Mary, Charlie and Frances the Firefly

Before Frances the Firefly fluttered onto the page in her pink tutu, before the jars and the nets and the lesson about letting go...
There was a woman named Mary. A beautiful, brave, kind woman who never backed down from life. And there was a little old man named Charlie. What follows is the story of their unlikely friendship, and the kind of love that brought a whole nursing home back to life.

My mother had just lost her leg.
She was in a nursing home for rehab, healing not just her body, but the parts of herself the world had tried to take…freedom, dignity, joy. That would’ve been more than enough for anyone to carry. But my mother was not anyone.

She was a spark in motion.
Even in a wheelchair, she found a way to roll the halls like she owned them. And where there was a person in pain, she showed up. She had a radar for it, for loneliness, for grief, for the quiet rooms where laughter had gone missing.

That’s where she found Charlie.

Charlie was 88. He had been married his whole life, and when he lost his wife, he gave up completely. Without her, there was nothing left for him, or so he believed. He was tiny, frail, no teeth, the kind of man who looked like he belonged in overalls on a porch, chewing straw. A wiry old farmer, only hollowed out. He stayed in his room. Quiet. Faded. A man-shaped sigh.

And my mother? Well, she was officially on a mission. Every single day she wheeled herself down the hall and parked just outside Charlie’s door like it was her job. Like it was a front porch. And she started singing.

Not because she expected him to sing back. Just because no one else was.

Eventually, he started listening.
Then chuckling.
Then singing along.

And just like that, two unlikely best friends took over the whole damn nursing home.
The other residents didn’t know what hit them.
It was all laughter and rebellion and kindness with those two. My mother and Charlie. The hilltop royalty.

She even painted them once, her and Charlie, each in a wheelchair, up on a hilltop at dusk, arms reaching toward the stars, nets in hand, catching fireflies. That watercolor lives etched on my heart like a tattoo.

And that singular picture, painted by my mother nearly 30 years ago, was the spark. That’s when the idea for Frances the Firefly was born...
up on the hilltop the fireflies go, to dance in the fireflies' fireworks show...

A story born from kindness.
From generosity so contagious it gave a grieving man the courage to love again, even at 88, even when he had already given up.

Frances is really about that.
About what it means to love anyway.
To offer your light when you feel dim.
To open your heart when it feels safer to stay closed.

About what happens when you choose to glow anyway, even when the world (or your own heart) tells you to give up.
About how sometimes, the fireflies come back, just to remind you the light was always yours.

Even though Frances the Firefly is a children’s book,
if you know where to look, in the soft corners, the glowing jars, the quiet bravery ,
you’ll see it’s really about my mom.

And Charlie.

And how love can still surprise you…
even at the end of the hallway.
Even at the end of the story.

And now, all these years later, a little girl named Frances carries her name. She never met my mother, but somehow, in her joy, her boldness, her light, she carries her spirit. And maybe that’s the truest thing of all: love like that never really fades. It just finds new ways to glow.

Okay, but JUST ONE (Present… or Firefly, Coyote, or One Dirty, Rotten, Stinkin’ Raccoon)

I’ve always been the kind of person who says, “Let’s just open one present.” You know, just a tiny peek, just one little ribbon tugged loose on Christmas Eve. And okay, maybe one turns into two… and then suddenly the tree is looking suspiciously empty by morning. Oops.

It’s not really about the presents. It’s about the joy. I love joy. I love the part where someone’s eyes light up and say, “No way, really?” I want to pass that kind of feeling around like cookies at a party. I want to share it.

And lately? The joy has been showing up as stories.

Writing these books has flipped my “just one present” impulse into full-blown overdrive. First came Frances the Firefly, a soft, glowing story that still makes my heart flutter. Then Calvin and the Coyote, full of feathers, firelight, and memory. It feels like handing over little pieces of a shared past.

But now… there’s this dirty, stinkin’, rotten raccoon lurking in the corners of my imagination. And I can’t lie, I want to tell you everything. I want to show you the kid with the firefly t-shirt, the mayor with the oversized hairdo, and the raccoon who may or may not be misunderstood…

And his friend.

Because yes, he has one. A young crow who’s always stirring the pot: clever, quick, and never far when something funny (or slightly chaotic) happens.
And if you’re thinking, hmmm… a firefly? a crow?, then congratulations. You’re already spotting the easter eggs. I know, I’m no Taylor Swift, but she’s onto something. If I start naming chapters after my exes, you’ll know I’ve gone full Swift.

But I can’t share it all just yet.

If I go all-in on the raccoon right now, I risk overshadowing Frances and Calvin, who are still out there finding their readers. They deserve their moment in the sun.
If you haven’t read those yet, I hope you will. And if they land somewhere soft inside you, I’d be so grateful if you’d share them or leave a review. I know, I know… everyone asks. But here’s the truth: these stories matter to me, and they can’t travel far on their own. I’m one person with a full heart and a very small megaphone, trying to help them find their people. Maybe even yours.

That said… the raccoon is coming. And the countdown is officially on.

If you have kids (or grandkids) who love a little summer caper, or if you just need a 20-minute break when the “I’m bored” chorus begins this summer, head to Firefly & Fog and check the Books section. You’ll find a “Wanted” poster for one dirty, stinkin’, rotten raccoon. He’s been spotted. He’s up to something. And this spring, I’ll be sharing free printable activity pages to help track him down and build the excitement.

Think: raccoon sightings, silly name generators, coloring pages, reading trackers… all with a mischievous twist. It’s a sneaky little way to keep kids reading, drawing, imagining, and maybe even giggling while they wait for the full story.

More fun printables will follow the book’s release, but for now, let the springtime sleuthing (and silliness) begin.

Frances and Calvin still have their time to shine, and I’m so proud of them both.
But I’ll admit… I’m keeping one eye on the woods.
There’s rustling out there.
And maybe a feather, too.

P.S. If you know a kid, a parent, a grandparent, a teacher, or a curious grown-up who still believes in mischief and magic, I’d love for you to share this with them. Word of mouth means the world. And if you’d like first dibs on printables, peeks, and maybe a riddle or two, signing up is easy — and full of sparkle.
As always, I love you, I appreciate you, and I thank you.