When my best friend invited me to attend a ‘smutty letter-writing workshop’ at the Glasgow International Comedy Festival, I was a bit puzzled.
My initial thought was: oh, this must mean I give off the vibe of someone who will attend a smutty letter-writing workshop. My second thought was: what on Earth is a smutty letter-writing workshop? And also: yes, duh, I’m down.
A couple weeks later, I turned up to the venue – aptly (?) called the Riding Room – feeling a mixture of shy and curious. I was greeted by the burlesque performer and art facilitator Rosy Pendlebaby, better known by her stage name ‘Revolting Rosy,’ who served as the host of the Smutty Letters workshop.
Rosy began by dramatically reading several famous filthy letters from history. (I’d provide quotes, but I don’t want to do the dirty work for you – Google is your friend.) She told us she started this project in the aftermath of her father’s death, when she found a pile of decades-old dirty love letters between her grandfather and grandmother. They were a tangible expression of their love (and lust) for one another.
In 2024, we have very little in the way of dirty letters. A swiftly-taken photograph or a quick text are more common. We seem to prefer expressions of affection that we can send in the middle of the weekly food shop or whilst doom-scrolling Tik Tok. Sexting has never been more commonplace or accessible, and we can deliver these sentiments instantaneously – but at what cost?
Although we think of older generations as being sexually repressed, the physical act of writing forced them to express their feelings in a palpable way. They said the quiet part out loud and on paper! These days, we deny ourselves written intimacy.
With this context in mind, the second half of the Smutty Letters workshop focused on crafting our own letters through a series of free-writing exercises. Rosy invited us to write to inanimate objects, to our muses, or – as I chose – to ourselves.
I found this activity deeply uncomfortable at first, but when I looked around the room of people writing furiously, I felt empowered. The exercise of letter-writing became a radical expression of self-love.
A few years ago I wouldn’t believe I was capable of such a thing. I was raised in a culture of Christianity which taught me deep shame. When I visit my parents in Texas, I do not have reproductive rights. I know my sexuality has been hard won and hard fought for.
I walked away from the evening reflecting on what a joy it is to live in a place where such a workshop exists and to have friends who invite you along. I recognise that sexuality is a freedom and privilege to behold. I’m not afraid to write it down.
“Gabriel-Joseph-Marie-Augustin Ferrier (French, 1847-1914), ‘The love letter’” by sofi01 is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.