Three Overlooked Ways Words Still Matter

Not every literary observance arrives with fanfare.

Some slip quietly into the calendar — easy to miss, easy to overlook — yet they speak to the very heart of why words matter in the first place.

January holds a few of these gentler observances, ones that invite reflection rather than celebration, and participation rather than performance.

Today’s post looks at three of them: letter-writing, poetry, and publishing.

Each represents a different way words still move through our lives — sometimes slowly, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes behind the scenes — but always with purpose.

There’s something deeply calming about writing a letter by hand.

It forces you to slow down. To think before you write. To decide what you actually want to say before the pen ever touches the page.

Letter-writing isn’t rushed. It doesn’t buzz or ping or autocorrect your thoughts. It asks for intention.

I miss that.

I miss sitting down with paper and pen, taking inventory of my thoughts, shaping them carefully, and letting my handwriting reflect the mood I was in.

I also miss what letter-writing did for my penmanship.

Once upon a time, my handwriting was neat, classic, even praised. These days — between typing novels and firing off emails — it’s grown… less impressive. Writing letters kept it legible. Graceful, even.

Letter-writing feels like a lost art, and that’s a shame. Not because it’s old-fashioned, but because it’s grounding.

This observance doesn’t require a long letter or perfect prose:

Letter-writing reminds us that words don’t always need speed — sometimes they need space.

I’ll be honest: I’ve never been a poetry person.

English class? Loved it.

Poetry units? Endless yawning.

The flowery language. The clouds and leaves and feelings. The rhythm — that insufferable meter that demands words fall into place whether they want to or not.

And the rhyming? Don’t get me started.

But I dislike poetry mostly because I am terrible at writing it, and nothing kills joy faster than being forced to work in a form that refuses to cooperate.

That said… poetry is literature. It is words on a page. And many people genuinely love it — writing it, reading it, finding meaning in its patterns.

So while Poetry Day at Work may not be my personal cup of tea, it deserves acknowledgment for those who find beauty and expression there.

You don’t have to become a poet to participate:

Poetry may not be for everyone — and that’s okay. The observance reminds us that words resonate differently with different readers.

Book Publishers Day turns our attention to a part of the literary world most readers never see.

Publishers shape what reaches shelves, screens, and readers’ hands.

They champion books, guide them, market them — and sometimes, quietly decide their fate.

Traditional publishing can feel daunting, even inaccessible, and once a publisher acquires rights, the author often has little say in what happens next.

For some writers, that trade-off is worth it. For others, it isn’t.

Personally, I never considered traditional publishing for my romance novel, Unconditional Love. But I did consider it for my children’s book, The Adventure in the Magical World.

I never pursued it, but I was open to the idea. And that’s really the point: there’s no single right path.

Publishing is a choice — not a hierarchy.

Book Publishers Day isn’t about choosing sides. It’s about awareness:

Publishing is less about prestige and more about fit — for the story and the storyteller.