Rain

lashing rain, freezing rain, snow, high winds....oh my. temps plus 3

What a roller coaster. Here's a photo out of the solarium just now. It's quite pretty actually. Like living inside a crystal or an igloo.

Still, it looks as though we'll lose most of our snow. A shame - but it sure is great to be at home, safe and warm. Awful day to be on a highway.

Sending the edit off to London and New York tomorrow morning, before Pina's exercise class. That'll feel wonderful. Had an interesting question on Facebook about the edit. Whether this is really the last edit, or another in the process. And the answer is yes, it's one in a process. But a big one. Getting the editor's notes and thoughts is huge. They could reject the book, or decide it needs major re-writing. Or none at all. Thankfully, most of the edits have so far been fairly small, but no less significant. It's such an interesting process - writing a book. It's both so individual and such a collaboration. Solo, yet also a team.

Part of the challenge is knowing which of the editor's notes to use and which ones not to. The vast majority I use - because I know Hope and Dan know and understand the books - and what I'm trying to do. And they trust where I'm going. And just want to help me get there, with the story lines but mostly the characters. Most of their notes have to do with clarifying something.

The trick is to do it with a light and gentle touch. Subtly, but not so subtle as to be completely obtuse.

the other thing I was reminded of when editing is the importance of space and time. Whenever I was unsure about a section, how to solve the issue, my instinct was to just plug away. But I've done this often enough to know that for me the best thing to do was the opposite. I needed to push the laptop away and go for a walk. Or have a bath. Or just relax and clear my mind. And an answer really does present itself. Sometimes it takes a day or so.

Trust.

As important as focus and quietude to a writer. Any answer I might have forced would have worked - but never as well as one that comes with time, and inspiration. And opening my mind. And heart. And just let it be.

This can be terrifying. I'm always convinced that while it worked in the past, it won't work now. Like that great scene from Little Big Man - where Chief Dan George knows he's dying and asked Dustin Hoffman to build a funeral bed and lay him there so he can die in peace. Next morning Dustin returns to see Chief Dan George lying there, at peace. Then the chief opens his eyes and gets up, shaking his head and says, 'Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't.'

that's how it feels when I'm editing. Wondering if the magic will work. It's a funny mix, this writing, of hard work and inspiration. Of discipline, experience, and something beyond our control.

And then just hoping for the best.

So glad I finished now! Yesterday I was saying to Michael that Christmas is only three weeks away. After saying that a few times he turned to me and gently said, 'Actually, it's two weeks away.'

Oh oh.

So have spent the past day madly writing cards, wrapping gifts, putting together boxes to be mailed. Sometimes we feel we start running first thing in the morning - and need to, just to keep a step ahead of the flood. Bet you know the feeling.

Now I just have to write synopsis of all my books for my foreign editors, a chapter for a Now Write book on writing crime novels, and a quote on Agatha Christie and Miss Marple for a re-issue of the Marple books.

And feed Trudy.

Still, I have to say, I can't think of a better way to spend a stormy day!

Hermits

rainy, cool, temps 3

Dreary day, but nice to sit by the fire and write. That's all I want to do now. And when I'm not writing I just want to sit in front of the television and veg out. Become mindless.

Yesterday was gorgeous, so Trudy and I went for a nice long walk through the forest, before I remembered about the bears. And the bear stick I'd left at home.

So we left. But this is a great time to walk through the woods - before the leaves come out and it's impassable.

A lovely Australian woman, Kerrie, is holding a draw for the UK version of THE CRUELLEST MONTH. If you're interested you might go to her blog at:
www.paradise-mysteries.blogspot.com

hope that works!

Had the best dinner with Susan at the cottage last night. Chicken curry. Yum!!! And she gave us a brioche loaf made by a baker in the village - which we ate most of this morning for breakfast. it was disgusting for anyone watching. Happily it was only Trudy and the birds.

Golf on TV this afternoon and a few phone calls I need to make. Still feeling behind, but not quite so frantic. Just need to keep up a steady pace. As long as the writing is going well, and it is, then the day is pretty well made. The rest pales.

But it also makes the blogs really, really dull since all I can think of is the book, the characters, who now seem more real than real people, and the action. I have no interest in the outside world. Thank God Michael's at the same stage with his book. We're happily oblivious hermits together.

Co-incidence? I think not

sunny, warm, highs 25

Unexpected - a gift of a day. It was supposed to be rainy and cool and instead it was sunny - without a cloud - and not just warm but hot.

Michael, Susan and I headed into Sutton and were at the market before 9am. it was already crowded. Besides the normal market vendors the local school had tables and various groups were selling goods too.

We went straight to the baking table. Bought a lemon meringue pie, a rhubarb upside-down cake, a lemon loaf. Susan bought a bag of home-made doughnuts and pan of cinnamon buns. Then it was over to the flowers. Ooops, I knew there was something I forgot to tell Lise. I bought 3 flats of annuals, including butter-yellow snapdragons.

There's a huge amount of junk at the market - and we examined and considered each and every piece - then bought lots, including a vase and six glasses. You know the kind we used to get peanut butter and jelly in? With black and red hearts, clubs, diamonds and spades? Well, we now own a bunch.

That reminds me - we went to the Knowlton Antiques show last night. packed - hot - and loads of fun. Met people I only see once or twice a year. In the car home I was saying how wonderful it is to be in a group of 200 people and be happy to see everyone. Not a single person I was trying to avoid, or wished wasn't there (or anywhere). Bought a very nice glass vase.

Oh - one other buy at the market - one of my own books!!! In a pile of second-hand books which we always pour over. I bought it.

The mayor couldn't come, but his very nice assistant did - Richard Godin. He still didn't tell us what the mayor of Sutton wants. But Monsieur Godin is the brother-in-law of a prominent Quebec publisher, so in our talks he said he thought the brother in law should publish my books in French.

I've found it quite baffling that my books are translated into (among other languages) German, Russian, Japanese - but not French!

So I gave Monsieur Godin the book I'd just picked up at the market. Now isn't that a co-incidence? Had I not seen it, or bought it, I wouldn't have had a book to give him. Love when things like that happen in life.

Wrote for a couple of hours this afternoon then met friends for a coffee at Le Cafetier on rue Principale. Then off to see more friends - and home now.

tomorrow, brunch with Cotton and Susan (Susan's cooking - two days ago I fed Michael, by mistake, a slab of butter and a piece of paper.)

Then more writing. Enjoying this section a lot.

Off to take the US proofs to bed. I tell you, this proof editor is driving me nuts! She's putting semicolons in dialogue, adding exclamation marks (I never put in exclamation marks - it's very lazy) and italicizing words in the middle of sentences to add emphisis, as though you're really too thick to know what's important yourselves. Ugh. Oh well, I'm nearing the end. And Hope - my real editor at Minotaur - has given me an extra week to finish and has promised this proof editor won't be allowed anywhere near another of my books. I really, really appreciate support like that. She's great.

Off to bed.

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.

Move the scaffolding, she's ready for her closeup

partly cloudy, high 2 degrees

Woke up to a couple of inches of snow on the ground. It's beautiful. I adore the first couple of months of winter. Until March. By St. Patrick's Day it's time winter was over. Now that would be a miracle worth having. If St. P managed to rid Quebec of all the snow.

Had a great email from Gary last night. He's our contractor - but he's also a great friend. He's one of those mystery people in our area. You think he's a great contractor and then find out for most of his life he was an incredibly successful and sought-after photographer. In fact, when you wander around Loblaws, a lot of their photos were taken by Gary. He's taken all my author photos. Marvelous to have a construction worker/photographer. First he stuccos and gyprocks me - gets me plastered, splashes on some paint - then takes the picture.

Anyway, Gary wrote to say in our absence the renovations to our bedroom/bathroom have sped along. Which I find frankly surprising. How could they have made such progress without my supervision and helpful advice?

Can hardly wait to see the progress. Right now we're camped in another bedroom, stuffed with all the clothing/furniture/books/lamps, detritus from the master suite. The mattress is on the floor, which means Trudy wakes us up every morning at about 5:30 with a wet nose to my nose. And a tail thumping the bedclothes. Some lucky mornings she brings her fluffy ball, which she's had since she was 6 weeks old, and thrusts that into our faces. Yum.

We leave Hovey Manor this morning. Sad. But looking forward to lunch with one of my best friends. A really gifted artist and writer. She's created a series of stunning children's books, and illustrated them herself. A New York agent is interested (not surprising, frankly - they're astonishing works) so we're going to have a celebratory and strategizing lunch. Cheryl Long is her name - and she happens to be Gary's wife!

Small world. Not actually unlike Three Pines.

Be well - and we'll talk tomorrow.