In the mean time

overcast, light snow, highs minus 4

The reason I know the forecast is because I listen to my friend Mike Finnerty on CBC Radio One in Montreal. Mike and I worked together in Quebec City centuries ago, when he was just starting and I was a senior journalist. I moved to Montreal and when he came too a year or so later we re-established our friendship and became quite close. Even, dare I admit it, collaborated on a script for Star Trek: The Next Generation. The agent who sold many scripts to the programme read it and took us on, but sadly the show was cancelled shortly afterward.

Mike and I began working together on the same radio show, and as can happen when two strong willed people come together at work, we had a falling out. It was an excrutiatingly slow process. We'd pretend all was well, but quietly hurt each other. we'd have periods when we didn't speak (on a team, that really isn't good). It was unbelievably painful to lose a friend like that, and in so public and obvious a way. And to have to still work together so closely every day.

Horrible.

Eventually Mike quite and I followed shortly afterward. Mike went on to a fantastic, stellar career at the BBC in London. I, of course, was consumed with jealousy. Not only was my sworn enemy doing brilliantly, but he was doing a job I'd have loved to have had in a city I adore.

But with the passage of time something happened. We both grew up. I can't remember whether he contacted me or I contacted him, but when I was in London a couple of years ago promoting STILL LIFE we got together for lunch. I was very afraid. Afraid perhaps I'd buried my putrid emotions rather than letting them go. So easy to mistake the two. Afraid of being alone, over a long, long meal with someone I no longer had anything to say to.

But there was something I wanted to tell him.

He met me at Broadcasting House in London. I was curious to see whether my envy had followed me there, shadowed me. But I felt nothing, except unease at seeing him. And wondering if I'd turned fat, drab, dull in the meantime. He showed up, and was all bright and smiling and wonderful. The Mike I'd loved as a friend so many years ago.

He gave me a fascinating tour of the BBC and his offices and the programmes he oversaw, and with each step my dread lessened.

Then over lunch I said the one thing I'd wanted to say to him for a long time. I told him I was sorry. I'd been a horses ass, and behaved very badly. And I wanted to apologize.

It was a lovely, quiet, peaceful moment in a frantic London lunch hour restaurant.

He smiled and said he was sorry to.

And we left it at that. No need for a catalogue. But it was clear we both felt differently. The old resentments had been let go.

I remember reading somewhere, and probably writing, that time doesn't heal old wounds. Time, on its own, does nothing. With some people (and all my books are based on this) time makes old wounds fester. I write about it because I've seen it in people. People who let go of nothing. They might think they have, they certainly claim to have. But it's still there. One resentment piled on others, because if you hold on to one slight you hold on to many. Until finally resentment turned to bitterness and bile.

No, time does nothing. It's what we do with time that matters. If you want to let things go, heal, move on, forgive and be forgiven - then time is your friend.

I know that about myself. I feel things deeply, perhaps too deeply. I get my feelings hurt. And sometimes I hurt others, by mistake or on purpose. But I never hold on to anger. Sometimes it takes minutes to pass, sometimes decades. But with each moment I'm working to let it go. If only because I don't want to be shackled to that person for the rest of my life.

It was a moment of great grace, in that London restaurant, when Mike and I started on the long road back to friendship and trust.

And now he's back in Montreal. He stayed in our apartment while getting himself sorted here and preparing to take over as host of the flagship CBC radio show. And he comes down to the country and stays with us, getting to know Michael and Michael him.

We feel a bit like a family, with Mike as a brother. In fact, he's almost exactly the same age as my beloved younger brother Doug.

And I'm genunitely proud of him and thrilled for him and his happiness is mine.

And it's a relief.

Michael and I are off to Quebec City today - 2 1/2 hour train trip - wonderful! Staying at a hotel in the Old City. Going out for dinner tonight with our great friend Susan McKenzie, then doing the national CBC Radio show, Sounds Like Canada with Shelagh Rogers tomorrow morning. If you live in the Quebec City area, come on by - it would be such fun to see you there. It's between 9 and 10:30 - in the Chateau Frontenac, overlooking the astonishing St. Lawrence river.

I probably won't write for a few days but will tell you all about it later.

Be well.

Let's hope I'm not writing the 'long bomb'.

Overcast, light snow expected, mild, highs minus 2

We're off to Montreal today - plan to spend almost a week away from the country home, though it's actually quite fun. Feels like a vacation. We have lots of doctors and dentists appointments - happily just check-ups. Amazing how many pieces need to be checked-up as we age. Taking the car in to be serviced. It's a Volvo. We love it. Not completely co-incidently, Gamache drives a Volvo.

Speaking of him, I continued writing the book yesterday - the scene that introduces Gamache, Beauvoir etc. Each scene I write, particularly at the beginning, needs to have at least two purposes, so the story is driven along. Often, especially at the beginning, the purposes are scene and tone setting (crucial at the opening of any novel), pace setting, introducing characters and often a clue or red herring. The clues are sometimes physical, sometimes psychological or emotional...common threads.

But, most of the time, the exact method of doing all this - the contents of the scene, are a mystery to me until I actually sit down and write. Now, sometimes at the end I think - well, that's crap. That just doesn't work. But often I sit back and wonder where it came from. So many unexpected things happen. That's the beauty of planning, but not over doing it. It's a learning process, and I do it imperfectly, but I really need to leave space for inspiration. Perhaps even the divine. Those moments when ideas appear on the page out of the blue, or themes are sharpened without my even planning it. How wonderful that feeling is. Way makes up for all the agonizing and insecurities and fears.

I remember reading about Hitchcock, who was a famous planner. He story-boarded everything...every scene, so that it looked like a graphic novel before he shot a frame of film. He said that was the creative bits....as a result, the actual filming bored him to tears. I'd rather not get to that stage - so scrutinize and organize and plan a book that there was no room to breath, to see where a scene went. And not enjoy the writing.

Must run - pack up for Montreal - then on to Quebec City on Thursday for CBC radio's Sounds Like Canada. (If you live in Quebec City, we'll be doing the national radio show live at the Chateau Frontenac on Friday morning, starting at 9am. - come along and say hi to Shelagh Rogers, my friend Susan McKenzie ((she's a CBC network producer)) and Michael and me)

I'll be writing this morning, then driving to Montreal in the afternoon, ordering pizza and watching the Super Bowl. Not sure who to root for. Who doesn't love an underdog? So I'm drawn to the Giants. But also really hate to see the Patriots remarkable streak come to an end. And as much as I try not to like Tom Brady I do. I think he's just an amazing athlete, and I admire that. Great poise. Great courage. So really, whoever wins, I'm happy. I suspect that might be a female thing.

Speak soon, be well.