Some Pig

overcast, cold, highs 3

Well, we woke up to snow! In London. And I don't mean London, Ontario - and even there it would be surprising! It was forecast but I sure thought it wouldn't happen. Then lying in bed this morning I opened my eyes and through the slit between the blind and the sill I saw it. Huge flakes. Lots of them. And on the slate roof opposite? Snow - staying.

In the front room we could see snow covering the cars and bushes and balancing on the wrought iron fences. At one stage it was a veritable storm. Then sometime around 10 it stopped and by noon it had all melted - but not before neighborhood children went into the garden square, and played in it.

Worked on the book for most of the day. Now feeling much better about it. I know this is a familiar and perhaps necessary part of the creative process. Self-doubt. The struggles. Not a single writer, artist, musician I know doesn't suffer from it now and then. But it sure feels horrible, even knowing 'this too shall pass.'

Well, for now it has passed...yay! Had a lot of fun writing today. This fifth book is a real puzzle for Gamache et al. A classic mystery, with lots of smaller mysteries along the way. Let me throw one in, by way of example. One I had fun with today.

Some pig

What do those two words say to you? They're a small clue - and if you figure out what they mean I'm not giving anything away since you'll lack the context.

Some pig

Such fun, writing. Especially when it's going well. In fact, I'm thinking of calling the book 'Some Pig'. (I put this in just to see if any of my editors read this blog) What do you think? Some Pig by Louise Penny. Or better still - Louise Penny, Some Pig.

Speaking of which at 2:30 this afternoon Michael came into the dining room, where I'd established my writing beach head, and announced it was tea time and he was taking me to Patisserie Valerie. As most of you probably know this sort of decadence revolts me, but I felt I needed to support my husband, so I went.

I'd actually spent the entire day in my flannel pajamas and wondered fleetingly (and longingly) whether I really had to change? Would the people at Patisserie Valerie notice I was still in my pajamas?

Perhaps not, but Michael would. And while he's a man of immense tolerance, this might just test its limits.

So I changed, and off we went. He had a tea and a HUGE wedge of a strawberry cream cake and I had a cappuccino. No cake at all. Perhaps because yesterday I ate the entire flat, including, I think, a sofa. We're in talks with the Japanese to turn Saturday into a movie. Called, perhaps, Some Pig Ate Tokyo.

Back home now. I insisted we come back so I could watch the Grand National steeplechase. Been looking forward to it all day. Though we needn't have rushed...we actually had 364 days to wait. The race was yesterday.

Once again Michael's tolerance put to the test. He got over that jump very easily though, his good humour fueled by cake.

We're off for dinner to a restaurant called Racine with Alan Craft and his wife. We haven't met either before and I'm embarrassed to say we don't know his wife's name. But they probably don't know mine either. At least we know the name of the restaurant.

Then lunch tomorrow with Teresa Chris, my agent. Always a riot.

Will report in after that. Be well.