Dial-Up and Daydreams ~ Poetry And Prose Volume I ~By Britt Wolfe
Coming May 15th
Slip off your shoes, press play on the mixtape, and come home to the glow of a computer screen humming with possibility. In Dial-Up and Daydreams, Volume I of the Poetry and Prose series, Britt Wolfe captures the aching tenderness of growing up in a world that was just beginning to log on.
With each page, Wolfe resurrects the magic of the in-between—the era of landlines and late-night chats, VHS tapes and voicemails, daydreams and dial-tones. It’s a love letter to friendship bracelets and fuzzy butterfly clips, to the girls we were and the women we’ve become.
This anthology blends poetry and prose into an intimate, emotionally resonant collection that speaks to anyone who ever scribbled in the margins of a notebook or fell in love with the idea of someone through a glowing screen. Dial-Up and Daydreams is tender, nostalgic, and beautifully honest—a mirror held up to a generation raised on MSN Messenger and messy first love.
For everyone who still remembers the sound of the internet connecting, and the feeling of yourself disconnecting just to survive—it’s time to log back in.
Coming May 15th
Slip off your shoes, press play on the mixtape, and come home to the glow of a computer screen humming with possibility. In Dial-Up and Daydreams, Volume I of the Poetry and Prose series, Britt Wolfe captures the aching tenderness of growing up in a world that was just beginning to log on.
With each page, Wolfe resurrects the magic of the in-between—the era of landlines and late-night chats, VHS tapes and voicemails, daydreams and dial-tones. It’s a love letter to friendship bracelets and fuzzy butterfly clips, to the girls we were and the women we’ve become.
This anthology blends poetry and prose into an intimate, emotionally resonant collection that speaks to anyone who ever scribbled in the margins of a notebook or fell in love with the idea of someone through a glowing screen. Dial-Up and Daydreams is tender, nostalgic, and beautifully honest—a mirror held up to a generation raised on MSN Messenger and messy first love.
For everyone who still remembers the sound of the internet connecting, and the feeling of yourself disconnecting just to survive—it’s time to log back in.
Coming May 15th
Slip off your shoes, press play on the mixtape, and come home to the glow of a computer screen humming with possibility. In Dial-Up and Daydreams, Volume I of the Poetry and Prose series, Britt Wolfe captures the aching tenderness of growing up in a world that was just beginning to log on.
With each page, Wolfe resurrects the magic of the in-between—the era of landlines and late-night chats, VHS tapes and voicemails, daydreams and dial-tones. It’s a love letter to friendship bracelets and fuzzy butterfly clips, to the girls we were and the women we’ve become.
This anthology blends poetry and prose into an intimate, emotionally resonant collection that speaks to anyone who ever scribbled in the margins of a notebook or fell in love with the idea of someone through a glowing screen. Dial-Up and Daydreams is tender, nostalgic, and beautifully honest—a mirror held up to a generation raised on MSN Messenger and messy first love.
For everyone who still remembers the sound of the internet connecting, and the feeling of yourself disconnecting just to survive—it’s time to log back in.
EXCERPT FROM Dial-Up and Daydreams BY BRITT WOLFE
We didn’t know we were building something we’d carry forever.
Not in the quiet way the VCR hummed before the tape clicked into place. Not in the way the dial-up tone pierced the room like a call to something bigger, stranger, more infinite. Not in the smell of a Blockbuster on Friday night, or the way our fingers hovered over “record” during our favourite song on the radio—hoping the DJ wouldn’t talk through the intro.
We were just living it. Wearing butterfly clips and baggy jeans. Burning CDs for people we loved. Falling in love with fictional characters and learning how to fall in love with ourselves. We weren’t taking notes. We didn’t know it would all vanish so quietly.
But that’s the thing about growing up—you never really notice when it’s happening. Not until years later, when a song comes on in a grocery store and suddenly you’re seventeen again. Heart cracked wide open. Whole world still waiting. Every feeling turned up so loud you could barely hear yourself think.
This anthology wasn’t meant to be a eulogy. It’s not a scrapbook or a playlist or a punchline. It’s a rewind.
Back to a time that didn’t try so hard to brand itself.
Back to cluttered bedrooms and slow dances.
Back to real-time goodbyes and in-person hellos.
Back to the weird, wonderful, awkward in-between of figuring it all out.
We didn’t know we’d miss it.
But we do.
Because it never really left, did it?
It lingers—in our rhythm, our references, our reverence. In the way we still talk about mixtapes and teen dramas and the songs that meant something. It’s in our bones now, humming beneath the surface. Not just the music, but the moment. The moment we became.
Rewinding softly.