I’ve mentioned to people before that I tend to write very small when I hand letter things. How small? Well, while going through some old writings, I unearthed this letter, which I wrote on standard 8 1/2 by 11-inch paper when I was 19 or 20:
I have the letter because it was one of those letters, i.e., the ones that are better as cathartic exercises than something actually read by someone else, and also, let’s face it, if someone wrote you a letter that densely packed with no-margin scribblings, your “holy crap, this dude’s nuts” sirens would be going off full blast even if the content was just about how much the person liked puppies and sunflowers (note also that it continues on the other side). It was just as well I never sent it, is what I’m saying, and I’m glad I recognized it at the time. Don’t worry, I’m much better now.
But for all that, maudlin content and flagrant inattention to margins aside, the lettering size was standard for me at the time, and even today I don’t write all that much larger; I’ve just always written really really really small. I had to train myself a bit to write larger when I started writing handwritten notes in people’s books; it’s not nice to make fans squint. I didn’t have to make my signature larger, though. It’s always been big and swoopy. What it means that I have a huge signature yet really tiny lettering is left to the observer to hypothesize. I’m sure it means nothing good. There’s a reason I mostly type things these days.