Arthur Ellis, Brother Charles, Manoir Hovey - oh my!

brilliant sun - cool - temps 14

Warming up. We're back home after an eventful - and unexpected - 24 hours!

As many of you might have heard...BURY YOUR DEAD has won the Arthur Ellis Award, given out by the Crime Writers of Canada - for Best Crime Novel of 2010!!! It is so deeply moving, and meaningful, to be recognized in my own country, by fellow writers, and readers.

The awards were announced at the Ellis banquet, held this year in the beautiful city of Victoria, British Columbia. Unfortunately, Michael and I couldn't be there - wrestling with writing! But Tony Bidulka, my friend and fellow crime writer, accepted for me. he was also the MC for the night. And a past nominee. If you don't know his, you must check out his books. Just look up Anthony Bidulka!

And congratulations to all the winners.

Stevie Cameron for her non-fiction book: On The Farm
Short story: So Much in Common, by Mary Jane Maffini, published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine.
Juvenile/young adult: The Worst Thing She Ever Did, by Alice Kuipers.
French: Dans le quartier des agités, by Jacques Côté.
First novel: The Debba, by Avner Mandleman.
John Jeneroux picked up the Unhanged Arthur Award, which recognizes the best unpublished first crime novel, for his manuscript Better Off Dead.

Yesterday began at 5:15, when our alarm went off. We hopped (well, that might be an exaggeration) out of bed and were in our cars by 6am. Michael in his 'real' car and me in the Volks beetle.

The beetle had a 7:20 appointment at the dealership, 1:20 minutes away in Sherbrooke.

We scooted there, arrived right on time, and handed it over....for its check up - but also to change the tires. I was still driving on the winter tires and even in Quebec, it's safe to change to regular tires by June.

Then we headed to Hovey manor for breakfast. ahhhh - bliss. Eating a honey, granny smith apple, mushroom and feta cheese omlet, while looking out over the rose garden.

I turned to Michael and said, 'I have an idea.'

Now, Michael's smiles range from the absolutely luminous - when told that lobster fest had begun in the village to polite, when told that Buttercup Penny - the hound from hell - would be visiting.

And then there was a special category of smile reserved for when I say, 'I have an idea.' More grimace, really, than smile now that I think of it.

He grimaced and asked what it was.

It turned out the car wouldn't be ready until late in the day - which meant we either fought rush hour traffic through Sherbrooke at 5pm - having driven an hour and twenty to even get to the city - or we could return the next afternoon. Still, frankly, a pain.

Or...

'Why don't we just stay at Hovey for the night?'

Now, this wasn't as insane as it sounds. Hovey is only about 15 minutes drive from Sherbrooke. We could stay the night, get up early, have breakfast, and drive to the dealership.

There was, however, a flaw, and you might have already seen it. Michael sure did.

'What about our clothes? And toothbrushes?'

Now, I could see he wasn't actually against the idea. In fact, his grimace had become a genuine smile - not lobsterFest luminous, yet, but getting there.

the other element in our day, as you might know, was the whole purpose of it really....being at Brother Charles's final vows. At 11am. At the monastery of Saint Benoit du lac. Which was about half way between hovey and home.

We looked at our watches and realized, given a good tailwind, we could rush home, throw some clothes in a bag and make it in time for final vows.

Off we raced. Got home...estimated we had 10 minutes to pack...ran around like mad. Packed the car. Raced off. ten minutes behind schedule. Fortunately, Lise was there and she lives close to St Benoit - and screamed the 'fast' directions to us as we roared out the driveway. Something about a rocket ship and either route 243 or 245.

We'd be fine, we told ourselves.

And, oddly enough, we were! We got to Saint Benoit with ten minutes to spare. Met Brother Raymond and other guests in the entrance. Found seats. And waited.

I'm not sure I can describe what it was like. All the monks in robes, of course. The abbot in special robes, with a shepherd's staff. The most magnificent organ music. And when the organ died away the monks, without accompaniment, began their Gregorian Chants. And then Brother Charles arrived and I don't think there was a dry eye.

It lasted 2 hours. Afterward, over dinner at Hovey, I asked Michael how he found it. We both, of course, found it deeply moving. To see a man we care about take such a profound step. After all his perseverence, his belief that this was what he was meant and made to do. To see his love of God, his faith. To hear the gentle and loving words of the abbot. To see Brother charles greet all of his brother monks not with a kiss, or a handshake, but by softly touching their heads together.

And then Brother Charles lying, prostrate, for 20 minutes. not budging. Not a quiver of his feet or hands or head. Absolute sublimation.

I asked Michael what he thought about, while the 2 hour service was going on. He said he spent the time praying for Brother Charles. For the Lord to bless him. And for the Lord to continue to shower Brother Charles with his love.

And what, Michael asked, did you think of.

oh oh.

The truth was, while I tried to pray for Brother Charles the whole time, I found my mind drifting. Sometimes to the book I was writing - and actually came up with some ideas. Sometimes to ridiculous things. I got to wondering if gummy bears had any natural ingredients at all. And what would be worse...a spoonful of gummies or a spoonful of canned whipped cream.

And then I remembered to pray for Brother Charles.

And then I wondered if the brothers played any other instruments, or just the organ. And then I wondered how old the organ was. And then I wondered how long a person could live eating just gummie bears. And then I wondered if monks ate gummies.

And then I remembered to pray for Borther Charles.

And so it went.

But I have to say - it was beautiful. The joy was evident. Their adoration evident. And the love Brother Charles has for his community and them for him was evident. It was like watching a particularly beautiful, and gentle, wedding.

then we all went into the basement for a special lunch, celebrating his final vows.

And then - Michael and I went to the monk's shop and bought three things - for you. To thank you for being my writing community. For joining me in Three Pines, and following Armand on his travels, both external and internal.

for always being with me - whether the news is good (like today!!) - or not so good.

What we got are: A box of chocolate covered cranberries, handmade by the Trappist monks in Mistissani Quebec. They're a fabulous as they sound, and it's a miracle they haven't been eaten yet!

A CD of the St Benoit monks singing their world famous Gregorian chants.

And a tote bag, with the monastery on it.

Now, feel free to enter for all three - or if there's one you'd like more than the others, please tell me. I know, for instance, some of you would love the chants - but some of you would rather not be given that. so, if you'd rather not have the chants, please let me know.

To be put in the draw, just write to me at: contact@louisepenny.com just put in the subject line which of the gifts you'd like - or all of them - that's good too!

I'll do the draw tomorrow afternoon. Random.

From there, Michael and I went back to Hovey - and after a fabulous dinner of smoked salmon and duck (for michael) and fiddlehead soup and halibut for me - I heard the amazing news about the Arthur Ellis.

What days we have. I know God loves Brother Charles - but we sure feel blessed too.

Thank you for being a part of it.

final vows

sunny, hot, windy, storm warning out. temps 30 degrees

We finally fled Montreal and are back out in sutton. Stunning summer day. What a season! So completely unpredictable.

I wrote this morning - a fun scene....though now I realize I got one of the character's character wrong. Need to go back tomorrow and fix it. And ads Michael drove out in the beetle - top down much of the way - other thoughts came. So that when I'm finished writing to you I'll go and make notes. fun stage to be at. The end game. And pieces falling into place, some by design, but much fortuitously. How strange, it always seems to me, how much of a book is by chance.

Despite my best efforts, this will be a hideously long first draft. So I'll need much of the summer to edit. It's always a balancing act. No use me diving immediately into an edit the day after I finish the first draft...since I'm WAY too close. I need to disconnect, get distance and perspective...then be able to go at it and read it with fresh eyes. As you might read it.

And so the mistakes will be more obvious. and, if I time it right, as soon as the scene, or character, or plot goes wrong, I'll know it. It's often upsetting - and I can spend an embarrassing amount of time pretending it's just fine, before going back and fixing it...but wow, so much easier when you 'know'...even if I live in denial for a while.

Tomorrow is a day Michael and I have been looking forward to for a long time. As some of you might remember, last fall and winter Michael and I went to a local benedictine monastery, Saint-Benoit-du-lac. It's famous in quebec for it's cheeses and it's chants. Gregorian chants.

My next novel (the one I'm just now finishing) was going to be set in a monastery and I needed to do research. So I called up, spoke to the prior (who spoke some english, but not all that much. and was just charming). He immediately understood and invited us to stay a night with them, in a cell. I actually thought I'd have to stay in the nunnery next door, but when we arrived, they'd put us in their presidential suite. Though I suspect no president has stayed there - but they'd be welcome.

The Benedictines have taken, among other vows, a vow of hospitality. Lucky us! And they take it seriously.

the prior, smart man that he is, quickly handed us over to Brother charles. And within minutes a deep friendship was formed. We just fell in love with him. He's an American, who converted a few years ago...came to Quebec. learned French. And was in the final stages of becoming a benedictine monk. He was also in charge of their archives and library. An avid and voracious reader - he also happens to love crime fiction!!! And have quite a mind for it.

A partnership made in heaven.

For the next 24 hours Michael, Brother Charles and I walked the halls, went into places few ever get to see, sat in on private prayers. heard the monks sing their famous chants. It was increasingly peaceful. Restful. Beautiful. It's a time neither Michael nor I will forget.

As I've been writing I'll get in touch with Brother Charles and ask questions, about their lives and their music and their prayers and vocations. He answers every question, quickly and clearly and with good humour.

And tomorrow, Brother Charles is taking his final vows. He asked if Michael and I could be there, and we didn't hesitate. What a beautiful thing to witness. Above is a photo of him (with Michael bulging from the archives - not properly filed.)

Oh, one other note...in sending out the newsletter today I made a geographical error. Actually, it was a stupid mistake. I placed North Conway in Vermont instead of New Hampshire - where I knew it was! Just one of those mind-burps. Pardon me.

I'll be there at White Birch books this fall, to make up for having to cancel due to a sudden flu last fall. When I have a date I'll let you know!

Have a terrific evening. We'll fire up the barbeque and see what happens. I'm trying to convince Michael to do in the pool. Water still to cold for me. I'm delicate, you know.

Speak soon.

A Night at the Monastery

very fine snow, mild, temps minus 3

A Night at the Monastery. Sounds like a Marx Brothers film. Or, maybe even, a murder mystery! Michael and I spent last night at Saint-Benoit-du-lac, the Benedictine Abbey on the shores of Lac Memphremagog. We've been there often. It's fairly close to our home and a magical place, even for heathens like us. Hard to sit in the austere, simple, but still spectacular church and not feel at peace. such a quiet, tranquil place.

The monastery is famous for its cheese (having won many awards especially for their blue cheese) and their Gregorian chants. Now, being a heathen, I didn't know what they were except that they're a form of religious singing. Very old.

I'd been to mass at the monastery and heard the chants - and bought the CD of the monks, and I knew they're world famous for their choir. But I hadn't really quite grasped what was so special about it.

We arrived at about 11am. Sat through the euchariste mass. some chants.

then, over the course of 24 hours we went to every service,(about a thousand of them) and finally, I understood. Or, really, I didn't understand but I suddenly 'knew'. In my body. What had been vaguely uninteresting, dare I admit, boring, suddenly became deeply, achingly beautiful. peaceful. healing parts of myself I didn't know were damaged.

The most moving mass, for me, was Compline - the last service at night. There were few people in the pews - Michael and me, a couple others. And the black robed monks at the front of the very simple church. The lights were dimmed - then turned out completely. Except for two small lights at the front. And then they started to sing. No accompaniment. Just their voices. sometimes all together, sometimes what sounded like a call and response.

I have a deep and personal faith, but have not felt the need to go to any church. I pray in our field, and infront of the fireplace, and in bed. I've never felt that being in a church amplified my prayers, or made meditation easier or clearer. Others do, and that is wonderful for them. But it simply hadn't been my personal experience. Though I'm fascinated by religion.

But sitting in the darkened church, listening to the monks, was divine.

Add to that that they'd given Michael and me rare access to their lives. We were allowed behind doors normally locked. And, as a woman, it is rare to be actually allowed to sleep in the monastery. Michael and I were given a wonderful suite of rooms. And then, despite a vow of silence they spoke openly to us. About community life, about their choices. We spent most of our time with Brother Charles - a charming, funny, vibrant monk - who is actually their archivist. We were given a tour of their cheese factory, and it had been arranged for us to tour their cider house, but we ran out of time today. But Father Abbott gave us an hour of his time too, and we had a fabulous (at least from our pov) conversation. Mostly about the monastic life, and what makes life in St Benoit different than other abbeys.

The book I'll begin writing in March is a murder set in a Quebec monastery - though not St. Benoit. It's too identifiable, and so way too constricting for me. But the brothers have made it clear they'd be happy to help with insight into life in a monastery. To allow their lives and choices to act as a springboard and inspiration.

The book, obviously, won't romanticize or glorify, that life. But I hope it will be true to their choices. Both Michael and I were deeply impressed by what seemed their genuine humility. And certainly their kindness to strangers.

Then we headed home today - back into the world which last night seemed not to exist anymore, so complete was the sense of the abbey as a universe unto itself. Another world. Not ideal. Certainly not everyone's choice. Not an easy life. But a life unlike the one we left, and returned to. One that offered peace and quiet.

What an amazing job I have - when this is work.