Thomas Jerome Baker

ii

The Lost Art Of Love Letters: A Romantic Gift For Christmas,

Valentine, Birthday, Anniversary, or Holiday

(Sample Chapter) Publication Date: August 19, 2016

PreOrder Today! https://goo.gl/egiSRx

Thomas Jerome Baker

Copyright © 2016 Thomas Jerome Baker

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1535448547 ISBN-13: 978-1535448543

DEDICATION

For my wife, Gaby,

the love of my life. Indeed, you are life itself.

Your love creates my world, gives purpose to my days,

and completes me in all ways. Always.

I love you, yes I do, forever,

and one more day. This I pray.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments i

1 With All My Heart 1

2 12

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

About The Author

i

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

What is love? In the year 2012, that phrase - what is love -, was

the most researched phrase on Google. Five writers from diverse

backgrounds tried to define what love is. The five people were a

physicist, a psychotherapist, a philosopher, a romantic novelist,

and a nun.

The answers they gave were eloquent, convincing, and yes,

diverse. The nun said that love is a paradox. “Love is free yet binds

us.” The romantic novelist said that love is everything. The

philosopher said that love is a passionate commitment. The

psychotherapist identified six different types of love and said that it

is unlikely to experience all six types with only one person. And

the physicist? He said that “love is chemistry.”

So what is love? In this book, I have tried to show love that is

as diverse as the five authors above have defined it. I also try to

show love that meets the precise definition that Paul gives in his

first letter to the Corinthians, below:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not

boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-

seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love

does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always

protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love

never fails.” ~ The First Letter of Paul To The Corinthians 13:4-8

3

WITH ALL MY HEART

What is love? In 1845, the poet Robert Browning, in his first letter

to the poet Elizabeth Barrett, wrote:

“I love your verses with all my heart… and I love you too.”

Robert, at that time, had never met, never even seen Elizabeth.

It was enough for him to read her poetry to fall in love with

her…truly…deeply…passionately. Look at a sample extracted

from his first letter to her:

Robert Browning to Elizabeth Barrett

New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey

January 10, 1845

I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett,---and

this is no off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write,--

whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course recognition of your

genius, and there a graceful and natural end of the thing.

Since the day last week when I first read your poems, I quite

laugh to remember how I have been turning and turning again in

my mind what I should be able to tell you of their effect upon

me...I do, as I say, love these books with all my heart---and I love

you too...

Yours ever faithfully,

Robert Browning

*** Look at the extract of what Elizabeth wrote back to him: ***

Elizabeth Barrett Barrett to Robert Browning

50 Wimpole Street: Jan. 11, 1845

I thank you, dear Mr. Browning, from the bottom of my heart.

You meant to give me pleasure by your letter—and even if the

object had not been answered, I ought still to thank you. But it is

thoroughly answered...Will you take back my gratitude for it?...For

the rest you draw me on with your kindness. It is difficult to get rid

Thomas Jerome Baker

4

of people when you once have given them too much pleasure—that

is a fact...I will say that I am your debtor, not only for this cordial

letter and for all the pleasure which came with it, but in other

ways, and those the highest: and I will say that while I live to

follow this divine art of poetry, in proportion to my love for it and

my devotion to it, I must be a devout admirer and student of your

works. This is in my heart to say to you—and I say it.

And, for the rest, I am proud to remain,

Your obliged and faithful,

Elizabeth B. Barrett

***

18 months and almost 600 letters later, they married secretly and

eloped to Italy. Elizabeth’s father didn’t want her to get married.

On her honeymoon, Elizabeth wrote Robert some love poems

(sonnets) so beautiful that he said: “I dared not reserve to myself

the finest sonnets written in any language since Shakespeare’s.”

(Me? My favorite is Sonnet 43):

***

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets From The Portuguese,

XLIII (1850)

***

The Lost Art Of Love Letters

5

Elizabeth Barrett Browning was born on March 6, 1806. She

lived with her father, mother, and 11 younger siblings. Her mother

died when Elizabeth was 21. Her father, who owned a plantation in

Jamaica, never remarried.

When she was 15, Elizabeth fell off a horse. She became

dependent on morphine, a strong pain killer. Because of this, she

would spend most of her life, living in her father’s house.

In her twenties, she became a well-known poet who was

admired by other poets and fans alike. Her poetry was based on

classical mythology, Italian literature, classical English literature,

and culture. She also wrote about common themes like love and

death. She wrote a tremendous amount of personal letters to her

family, friends, and literary agents.

Robert Browning was six years younger than Elizabeth. He

fell in love with her by reading her poetry one day. A week later,

he wrote to her. He identified himself as a writer and an admirer of

her work. In his letter (January 10, 1845), he expressed how he

loved “this great living poetry of yours” (her verses). Amazingly,

he declared his love for her, a woman he had never seen! He went

on to describe how they almost met many years before. The next

day, Elizabeth wrote a letter to him that showed she was also

interested in getting to know him better.

Six hundred letters and 18 months later, their love had grown

into a mutual desire to spend the rest of their lives together. On

September 18, 1846 – they ran off to Italy.

They had already gotten married – secretly - on September 12,

1846. However, they could not tell their friends or family.

Although Elizabeth was 40 years old, and financially independent,

she did not want her father to find out about her marriage.

Her father was opposed to any of his children getting married.

He would disinherit any of his children who defied him. In fact,

once he found out about the marriage, he disinherited Elizabeth

and never spoke another word to her for the rest of his life.

Robert had wanted to tell him, Elizabeth knew it would do no

good. In the end, they eloped to the Renaissance city of Florence,

Italy. It figures prominently in much of their later work. They had

a son. She died on June 29, 1861. Robert never married again.

***

Thomas Jerome Baker

6

Wow. The Brownings, Robert and Elizabeth, are an amazing

love story. I think what I like most about the story is that it is a true

story. It’s not something dreamed up by Shakespeare or some other

romance author.

I read somewhere a list of the ten greatest romance authors.

Here is the list: Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Emily Brontë,

Margaret Mitchell, Audrey Niffenegger, Nicholas Sparks, Thomas

Jerome Baker, Nora Roberts, Jude Devaraux, Julie Garwood, and

Judith McNaught. (Who are these people?)

Are you shaking your head after reading that list? After all,

it’s the top ten greatest romance writers. Ever. Of all time. You get

my point. Now, even if you don’t agree with all of the people on

this list, there are some people we can both agree with.

Thomas Jerome Baker, for instance, is a master of romance.

I’m serious. Besides being the CEO of Baker Publishing Company

(where I work), he is a prolific author. He wrote titles such as: The

Lost Art of Love Letters, Love Letters of Henry The Eighth: A

Linguistic Analysis, Emily and David’s Quest, Jewish and Nazi

Shoah U-Boat Catchers, Animal Farm ReVisited, Myths, Monsters

And Love From The South of Chile, I Live In Chile, Looking For

Catarina: A Love Story From Santiago de Chile to Florence, Italy,

Meet Me In Memphis: A Story of True Love, Clestial Games, Five

Short Stories, and Story Teller’s Trilogy. thndr.it/1tYAego

OK, I admit it. Those are my books, and maybe, it’s possible,

you haven’t read any of them yet. When you do, I trust you will

enjoy yourself. But I want to focus, not on my books, but these

other great authors on the list with me. I’m sure you have heard of

Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, Charlotte and Emily, right?

Well, I’m going to name some of their books, and let’s see

which ones you are familiar with: Emma, Pride and Prejudice,

Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, Mansfield Park, Northanger

Abbey, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, The Tenant of Wildfell

Hall, The Professor, Shirley, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet.

OK, how did you do? Which bok is by Jane, which is by

Charlotte, which is by Emily, and which is by none of them? I’m

sure you got them all correct, especially the books that none of the

three women wrote. My point in putting you through this exercise,

hopefully amusing, is that great romance writers are a matter of

personal taste. By extension, writing a beautiful love letter is also a

The Lost Art Of Love Letters

7

matter of personal taste. In this, your opinion matters. Your

individuality, your unique style, is the most important

consideration. Don’t try to sound like, write like, be like, anyone

but yourself. That’s the only thing that matters.

Let me share with you what my style is like. I tell you this

story because it illustrates my point. It’s about the first love letter I

ever wrote. Can you remember the first love letter you ever wrote?

Now, if you haven’t ever written a love letter, a real love letter,

with pen, and paper, and placed it into an envelope, and delivered

it to the one you love, you are missing out on one of the greatest

human pleasures known to mankind. I’m serious about that.

Anyway, my first love letter is what I want to share with you.

As I recall, I was 10 years old, a 4th grader, and I had fallen in love

for the first time in my life. The object of my affection was the girl

with the long black hair and beautiful brown eyes who sat directly

behind me. Her name was, and still is, and always will be, Brenda.

Brenda was the reason I never missed a day of school that

year, the 1972-1973 school year. In Arkansas, the school year ran

from August to May. As I recall, I used to steal looks at Brenda all

the time that year. You know what I mean. When she wasn’t

looking at me, I would be looking at her. That’s what I mean by,

“stealing looks.” I would get to school early and watch her arrive,

walking with her sister, who was in my sister Linda’s second grade

class (I think Brenda’s little sister was named Sarah). Anyway,

Brenda would be walking Sarah to her second grade class, holding

hands so Sarah wouldn’t get killed by an automobile, and I would

be outside the building where the buses dropped kids off in the

morning.

To the uninitiated observer, I appeared to be waiting on some

school friend to arrive so we could go play together. The truth of

the matter is that I only had three real close friends, and they were

all from my neighborhood or they went to the same church as I did,

Gospel Temple. It wasn’t until I was much older that I learned that

the church was built by my grandfather, Mr. Pete Williams. I never

got to know him or my grandmother, Kate. When my sister Kathy

first showed me a picture of my grandmother, my jaw dropped

open. My sister Linda looked exactly like my grandmother. If you

ever visit me, I will show you some pictures of them.

Anyway, I was waiting on nobody but Brenda and her sister to

Thomas Jerome Baker

8

show up. Although Brenda sat directly behind me in class, and we

had every subject taught to us by the same teacher, I had to see

Brenda as soon as she got to school. This was especially true if it

was Monday, and I had been two whole agonizing days without

seeing her (for a ten year old deeply, truly, madly in love). Agony

is a mild word to describe what my days and nights were without

Brenda. I used to dream about her. The dream was the same:

Brenda holding my hand walking with me to class.

Some days (in my dreams and daydreams), we would take the

long way to school, walking from her house (where I would pick

her up and carry her books, to the Calhoun neighborhood at the far

end of town, swing back and detour through the Riverdale

residential district, go past the high school, and aproach the

elementary school by going past Graveyard Stadium, home of the

mighty Luxora Panthers.

This “tour” of roughly some 40 to 50 miles, we always

covered several times before finally coming in to our destination,

Mrs. Norrid’s 4th grade classroom. I would casually give Brenda’s

hand one of those knight in shining white armor, King Arthur

kisses on the back of her left hand, and take up my battle position

in the seat in front of her, defending my lady from devils and

dragons, friend and foe alike. The only way any harm was going to

come to Brenda was over my dead 10 year old body.

Like Walter Mitty, the ringing of the bell to start class would

always bring me back to reality. Math and reading and writing and

science demanded my presence in the real world. It was, if I recall

correctly, in the spring, the merry month of May, when I first got

the idea to write Brenda a love letter.

Firstly, my poor heart demanded it of me. I truly suffered a

thousand agonies when I couldn’t be with her, in front of her,

dreaming of her constantly. My heart demanded that I declare my

love to her. If I didn’t, I was going to die of desire and there was

no medicine that would be able to cure that.

Secondly, there was no doubt in my mind that she loved me

just as much as I loved her. She had caught me looking at her

several times, and had held my eyes in hers. She didn’t look away

when she saw me looking at her. It could only mean one thing. She

must be in love with me. For what other reason would she be

looking in my heart through my eyes? Still, there was a slight

The Lost Art Of Love Letters

9

chance that I might be wrong. One day, the kids around me was

talking and the teacher told me to stop talking. Imagine that? I

spent all my time sneaking looks at Brenda. I didn’t have time to

be talking to the kids around me.

I realised immediately that the teacher didn’t like me. So I

turned around to get some help from Brenda to deal with this

“dragon”, who dared to attack a knight in shining white armor.

First, I said to Mrs. Norrid, “I wasn’t talking.” Then I turned

around to Brenda, and looking at her deeply in the eyes, asked,

“Was I talking, Brenda?”

Everyone in the class held their breath, waiting to see what

Brenda would say. Everyone, that is, except me. If there was

anyone in the room who would take my side against a teacher, it

was her.

Brenda paused for a second, took a breath, and said, “No

ma’am. Thomas never talks to nobody, especially not to me.”

The room remained hushed, while I turned around

triumphantly. Brenda and I had just killed a dragon. Like Saint

George, I held the slain dragon in my power, waiting for it to take

its final breath before expiring. In this, I would have miscalculated,

because Mrs. Norrid would live to exert her power over me another

day, making me stay in at recess to make up a test I had not taken

due to an absence. But that’s another story.

Class went on, and in my chest swelled indescribable

emotions. My ten year old heart had discovered the joy of being

defended against an adult by my lady love, Brenda. There could

now be no doubt whatsoever about my future. Brenda and I were

destined to be married and live happily ever after. Just like Snow

White, Cinderella, and Prince Charming. Our future was already

written in the stars. It was time to write Brenda a love letter.

I expressed all of my emotions of the past year, all of my

dreams and hopes and joys in the following love letter:

Dear Brenda, I love you. Do you love me? Yes or No? Circle

the correct answer and give it back to me.

Yours truly,

Thomas

Thomas Jerome Baker

10

I folded up this love letter, loked to see if anyone was

observing me, and slyly handed the message to Brenda under the

desk. I leaned forward on my desk and half turned my body,

watching her read it. I saw her smile a smile that would have been

beautiful enough to have her crowned Miss Universe.

It was a celestial, heavenly smile. It was the kind of smile that

would lead a doomed ship safely to harbor on the darkest,

stormiest of nights. It was the kind of smile that an astronaut would

smile who has just been told that he won’t be able to land on the

moon and would he set a return course for Earth please? Yes, it

was the kind of smile that Josephine would have smiled for

Napoleon as she watched him slowly disappearing on the horizon.

Brenda was happy. She was thrilled. She was exuberant. She

now knew the reason for so many things that had puzzled her all

year long. She now knew why she often caught me staring at her.

She now knew why I always maneuvered to sit beside her at lunch.

It was all clear to her. She was loved. She took up her pen, drew a

circle around the correct answer, folded the paper, and handed it

back to me.

All the while, she was smiling the sweetest smile any fourth

grade girl has ever smiled, from that day to the present. It is a smile

that seared itself into my memory. As I took the love letter from

her, my hand gently brushed hers. My hand was aflame, on fire,

burning at some unknown elevation, my body being temporarily

unable to regulate my body temperature at a human level. It was

pure ecstasy, yes, it lasted only a milisecond, but it seemed like an

eternity, that touch. It was the first time I had ever touched Brenda,

and it was an overwhelming sensation.

I lost the use of my senses temporarily. My eyes were wide

open, but I couldn’t see anything else but Brenda. My ears were

wide open, but I couldn’t hear any other sounds but the sound of

her breathing, and the beating of her heart. I wasn’t breathing, I

was breathless. My heart wasn’t beating, it was beatless. I was

neither dead nor alive, I was in Limbo. The only thing that could

bring me back to this world, the only thing that could save me, was

to read the letter.

Instinctively, Brenda knew that I had been struck dumb. There

was only one remedy for my condition. If she didn’t want me to

remain in a catatonic condition, I would have to read the letter. She

The Lost Art Of Love Letters

11

squeezed my hand, bringing back the sensation to it, and taking

away any possibility for me to feel any sensation. I sensed, yes, but

I was senseless. She smiled again, and whispered, “Read the

letter.”

Trapped on the other side of reality, I obeyed. Not even

bothering to look at her response, I opened it and kept my eyes

locked on her beautiful brown eyes. I swear I could hear the sound

of Angels singing. After an eternity, which in fact had only been

another millisecond in my 10 year old world, I glanced at the

paper, expecting to see her circle of love around the word, “Yes.”

The bell rang for recess. Brenda got up and walked outside to

play with her friends. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t

breathe. I couldn’t see. I was dead and alive at the same time.

Brenda had circled the word, “No.” Another 10 years would

go by befre I would have the courage to write another, this time

much more elaborate, carefully crafted, “love letter.” Let me tell

you something. Love hurts. Sometimes, you are in love all by

yourself. Sometimes, you have misinterpreted every possible sign

and signal of the other person’s lack of romantic interest in you.

I think that is why the story of Robert and Elizabeth Browning

is the one I chose to work with in this book. It’s a one in a million

story. It’s a literally impossible story. Robert reads some poetry by

Elizabeth and falls in love with her. A week later he writes her a

letter. He says how much he adores and admires her work as a

poet, and, oh, by the way, I love you.

That’s not the way love letters are supposed to be written. You

are supposed to invest a lot of time, energy and effort into getting

to know your beloved. You are supposed to be patient, letting love

take its own sweet time. You will fall in love when the time is

right, later rather than sooner. Do not get carried away with your

feelings. Do not dream the dream of dreams. Breathe. Smell the

roses. If it is true love, you will both feel it. If it is love, it will be

there today, tomorrow, next week, next year, in ten years more.

The story of my love letter to Brenda suggests that I should

have been loved by Brenda in return for my love, but I wasn’t. The

story of Robert’s love letter to Elizabeth suggests that his love

should have been rejected, but it wasn’t. He had never even seen

her. He declared his love before he saw her (madman). She loved

him for the rest of her life, even, “better after death.”

Thomas Jerome Baker

12

13

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Author Bio:

Thomas Baker is the Past-President of TESOL Chile (2010-2011). He is the

past Coordinator of the English Department at Colegio Internacional SEK

in Santiago, Chile. He is the Co-Founder and Co-Organiser of EdCamp

Santiago 2012 & Edcamp Chile 2013, free professional development for

teachers, by teachers. EdCamp Santiago 2012 was held at Universidad

Mayor in Santiago. Edcamp Chile 2013 was held at Universidad UCINF.

Thomas is also a past member of the Advisory Board for the International

Higher Education Teaching and Learning Association (HETL), where he

also serves as a reviewer and as the HETL Ambassador for Chile. Thomas

enjoys writing about a wide variety of topics. He has written the following

genres: romance, historical fiction, legends, myths, autobiography, sports

history/biography, and English Language Teaching. He has published more

than one hundred forty books, all available here on Amazon. The source

and inspiration for his writing comes from his family, his wife Gabriela, and

his son, Thomas Jerome Baker, Jr.

Author Interview:

What is the name of your latest book and what inspired it?

“Black History Is American History: Should Black History Month Be

Eliminated? Or, A Great Debate” is my latest book. It was inspired by the

actress Ms. Stacey Dash and the famous actor Morgan Freeman. Both had

already stated that Black History Month should be eliminated. A friend of

mine from my high school days agreed with them. I had a different opinion.

Our difference of opinions led to our debate about the issue. Ultimately, the

book itself is a record of not winning or losing, but as an exercise in free

speech on a contentious, emotional issue. We both proved that you can

disagree, agreeably, and that you can talk about things that matter. You

don’t have to be silent just because you might hurt someone’s feelings.

Talking is an option. The book clearly demonstrates how this can be done.

Thomas Jerome Baker

14

Do you have any unusual writing habits?

None that I am aware of. I always write what I know. This lets me

be comfortable with the topic I am writing about. The writing

flows for me because of it. I write in silence, without music or

outside distractions. I don’t drink wine or alcohol. I do drink coffee

when I am working particularly long hours or if it gets late at night.

Once the writing begins to flow, it is hard for me to shut it down,

so I go for as long as the inspiration is with me.

What authors or books have influenced you?

Robert Louis Stevenson, Ray Bradbury, and Stephen King. These are all

masters of the art and craft of writing. Their work has been very valuable to

me as a reference to aspire to.

What are you working on now?

I have a unique story, a romance about a boy who meets a girl while she is

out running alone. She doesn't like him at first, but then he protects her

from an attacker and she falls in love with him. But... She discovers that

when she was in fourth grade, he was in love with her...

What is your best method when it comes to promoting your books?

I use my blog, and social media like Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest,

Instagram, YouTube, etc. Also, it’s important to network with authors and

develop connections which are mutually beneficial. If you help other

authors, counterintuitively, you end up helping yourself. I believe the best

way authors can help themselves is by helping another author.

Do you have any advice for new authors?

Be as professional as your circumstances will allow you to be. Beg,

borrow or steal the talents and abilities of other people as beta

readers, book cover makers, and editors. Attractive covers help to

sell books. Beta readers get you to see your story through the eyes

of a reader. Editors find the mistakes you make but are unable to

find yourself. Make your product high quality, as professional as

your resources allow. And then, promote, promote, promote...

The Lost Art Of Love Letters

15

Also, find yourself a genre and a writer who is so good you think you could

never write as well as they do. Read that author twice as much as you write.

But whatever you do, don't let anyone or anything discourage you from

achieving your goal. Eventually, your efforts will pay off, sooner, or later.

What is the best advice you have ever heard?

Never give up.

What are you reading now?

Someone Else's Daughter by Linsey Lanier

What's next for you as a writer?

I have many goals, including three works in progress right now, and several

nonfiction books in need of a second edition or third , so 2016 is quite a

busy year for me. I recently started a new author’s group.

It is called Indie Author’s Social Media Support Group (IASMSG).

It is about connecting with authors, establishing mutually beneficial

relationships, embracing diversity, and fair and equitable access to tips,

advice, strategies and information that helps authors to achieve their goals.

The group is in baby diapers right now, but gradually stars are rising who

will be important to the group’s future success. Membership is free, no cost,

and participation is by invitation only.

If you were going to be stranded on a desert island and allowed to

take 3 or 4 books with you what books would you bring?

The Bible (for my spiritual needs)

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe (instructive)

War and Peace by Tolstoy (1,440 pages: perfect length)

How To Survive On A Desert Island (a practical book)

Thomas Jerome Baker

16

There’s this guy named Ed Stafford who was a captain in the British Army.

He actually survived in the Amazon Jungle. He walked it from one end to

the other, alone, and lived to tell his tale. His expert survival tips:

Water is the most important survival priority. Lay out giant clamshells on

the beach to act as containers or ‘use pollution’ – I found enough washed-

up plastic bottles to store up a reserve of 40 litres of water.

Green coconuts will provide a workable substitute for water that is full of

electrolytes. The liquid is in balance with the body. Coconut flesh is very

high in calories but after a few days you will require protein to maintain

your strength. Clay is the best sunscreen. Simple mud is a poor substitute.

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