I know we’re all spending way too much time on screens right now. And it’s spring! For real! I want you to be gazing out the window. But I have some small, good things that I want to drop into your lap first.

This is a note to let you know where we’re at with studio plans and hopes as we watch the unfolding news about COVID19.

First of all, some guiding principles…

This is a big moment.

As you may know, we went through a huge, multi-layered recruitment process this winter.

It felt like a river swelling — sooo much energy and chemistry and dreaming flowing with us.

My last newsletter was about pride. Pride is SO IMPORTANT to anyone who wants to nourish and build their creative work. I could go on and on. I did. But we can’t talk about pride without also talking about doubt.

Sometimes writing workshops feel more like high-stakes contests in the art of deep humility.

Let me tell you a story from the other side of that doubt.

The winds are high and it’s time to hunker down and prepare for change.

And this newsletter is all about change because our wonderful, hilarious, smart and sensitive writing coach Jenna is moving on to her own self-employed adventures.

Sometimes at night, when I’m all tight and rushed from the momentum of the day, I sit in the backyard and wait.

I wait for the motion sensor light to click off, for the first stars to show between the tree branches.

I found this quote by Simone Weil the other day:

“Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.”

The hardest thing that Firefly has taught me is how to say, “Hey, can you give me a hand with this?” When I started, wowzers, there was none of that. I did everything, viking-style, muscles tensed, power-walking around the city with my hand-cut flyers and my little case of thumbtacks.

I want to tell you a story from a writing retreat this year…

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a newsletter about discipline.

I got an email back almost right away from a man I’d never met.

I’ve been thinking lately about how writers talk about discipline. It feels so important, doesn't it? I cannot tell you how many times I've heard sentences like these….

As you may know, I’ve been training our newest team member for a while now, and this week is my chance to tell you aaaall about her. I did the usual things, took some pictures and wrote a bio, but for this newsletter I want to share the top 4 things that make me most excited about sharing this dazzling being with you…

I’m writing this from a cottage. The porch is dripping, the sky is grey and low, my socks never dry from walking through all the puddles. Marshall is splayed out on the rag rug beside me, a pile of paws and soft breath. Ian is in the kitchen making a bacon and egg sandwich, his body rocking to the rhythm of his headphones…

Old school writing teachers will tell you that you can’t start writing until you have a P.L.A.N. They’ll say that writing a story is like building a bridge; you need to now where exactly where it will land, what the structure is grounded on, and where your support is. Then you fill it in.

I have two reactions to this…

It’s just so tiring — the resolutions and accomplishment-parades of January.

You know them; 9-square collages of radiant couples on the beaches of Instagram, children smiling adorably at holiday tables, lists of the best this and that. It’s always the other side of things that I find interesting. What didn’t work? What isn’t growing?…

This is one of those newsletters.

By the time it’s found it’s way to your inbox I’ll be thick into a vulnerability hangover, wondering if I should have sent it at all. But honesty seems to give me power. And the most useful things I have to share start with embarrassment. So here we go…

Fall is a good time to slow down. Do you feel that? All that summer pressure to go-go-go, all those photos of beaches and sunny patios on social media — they’re easing off. The nights are easing in. And here we are, with a little more darkness, a little more space…