It's a Big Day
I’m sitting in the window of the studio, sipping an old school cappuccino from the Italian coffee joint a few doors down. Inside, all the guys are watching a soccer game on TV, whistling through their teeth as the tiny ball sails across the green turf. They’re friendly in there; Seb tells me how much one of the players makes (“33 million a year and he’s only 33!”) and we agree that if I made 33 million a year, I’d pay him a million dollars for my coffees.
I really like people. It’s one of the reasons that I struggle with the limits of this work. Our main tools — workshops & retreats & coaching — only go so far. They’re small, they can be financially limiting, and they’re almost always full. I have a profound love for these tools and I always want to offer them, but I want this all to reach wider and be more accessible. You’ll know if you’ve been reading along that after years of trying, I decided that the Internet wasn’t the right way. It works, it reaches, but it’s speed and distractions are at odds with the gentle heart of all this.
I’ve been searching a new way to send Firefly out into the world, something unique and beautiful and truly us — slower than the internet, more personal than email. Something that makes people pause, breathe, remember that place where writing comes from. Something that feels sacred.
A couple months ago, I had an idea. It was for a subscription mail service, delivering thick care packages full of Firefly guidance, connection and encouragement to people who want to write but (like most of us) aren’t getting back to the page as often as they’d like to. I imagined something joy-enduing and well-loved, full lots of insight and usefulness and care.
It was love at first sight for this idea and I. It was on.
Then a sheer cliff face of to-do’s rose in front of me. Who knew this could be so much work? (Everyone, Chris. Everyone knew.) But it’s working; I’m climbing. I’ve found a gifted designer, secured the tech help we need, filled journals with notes and ideas, surveyed my community, ceaselessly researched similar services, started a dedicated Instagram feed, decided what include, changed my mind, decided again. I’ve created sample materials, chosen a title, logo and website, hired a beautiful soul to help manage it, made hundreds of towers of numbers in excel balancing affordability (“I want everyone to be able to join!”) with decadence (“Ooooh, I want to mail them this…“) I’ve connected with wonderful local businesses who can create flat & mail-able treats. I’ve become a connoisseur of envelopes and their multitudinous nuances. The list stretches way up, beyond my current toe holds.
But some days when I glance up I can almost see the top of this cliff.
And this is one of those days.
So, with great exhaustion and even greater joy I present you with Hello Writer.
This project has one goal: To be of service to your creative heart. I want to stretch the wild magic of the studio way, way out beyond our walls, onto your bedside table, your favourite seat at the cafe, your ride to work. I want to help your creative blocks soften and surrender into exciting, surprising writing. I want to make a scene for you, a hum, a community. Kind of like those guys watching the soccer game, but different. Like — we are the soccer game.
OMG I love it. Every time I read the copy my breath catches. Every detail of planning makes me grin. I’m signing up for a subscription, even though I’m also going to be writing and sourcing and organizing it all. I want this in my mailbox, on my bedside table.
Curious? Your next steps:
Follow our tiny, budding Instagram feed here.
I’m glad you’re here.
I’m glad you’re here.
I hope you love this.