I finished my grandmother’s memoirs just before her cancer got really bad.

We didn’t know she was sick when I started putting a tape recorder between us and asking her questions, but when the leather bound book arrived at the old family farmhouse, her hospital bed did too.

Recently I made a list of all the Firefly programs that have failed. It was spectacularly long.

In-person programs, mail-based programs, email and streamed programs, a back country canoe trip, a 3-day novel writing retreat, an art journalling class… the list went on and on and on.

Hello Traveler.

I’ve been thinking about the word “plan.”

It comes from the old French word plain, meaning “a flat and even surface.” A plain was the thing you made a plan on, a sketch, a map, a guess, a place to dream.

Hey Lovely.

I was so stressed out before our community bonfire. I planned, I changed plans, I delegated, sometimes well and sometimes badly. I ran a survey, considered ice breakers, changed my mind a thousand times.

We’ve been feeling the ground shifting at Firefly.

It usually looks something like this:

“I really want to be here, but my head is pounding.”

…

Hi. We’re having a bonfire and you’re invited. When we decided to close our studio last fall, right away we started talking about gatherings. We kept coming back to the idea of a fire — a summer night with the crackle of wood, murmur of conversation, maybe water nearby.

As you may know, there’s a great big dream at the heart of all this.

I — all of us — want to one day open a Firefly Writing Centre, a farmhouse or big ol’ cabin somewhere in Southern Ontario, probably in or around Northumberland County.

Hi everyone — Kim here, one of the coaches at Firefly. One of my favourite things to do is talk to writers about their stories. I love getting to know and understand how different stories work, asking questions and bouncing ideas, watching writers uncover new arcs and strengthen hidden themes.

Here we are in the last wisps of the year, and I’m thinking about what I want to be a part of building in 2022. I say “part of” because I’m not interested in making things alone anymore. I actually think that whole idea is a sham.

Hello Kind One,

If you give gifts in December, or any time, finding the right one for a writer can be hard.

Hello Dear Heart.

It’s been a gorgeous five years at 1898 Danforth.

Hello beautiful community. It’s Coach Ailsa here. Ever since I moved to Canada, nine years ago, fall has been my favourite season.

Hello Sweet One. I’m sitting in the main room of the studio, early morning, with a ball of sadness in my throat.

Hello Beautiful Human.

Mid-August can be a little strange, can’t it? Whatever I do, I get tugged down by all the things I thought the summer would be.

Is anyone else feeling super awkward about this transition out of COVID-19 restrictions? I was somehow imagining a feeling of total freedom and safety, everyone out in the streets, in restaurants. Hugs are back, stores are open, take a lick of my ice cream, let’s go to the dentist. Of course that’s not what’s happening…

Hello! Sophia here, one of the writing coaches at Firefly, with a story. It was 2015 and I was in the deep woods of California, struggling to maneuver up a ropes course.

Has it been “one of those weeks”? Already?

I think we’re all feeling it… Like the tide is rising on our little island of okayness, and there’s less and less space to move. Maybe we’re already standing on one foot…

Here’s one thing I know but constantly forget about writing — it takes a lot more time than I think.
Not only time but patience.
Not only patience but surrender.
Not only surrender but generosity.