Yours truly

People are talking about the article on e-mail sign-offs--you know, salutations for the Internet Age: ‘Yours Truly’, the E-Variations

It’s a funny coincidence because my 7th-grade son had just composed a formal, handwritten letter and signed off with

"Yours truly,

T.R.M."

with his name in full. It was a required apology to his classmates for having “mooned” a kid from the other class. His friend, Louie, had to write one, too. As Tim told it, one class was joshing around with the other class and smart-aleck comments and challenges were exchanged, and then everyone (Tim says, “even the teacher”) jokingly said, “someone should moon Tommy A.” So Louie and Timmy, the comedians they are, dropped drawers. They got in trouble, obviously, and were told to come back to class on Monday with full-page, written apologies.

One of the worst things about getting in trouble on a Friday is that you have all weekend to think about it. Tim said one of his friends told him to write just one line but with a hundred “very’s” as in:

"I’m very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, etc., sorry."

He came to me Saturday and said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to write.” We pondered together a bit and I told him he could look up a few classic examples of kids getting into trouble—you know, a quote from Tom Sawyer, a scene from “Malcolm in the Middle,” a clip from Dennis the Menace—and then point out to the teacher how it’s a kid’s life to migrate towards trouble. Tim just looked at me like I was nuts.

So Sunday night he composed a very thoughtful letter on lined notebook paper in lead pencil #2, asking me only a few style questions (ahh, writer that he is): “Is self-control two words or hyphenated?” It progressed nicely from one paragraph to another and was direct and honest, none of that half-hearted verbage we hear nationally, like “I’m sorry if I offended anyone.”

He read it aloud to his class Monday morning and his teacher said, “Now that’s an apology letter.” Louie had to re-do his.

*******


As a committed letter writer myself and editor of letters, so to speak, I pay close attention to the kinds of salutations that cross my desk or screen. I tend to use the bland “Best,” or “Best wishes,” or if I’m trying to impress someone, “Warm regards.” One of my colleagues uses “Cheers!” on almost all her correspondence. Even in her scolding letters.

A poetry editor I work with has the most graceful sign-offs:

"I send my best, in hopes this finds you well; take care.

Sincerely,

R."

A more pragmatic author simply ends:

"Thanks.

S."

Always. Even if he has nothing to thank me for.

Another author and I have developed a close working relationship after collaborating on a few books. A look at his sign-offs illustrates the kind of push and pull you might expect in the world of publishing. When we first started working together his phrases went like this:

"Let's do everything we can to make this work. I'm full of enthusiasm for
this project.

Sincerely,

W."

and then as we moved along and we were on a tight schedule, he just signed off with a request or a response and his name, as in:

"Whenever you're ready to send the edits, I'm here.

W."

During a rough patch, he wrote:

"As a result, I’m going to print out your edited copy and see if I can figure out what you want.

Crabbily,

W." (This one came with the e-mail subject: sorta annoyed)

And now we know each other much better and our e-mails are conversational and full of good will:

"Something to mull over....

All the best,

W."

And then there is the one-line e-mail from a very famous author whom I had approached to write a blurb. No salutation here; just desperation, I think, from the hundreds of endorsement requests she must get each year:

“Can't you just use the old blurb,, or rewrite it an NOT ask my approval? I'm geSWAMPT.”

My Papa used to write me many letters as my family traveled around the country. He often ended his letters with one-line zingers. Like the well-worn “Break a leg!” only better. Each of the sign-offs were always a perfect ending to a perfect letter—and usually a little gift or two was sent in the package as well. Those were treasures. Along with a letter ended with the first salutation below he sent me a pair of black, shiny go-go boots; with the second, a funny picture of my grandma. I wonder how great it would be to send e-mails back and forth to each other if he were alive today?

"If that’s the worst thing you do, don’t worry about it,

Papa"

or

"Isn't she quite the fart blossom [my Grandma, that is]?

Papa”