May 18, 2026
50 Things to Write to a Pen Pal About When You Have Nothing to Say
By Sander · 5 min read
Somewhere around letter four, most people hit it: you sit down to write and realise you have already covered your job, your country, your hobbies and your family. The obvious material is gone. The letter feels like it should be about something, and nothing presents itself.
This is the point where a lot of pen pal friendships quietly die, which is a shame, because it is also the exact point where they were about to get good.
The thing nobody tells you: the boring stuff is the good stuff
New correspondents write about topics. Established ones write about Tuesday.
The most memorable letters we hear about are not the ones explaining a country's history. They are the ones describing the specific misery of a broken washing machine, the neighbour's ongoing feud with a cat, what the light is like at 6am in February, or the fact that the supermarket has moved everything around again.
There are two reasons for this. First, ordinary life is the thing your pen pal genuinely cannot get anywhere else — they can read about your country's festivals online, but nobody is going to tell them what a normal Wednesday costs and feels like. Second, small specific things are how people actually become fond of each other. You do not befriend someone's opinions. You befriend their washing machine.
So when you feel you have nothing to write about, you almost always mean you have nothing impressive to write about. Write the unimpressive thing.
Fifty prompts that work
Your ordinary life
- What your kitchen looks like right now, honestly.
- What you ate yesterday — all of it, including the bad decisions.
- Your commute, described as if to someone who will never see it.
- What time you get up and whether you like it.
- The most annoying thing that happened to you this week.
- What is on your walls.
- What you can see out of the nearest window.
- What you spend money on that you would defend to the death.
- The chore you keep putting off.
- What your weekend actually looked like, not what you meant it to.
Your place
- What outsiders get wrong about where you live.
- The nearest shop, and what is odd about it.
- What the weather is doing to everyone's mood.
- A local word or phrase that doesn't exist elsewhere.
- What people your age do on a Friday night here.
- How much a coffee, a bus ticket and a month's rent cost.
- The building everyone hates.
- A local tradition you personally find ridiculous.
- What your town smells like in each season.
- Where you would take a visitor who had one afternoon.
Getting to know them
- What they wish people abroad understood about their country.
- Their most useless talent.
- The subject they'd give a lecture on with no preparation.
- What they were like at fifteen.
- A rule in their house growing up that they now realise was strange.
- The best meal they've eaten this year and where.
- What they do when they can't sleep.
- Which of their opinions has changed most in five years.
- The compliment they remember longest.
- What they'd do with a completely free Saturday and no obligations.
Things to compare
- School: what age, how long, how strict, how much homework.
- What a wedding looks like where you each are.
- Christmas, New Year, or whatever your calendar's big day is — the details, not the summary.
- What happens when you're ill and need a doctor.
- Superstitions people actually still observe.
- What "expensive" means as a number where you live.
- The dominant national anxiety.
- How people your age expect to be able to afford housing, if at all.
- What children are taught about your country in their schools.
- What music was inescapable when you were sixteen.
When you want depth
- Something you changed your mind about.
- The best advice you ignored.
- A decision you're currently avoiding.
- What you thought adulthood would be like.
- Something you're bad at and have made peace with.
- The version of your life you almost had.
- What you'd tell your fifteen-year-old self, briefly and without clichés.
- What you want the next five years to contain.
- A time you were completely wrong about someone.
- What made you sign up to write letters to strangers in the first place.
How to use these without it feeling like an interview
Do not fire off ten questions. A letter that reads like a form gets answered like one.
The technique that works is answer, then ask. Take the prompt yourself first — write two paragraphs about your own broken washing machine, your own commute, your own bad Tuesday — and then turn it over: "what about yours?" You've given something before asking for something, and you've shown them the depth of answer you're hoping for. People match the register you set.
Two prompts per letter is plenty. Three is generous. Ten is a survey.
The other trick: keep a scrap list
Most people write letters from a standing start, remembering nothing that happened since the last one. The fix is embarrassingly simple: keep a note on your phone and add one line whenever something small and stupid happens. The man arguing with the parking machine. The word your colleague invented. The dog that has learned to open the gate.
By the time you sit down to write, you have six things, all of them exactly the kind of specific, unimportant detail that makes a letter worth receiving. It takes about four seconds a day and it more or less eliminates the blank page problem forever.
When the well is genuinely dry
Sometimes the friendship has simply plateaued, and no prompt fixes that. Two things to try before giving up:
Change format. Send a photo of something mundane — your desk, your street, your lunch — and describe it. Send a postcard. Record a video letter. A different container makes the same life feel new to write about.
Ask a bigger question than usual. Something from the last section of the list. Correspondences deepen in steps, and someone has to take the step. It is nearly always welcomed; people who write letters to strangers are, by selection, people who want to be asked something real.
And if it still fades: that is allowed. Not every pen pal friendship is meant to run for years. Some are worth six good letters and then a warm goodbye, and that is not a failure.