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…

Sometimes a piece of news can change the shape of the world for a while.

So it was on Wednesday when my dear friend Lindsay told me that after months of tests, she’d received a definitive diagnosis. She has ALS.

There’s what you know in the moment, and there’s what you know later. In the moment I knew that I Had To Help. This is my go-to place. Feeling useful fights off powerlessness for a while…

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 coffee. I really like people…

I run. I feel weird starting there because so often stories about exercise are thinly disguised humble bragging, but I promise this isn’t that. I don’t run fast. I don’t run far. I’ll probably never run a marathon. But sometimes when I’m running I smile at strangers without thinking and I get this feeling like the world is exploding with beauty, and those runs make me want my sneakers close by. Like everyone though, I’m full of excuses…