I was several weeks into shooting my first photography book, an intimate look inside the creative spaces of fifty of LA's top writers, when one of my subjects offered to help. She wanted to connect me with other writers I should meet, and instead of pulling out her phone, she reached for a pad of yellow legal paper and wrote out seven names by hand.

I didn't think much of it until I got to my car. Her handwriting was beautiful, not cursive, exactly, but graceful in a way that made me stop and look at it twice. It got me thinking about my own handwriting, how little I used it anymore, and whether I could even still write in cursive at all.

That question stuck with me. Not long after, I made a small change: I stopped journaling in print and started writing only in cursive. It felt clumsy at first, almost like relearning a language I used to speak fluently.

Then one morning, something shifted. I felt it, a genuine spark, like my brain was firing on all cylinders for the first time in a while. And in that moment, an idea arrived fully formed: what if, in a world run by social media and instant messaging, I could play secret matchmaker, pairing friends and acquaintances who wanted a slower, more personal way to connect? An old-school pen pal, but with a twist: everything written in cursive, and only cursive.

That idea became the Cursive Writing Club.

The rules are simple. You don't need to be good at cursive, that's part of the charm. If you make a mistake, you cross it out and keep writing. There's no delete key, no autocorrect, no edit history. Just you, a pen, paper, and someone on the other end waiting to hear from you.

This isn't about penmanship. It's about giving your brain a break from the screen and giving another person your full, undivided attention, one letter at a time.