Personal Letters
Birthdays, condolences, apologies, thanks, weddings, leavings. The letters people mean to write and rarely do. We help you say what matters, in your voice.
Read moreEst. by hand
Writers Cottage is a small company of writers who still put pen to paper. We write your letters by hand, quietly and carefully and on purpose, so someone at the other end feels remembered.
from a small cottage in the English countryside
On the desk this morning
Nothing here is automated. No mail-merge, no AI, no factory line. A writer sits down, reads what you’ve asked for, and begins. The ink dries. The envelope is sealed. It goes in the post the same way letters always have.
What we write
Whether it’s one quiet thank-you note or a small season’s worth of correspondence, we treat every envelope the same way: slowly.
Birthdays, condolences, apologies, thanks, weddings, leavings. The letters people mean to write and rarely do. We help you say what matters, in your voice.
Read moreFor small businesses who still believe in their customers. A handwritten note does what a thousand emails can’t. We write them; you seal them.
Read moreA poem for a new baby. A letter to your future self. A thirty-page account of how your grandparents met. Unusual, quiet, one-of-a-kind work.
Read moreThe writers
Every letter is written by a person we know. They each have their own hand, their own favourite pens, and their own quiet way of finding the right word.
Eleanor writes in black ink on cream. She loves unhurried sentences, Sunday mornings, and finding exactly the word you meant to use.
James has a plain, honest hand that softens difficult news. He writes condolence letters, apologies, and notes that need real weight.
Harriet writes the happy letters: weddings, births, the first letter to a new grandchild. She reaches for warmth and means every word of it.
In a world where everything is generated, a handwritten letter is proof that someone stopped, thought of you, and showed up.Writers Cottage
Why we exist
Writers Cottage began on a wet Tuesday in October, at a kitchen table, with two friends, a stack of paper, and a box of pens that had been gathering dust. The first letter we ever sent was to a grandmother in Cornwall from her grandson in Madrid. She kept it on the mantelpiece.
We believe in the small, physical, slightly imperfect thing. The cross-out. The postmark. The weight of it in an envelope. There is nothing wrong with email. There is simply nothing like a letter.
We are not a factory. We write a limited number of letters each week, because we want every single one to feel like it matters. Because every single one does.
With a pot of tea going cold beside us.
Write a letter
Tell us who they are and what you’d like them to know. We’ll take it from there. Pen, paper, post, and all.