idea came from, the part I cut, and the book that was open beside me the whole time. If you have read the essay, this is the room it was written in.
As always, write back. Every answer is read, most are kept, and one of them usually becomes next Sunday's opening line.
— Mara

Letters from readers

Every week a few of you write back. These are the letters pinned above my desk.

12,400 readers · 61 % open every Sunday

**Hannah Doyle**Reader since issue 3 · Dublin

Letter from Hannah Doyle, Dublin: The only e-mail I open with a cup of tea instead of a sigh. Sunday mornings are better for it.

Letters from readers

Every week a few of you write back. These are the letters pinned above my desk.

12,400 readers · 61 % open every Sunday

Letter from Hannah Doyle, Dublin: The only e-mail I open with a cup of tea instead of a sigh. Sunday mornings are better for it.

Letters from readers

Every week a few of you write back. These are the letters pinned above my desk.

12,400 readers · 61 % open every Sunday

Letter from Hannah Doyle, Dublin: The only e-mail I open with a cup of tea instead of a sigh. Sunday mornings are better for it.

Questions

What readers ask most about the Sunday letter. Anything else, write to me: I answer every note.

Yes. The Sunday letter is free and always will be. Readers who want to support the work can become members, but nothing is held back.

Questions

What readers ask most about the Sunday letter. Anything else, write to me: I answer every note.

Yes. The Sunday letter is free and always will be. Readers who want to support the work can become members, but nothing is held back.

Questions

What readers ask most about the Sunday letter. Anything else, write to me: I answer every note.

Yes. The Sunday letter is free and always will be. Readers who want to support the work can become members, but nothing is held back.

One letter,every Sunday.

One letter,every Sunday.

One letter,every Sunday.

The Sunday letter.

The Sunday letter.

The Sunday letter.

Every Sunday, in one drawer.

Every Sunday, in one drawer.

Every Sunday, in one drawer.

Kind words, by post.

Kind words, by post.

Kind words, by post.

Before you subscribe.

01Is the newsletter free?

02When does it arrive?

03What is in each issue?

04Can I read old issues?

05How do I unsubscribe?

06Can I write back?

07Do you take guest essays?

Before you subscribe.

01Is the newsletter free?

02When does it arrive?

03What is in each issue?

04Can I read old issues?

05How do I unsubscribe?

06Can I write back?

07Do you take guest essays?

Before you subscribe.

01Is the newsletter free?

02When does it arrive?

03What is in each issue?

04Can I read old issues?

05How do I unsubscribe?

06Can I write back?

07Do you take guest essays?