Firefly’s Fall Workshop Line-Up Just Launched!

 

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Our fall writing workshop line-up launches today, and I’m indulging myself in my favorite lines from fall poems.

It seems like there are so many of them.

  • There’s “Fall Song” by Joy Harjo, with the line — “I need a song that will keep sky open in my mind.”

  • There’s “Aubade in Autumn” by Peter Everwine — “Love is the ground note; we cannot do / without it or the sorrow of its changes.”

  • Ada Limón’s “It’s the Season I Often Mistake” — “What good / is accuracy amidst the perpetual / scattering that unspools the world.”

Lately, I’ve been especially fascinated by centos, which are poems made entirely of lines from other poems. This is in acute contradiction to the ideas so prevalent right now about ownership and copyright… Which of course do have their place. Poets need credit and celebration. But within that commitment, what else can be true?

Truth is, I think, writing is never a solo act.

Our voices are always partly a chorus. We are constantly building on each other, learning from each other, becoming wiser and braver together. None of this is solitary.

A couple weeks ago, a workshop participant said — I want to remember that my words don’t belong to me. They come through me, but they’re for the world.

How would writing change if we all believed that? If we saw it as our responsibility to keep offering our work to the world, so that the gift of words keeps moving?

Today, I’m sharing Cameron Awkward-Rich’s poem, “Cento Between the Ending and the End.” He went the extra mile and made a cento about friendship using lines from his friends’ poems… The gift of words, circular and nourishing.

I think this is what we do in workshops, whether we realize it or not.

We let our work move through us, into the group. We listen, listen, listen. We try not to grip — grip the idea that our work has to be exceptional, grip the idea that we know what we’re doing. We lower the bar, laugh hard, and write right to the cusp of what we know how to do, and then push that cusp back.

We inspire each other.
We expand together.
We refuse the old story that writing has to be a solitary slog, and we figure out, together, with what else is possible.

If you’re interested in any of that, you’re warmly welcomed to join us this fall.

We have a few classes in person, limited only by our ability to find reliable, affordable, wheelchair-accessible spaces in Toronto for small groups. (Hit us up if you have ideas!) We have lots online. We have a retreat in Muskoka. We have a new brand romance workshop, and a lot of trusty chestnuts back for another round.

We would love to co-create these spaces with you.

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Online Workshops: The menu is open. If you’re starting out writing or coming back after a long break, Begin Here and Keep Your Pen Moving are great choices.

If you have a big project on the go, The Big One applications are open until August 7th. And two application-free workshops, Deeper Waters and The Novel Writing Toolkit have spots.

There’s so much more right here.

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In-Person Gatherings this Fall. We have three options for in person connections this fall!

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These free summer pop-up workshops are so lovely. Our series of free, spontaneous writing mini-workshops continues through the summer. We’re loving them, and warmly welcome you. Click here for dates and details.

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Last call for Cottage Writing Day! This Saturday, we’re offering a chance to put aside everything and indulge in a day of writing, led online by the wondrous Kim and Asifa. Sliding scale. Click here to join us.

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And that poem… Here’s the cento I mentioned above by the deeply gifted Cameron Awkward-Rich. Click here to read it or let me read it to you.

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Wait, do you want to write a cento? Like right now?

I made up a resource for you with some of my favourite poetry lines to get started on your own cento. The sources are listed; if you use these, shout out who wrote them originally.

Mix in those fall poems at the top of this newsletter. Mix in lines from songs you love. Mix in that perfect sentence your friend said in your last phone call. It’s all for you. And you, in turn, are for it.

In it with you,

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Decolonizing “finishing” and changing my name — a note from Mari.

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