Thanks to Canva for sponsoring the illusionist. In the 10 years since Canva began, it has

grown to offer services in over 100 languages. And Canva is freemium, so there is plenty available

for 0 pounds, including free libraries of video, audio, graphics, and their amazing tools,

magic write and magic design, which use AI to help you with your first drafts, get you

through the creative block, whew, because it's easier to start from something than from

a blank page. I put in a few writing prompts and, well, if Canva learns to speak, I think

I can just hand over hosting this show to it entirely. Also, if you and your colleagues

are working together, your human colleagues, that is, you can design and collaborate with

Canva for teams. Right now, you can get a free 45 day extended trial when you go to Canva.me-slash-alusionist.

That's C-A-N-V-A.me-slash-alusionist for a free 45 day extended trial. Canva.me-slash-alusionist.

This is the I-Lusionist, in which I, Helen Zoltzman, suggest that language stops offering

people tickets to the gun show. Have some dignity. On with the show.

I had a relationship before the 21st century. Another of us had the internet yet. All mobile

phones, or even landlines sometimes. So we wrote letters to each other a lot for the

three and a half years we were together. And I still have them in a box, in another box,

in a storage unit. The odd thing is, I only have half the story, his half. He's got mine.

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he did get rid of them a long time ago. I really hope he

did destroy them. I haven't looked at his letters since we broke up half my lifetime ago.

But I can't bring myself to throw them away, either. I've kept nearly all the letters

I've ever been sent. The good ones from friends, not the boring ones from the bank or the

dentist. A bunch from my friend Al, whose handwriting looks like a row of dead spiders.

Colorful, illustrated ones on unusually shaped cards from Joanna. One from my father,

...