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.

re-booting

cool, overcast, highs minus 5

Well, all the melting snow from the last few days has now frozen, so the sidewalks and roads are ice again. This is disconcerting when walking, of course. Not only perhaps falling and breaking a wrist or leg or hip - but falling into traffic. Still, when a cafe au lait calls from the bistro, I must answer. My duty as a Quebecoise.

Yesterday was extremely frustrating. On paper it was a 'day off' - which meant a day when all I had to do was write. LOVE those days. When I'm writing I hate distractions. Sadly, that comes to mean social events, phone conversations, grocery shopping. Anything. I become extremely focussed and absorbed and solitary. Enter my own little world. So days when no one is coming over, there are no breakfasts, lunches or dinners, no meetings or events are just heaven.

Yesterday was supposed to be one of those days. But, as you can gather, it didn't quite work out. Nothing big, just a series of small irritations that normally wouldn't be irritations at all. Even great things become slightly annoying when I'm trying to write. I have no idea how people with children write books!

Though there was one quite large irritation - the laptop froze. In the middle of a sentence. I have no idea why, or what I touched to bring this one, but it was something. I could move the cursor with the mouse, but nothing on the keyboard worked. So I re-booted (happily I could still save). And still nothing, which was surprising. Re-booting normally works. I find it works when I'm having a bad day too. Sit quietly, turn off for a few minutes, then re-boot.

But this time nothing. Michael, dear man, tried to fix it (after I'd hit every key many times and even did the kiddie thing of whacking the keys with my hands. Strangely, that didn't work either)

God bless Michael. He gave me his desk-top. I think he was afraid I was going to re-boot him.

So the book continues. Little dramas to keep things interesting. Laptop still frozen, but then lots of things are in Quebec right now.

Heard from Sharon Sutherland yesterday - a great friend upon whom Clara is party based. Clara is actually a kind of prism of lots of friends, male and female, and myself. But mostly, of course, Clara has found a life of her own, independent of me, it often seems. But a large part of the inspiration came from Sharon - a really wonderful artist. I suddenly realized she has a website and thought I should link to it, so you can all see her works. So I asked and she said yes. Will take a few days to organize this, but I'll let you know when it's up.

You know, one thing (besides Michael and the puppies) that sustains me as I write is hearing from readers. Sort of helps give me purpose and reminds me that there are people who feel the same way I do about Three Pines and the characters. So I don't want you to think your emails aren't welcome or are an intrusion in this time of focus. In fact, just the opposite.

I just felt like a shy little girl telling someone they were my best friend. Funny how vulnerable I can suddenly feel. Perhaps that's all part of writing too.

Take care, be warm and I'll try to write tomorrow.

I keep the book in my head - actually in the gaps of my teeth

overcast, gray, snow turning to rain, highs plus 2

Michael's doing his new back exercises and I'm getting caught up on emails. Had a good day yesterday running around going to appointments. Michael's eyes are VERY good. And his back is doing well.

I went to the periodentist for a cleaning. Quite like the periodentist. Gives me time to think. Realized I had a word wrong in the manuscript, and came up with a couple of small ideas. It's a quiet time in the day, except for my occasional squeal when the nerve gets hit. Or the woman doing the cleaning makes tsking sounds. It was pretty much an hour of squeal, tsk, squeal, tsk.

Apparently I have some rather large gaps between my gums and some teeth. Small communities live in there, and I'm planning a condo development. Perhaps, on snowy days, I can park the Volvo in there too.

Heard from the UK publicist and I have an event with Brian Freeman, a wonderful American writers of mystery/thrillers, at Heffers books in Cambridge, at 12:30 on Thursday April 17th. Also have a critics and booksellers party to go to in London the night before. And Sherise, my editor at Headline, wrote to pass mon a wonderful review of The Cruelest Month in the Birmingham Post, by Mike Ripley - one of the funniest and warmest men in the business. He teaches Crime Fiction at Cambridge, as co-incidence would have it.

They're also exploring the possibility of my doing a cruise with Cunard lines...being one of their guest speakers. Wouldn't that be fantastic?

Wasn't going to write yesterday, but gravitated back to the laptop in the Montreal apartment and ended up putting in 4 hours. Not all that many words added, but fine tuning some of the stuff I had and adding some descriptions. I realize I'm not all that great at physical descritpions. I keep forgetting to put them in. Partly, I think, because I see the people so clearly. Partly because I figure you all know what the village and the characters look like (short sighted, really, since many people come to the series late). But mostly, I've come to realize (a dental chair revelation) because I'm concentrating on their inner selves and not actually all that interested in what they look like on the outside. I think I've gotten better at realizing the editors are absolutely right, and people want to 'see' the characters, not just feel them. So I was doing a bit of that yesterday.

Must be off. Breakfast - cafe au lait at a local cafe with fresh fruit while Michael has cafe au lait and something (anything) with bacon. Yesterday it was a fruit filled crepe with maple syrup and whipped cream! Boys.

Speak to you tomorrow and hope this finds you well.

Super Game

mild, clear, highs minus 2

We're in Montreal. Apartment not producing odd smells, but then neither is it producing hot water. Always something. Oh, well. We have cold pizza in the pridge and all is right with the world.

Watched the Super Bowl last night. Very exciting. Turns out I was rooting for the Giants. (I'm not just saying that because they won). I realized I was when the game began and I was thrilled when they got a field goal in their first possession. I really like football. My favorite sports, except, perhaps soccer.

Michael rooted for the Patriots...and I did feel horrible for them, especially those terribley long faces on the bench when NY scored with 29 second left. Oh oh.

Must run - doctors appointments start at 8 and it's 7:45.

Writing went well yesterday. Another 2,000 words. I know mI'm really in to the book when I stop obssessing about the word count. Like a dieter counting calories.

Did someone say diet?

Off we go. Take care

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.

The light thrown by Terry Fox

snow, fairly heavy, windy, highs minus 5

Well, the car is buried under about 6 inches of snow and about half an inch of ice. Snow plow just showed up to dig the driveway out. Had to scream 'Cookies, treats!' to get Maggie and Trudy in when I heard the plow coming. These snowplows are huge things - they look almost prehistoric, with massive metal claws and shovels and flashing lights. And the guy in the glass cabin can barely see for all the snow he's shovelling and blowing, on top of the snow naturally falling. And our dogs aren't really traffic trained. Nor, it must be said, are they all that bright. Beautiful, huge hearts that I think are so big they've squeeze space from their brains. I expect they'd be no match for the snow beast.

Happily yelling, 'Cookies, treats!' does the trick. Michael also came running, so the whole family is safe.

Lovely to be snug at home as more snow falls. It's supposed to end by this afternoon, but we're in a kind of microclimate up here. On a plateau. The top of one mountain, surrounded by other mountains. We'll be snowing and 1 kilometer away down the road it'll be sunny. We quite like it. We sort of disappear into the clouds some days. They might be harvesting bananas in Sutton today, for all we know.

Started the next book yesterday. Sat by the fire. Said a little prayer. Stared at the blank page then fell in to it, like off a cliff. Trusting I can fly after all.

Had set a goal, a minimum, of 500 words. I normally aim at 1,000 words a day but have found I need to be gentle and kind to myself at first. I want to enjoy the writing and not set a goal too high or frightening. Turns out, I wrote the whole first chapter - slightly over 2,000 words.

I LOVE this book.

But as I stared for that minute at the blank page, feeling all the fears swimming about beneath, I remembered what I once read about writing. This person (I believe someone famous, perhaps one of you can attribute this) said writing a book is like driving between New York and San Francisco at night. You can't see your destination. All you can see is to the end of your headlights. And that's all you really need to see. So just go as far as the end of your headlights. Then again. And again. And eventually you'll arrive.

How lovely. And kind. And for me, true.

I also remember reading Douglas Coupland's recent biography of Terry Fox, the young Canadian who'd lost a leg to cancer and decided in 1980 to run across the country to raise money for research. At first no one paid any attention, but after a while the whole country was rivetted on this handsome boy, with his funny hop and clenched fists, making his way one painful step at a time - running. Across the country.

Coupland was given access to Terry Fox's diaries, and in it Terry said much the same thing. Every morning when he woke up his intention wasn't to run across Canada. That would be too daunting, far too scary. Instead, his goal was to run to the next corner. Then the next, then the next. Beautiful.

And that's what I do when writing books. I know, clearly, the eventual goal. I have a map even. But if I thought everyday about what was ahead in the coming months I'd crawl back to bed. Couldn't do it. But what I can do is run to the next corner. (fueled by cookies and treats)

So, it's off to the next bend in the road this morning.

Terry Fox ended his run halfway across the country. His cancer had come back. He died in 1981, at the age of 22. We still hold Terry Fox runs, and every Canadian school child knows about him, and raises money in his name.

Be well, and I'll let you know how my own run is going. If you're a writer too, just aim for the corner, even if it's only a few steps ahead.

Once upon a time...

cloudy, mild, high minus 2 - storm warning! 20 cms of snow & freezing rain

LOVE storms, glad I'm not on the highway, though.

Over dinner last night (Italian restaurant closed, so we ended up at the Internationale eating pear and turnip soup followed by wild boar and blueberry sausages.) Cotton explained she suggested the French subtitled Chinese film because it's called STILL LIFE. Fun! I'd even read a rave review of it.

However - wish I could sound very sophisticated and say I loved it, darling. But I didn't. Long silences. French subtitles came and went in a flash, so I caught very little. Chairs were concrete and the big haired woman in front kept moving her head to block out my view. I eventually shut my eyes and listened to the music. At the end we agreed there might just be a cultural divide between Shanghi and Sutton. I suspect the film was brilliant I was dull, but I often suspect that.

Starting the next book this morning. Laptop up and ready by the fire. Fire laid and ready for match. Coffee pot on. Storm approaching. Three Pines awaits. I even know my first line. A line I've waited 40 years to use.

Il etait une fois.