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!

Death, thou shalt die.

Sunny, beautiful day, temps 13

Went to a tiny village called Tibenham yesterday for John Buxton's funeral. It was a beautiful event. Emotional, but didn't feel catastrophic. He was 75 and had seen his death coming, as had we all. And he talked about it easily, though admitted to Michael in private moments, that there were times he was afraid, and times he was in a rage about dying. And we felt that same way about losing him.

but finally, like with most death, it was a celebration of his life. And all the people he loved. And who loved him, including his wife Moira and children Jocelyn and Nigel and Dee and Patrick. And his grandchildren. And his friends and family. And Michael.

We sat at the back of the very old church. It's tiny and was crowded. The rafters and ceiling looked like the hull of a viking ship. It is a very simple, very clear church. Very lovely. And in the background were the bells John and Moira had had re-made a few years ago. The church was founded centuries ago by one of John's ancestors...another John Buxton. Many of his ancestors are buried beneath of the huge stones of the church floor. That wasn't possible for our John, but he did ask that he be allowed to lie there for one night, in his coffin, before being buried as close to the church as they could.

And so he did.

the service was simple as well, with his brother in law George doing a very lovely eulogy. And John's two sons reciting a Sonnet by John Donne - chosen by John. The one that begins, Death be not proud...

It was very moving to see his two boys, grown men now, so dignified.

Then the graveside service.

It was blowing a gale...the worst storms of the year for England. Rail service was disrupted, trees and electric lines down. Lashes of rain at the grave intermingled with huge leaves torn from trees.

It was very, very Gothic. I think we all appreciated how macabre and dramatic it was. Especially standing amid moss covered old tombstones beside the tiny church.

In fact, as we entered I noticed the marker commemorating the men of the parish who had died in the world wars. And I remembered that that was where I got the inspiration for the memorial window in the chapel in Three Pines. Beneath the list of names was written, simply, They Were Our Children.

After the service we went back to the Swan pub. Very old, half-timbered...small, comfortable rooms, each with an open fire. and out the leaded glass windows the storm continued. Then Peter, a friend of the family, who has helped us a great deal in the past two weeks on our visits to John and Moira, drove us to the train station. Thankfully our train wasn't disrupted. We made it back to Liverpool Street station, then home on the underground. By the time we emerged the storm was over. And today we awoke to a brilliant, sunny, new day.

Spent the morning on the last 20 pages...almost finished. Need to be so careful, so clear, at the end. We're off now for a Japanese lunch, then more editing this afternoon. I'm determined to be finished this draft by bedtime tonight.

Be well. Thank you for holding our hands through this, and coming to the funeral. We so appreciate it.

Seeing the lightning, if not the light...

overcast, cool, temps 18

Almost jumped out of my skin last night. The rain came teeming down and was so ferocous I went onto the screen porch to watch it. thunder, lightning. Then a huge flash of fork lightning. I leaned forward to start counting how far away it was and -

KABOOM!

I had my answer! The storm was right overhead...and seemed to have lodged in my chest. I'm not at all afraid of storms (though Gary told us a terribly frightening story of having to hide on a golf course during a storm as trees exploded from lightning strikes all around them!!) but this boom terrified me. There actually seemed to be a percussion about it.

Went out last night to a meeting...dashing from car to door, getting soaked...the out to dinner with David and Lili. They have a stunning home and a fabulous view across a valley to the Vermont mountains beyond. David James is a very talented sculptor...specializing in glass. Lili is a marketing exec and sits on a huge number of boards, including the Montreal symphony. It was very relaxing being with them since we know them so well.

But coming home we would see the lightning in the distance...like a battle. Quite disconcerting, especially since the storm seemed stalled over our home. But everything turned out OK.

Deer are making a meal of the garden. funny, because there's so much else to eat in summer, it seems unfortunate to eat our flowers. Discouraging, especially for Lise, to see all her hard work eaten. Not sure we'll see a single daylily this year.

Did a huge amount of editing today...still haven't fixed the problem. Actually, I have edited out the problem...but haven't found a solution. Am hoping for a miracle, or perhaps a direct lightning strike.

Have eleven more pages to go. Will finish tomorrow...I hope! Then get to a bunch of things piling up that need to be done before Wednesday.

If you're in the Toronto, Kingston, Peterborough area, come by the Lakefield Literary Festival next weekend...it's just outside Peterborough, Ontario. I have a 2pm panel discussion. To be honest, I've forgetten who else is on the panel - but I'm sure they're much more interesting than me. Hope so!

Have a Thursday interview in Montreal with Hannah, the host of the CBC Summer book club - then driving to Peterborough Friday. Hope to get to the Musee d'art contemporaine (or MAC) in Montreal on Wednesday afternoon or Thursday morning. I hear they have a terrific exhibition on native art.

I don't know if I'm editing this too fast. the advantage is that I see very clearly where the repetitions are, where the holes are...but I might not be actually enjoying the writing, and appreciating where the 'art' works and where it doesn't. But maybe that's for the next edit, which I plan to start as soon as I return from the Lakefield festival.

Time to think about dinner. There's broccoli up in the vegetable garden already! Will go out and harvest some for dinner.

Talk tomorrow.

International Cuisine

snowy, mild, temps about freezing

Well, we're home! We actually left Quebec City yesterday on the 5:30 train. It started to snow before we arrived in Montreal around 9pm...our plan was to see how we felt, but try to drive out to the country if we could, since a storm was coming in.

And that's what we did. Loaded up the car and skidaddled out of there.

Not the happiest drive, but we got here, so it wasn't too bad either!!

Lise had done the most amazing job of organizing Michael's study, and other parts of the home. I hate mess. well, some I can live with. the only thing that stresses me more than mess is everything too neat and tidy.

Our home is never too neat and tidy...but it sometimes slops over into chaotic.

So, while we were away the wonderful Lise had her way with the home. And what a happy home we came back to. Wow. And - to make absolutely certain she's in our wills, Lise left me a huge vat (as opposed to a small vat) of gummi bears, and Michael a big dark chocolate bar.

She is now our main beneficary. She inherits mounds of papers, magazines, books, gummis. A real wealth.

It's great to be home. I had a long, bubble bath. Michael opened the mail.

And Pat had made us a lovely dinner. So tonight I threw it in the over and heated it up. Too much. It came out very hot and very dry. It was like eating Arizona. Our meals are more often irish. Cool and wet.

Hard to say what Michael prefers. But I know something for sure...as fabulous as Quebec City was - his favorite meals are Sutton meals.

Birds, boots and breakfast

Snow storm, temps minus 5


We skiddadled out of Manoir Hovey before breakfast - a catastrophe really since the day before we'd had (besides their buffet of fruit, home-made granola, cheeses and warm croissants) the 'inspiration' of the day - an omelette with guyere, honey, wild mushrooms and cooked apples. Dear Lord.

But we awoke to snow, and lots more forecast, and we knew while we needn't be on the highway long it is a particularly treacherous stretch. So we packed, paid and zipped out. As it was, one lane was already snow-clogged. But we crawled along, reached Sutton, did some shopping and went into Chez Camil for breakfast. A friend came in shortly after that and joined us. Wonderful to sit inside with coffee and scrambled eggs and see the snow intensify. And know we're safe.

A foot expected. (of snow).

As soon as we got home and unloaded the car I went to feed the birds, again. Good God, it's amazing they can fly, with all the food they eat. We must have the fattest birds in Canada. We can open a theme park. Waddle World.

Of course, in my enthusiasm to feed them I forgot I didn't have my big winter boots on...just the 'driving' winter boots. I learned that lesson the hard way...never drive in the huge gallumpin' boots. I ended up parked in the lobby of the local Knowlton bank that way. Interestingly it was a few years ago, also returning from Hovey in a huge snowstorm. This was even more nerve-wracking. White-knuckling it on the highway through the blizzard...literally praying to see the turn off and dreaming of the moment we arrive back. Well we did, and had to stop at the bank, so I pulled in and put on the brake. But my boots were so huge my foot actually came to rest on both the gas and the brake at the same time. The car, aided by the slippery snow, zoomed side-ways, jumped the curb, went up the handicapped ramp and hit the bank. As Michael told it later to the insurance people, 'We knocked over the bank'. Michael, by-the-way could hardly wait to spill the beans on me. Even before they'd really answered the phone at the insurance agency he was saying, 'My wife did it.'

Sadly, that was actually true.

So now I have my 'walking in the snow' big boots. And my 'driving and staying on the road' smaller boots.

But now the big friggin birds are fed and I have snow inside my jeans up to my knees.

Still, we're home, and safe, and satisfied. Nowhere to go for 2 days.

Hope you're safe and sound, healthy and happy. Talk tomorrow.

New York, New York - I can't make it there!

overcast, flurries in forecast, temps minus 6

Bed is the perfect climate.
Noel Coward

Well, the biggest, honking storm I've ever seen hit us yesterday - and through last night. It ended at around 6 this morning. I know, because I was up at 4:30. Checked my Air Canada flight to NYC - cancelled. They said I could re-book by calling this number - so I called this number and sat on hold for - get this - 4 hours! I'm not kidding. At one stage I called Michael in the country and said, 'I'm not sure if I've just ended up on hold and they've forgotten about me - maybe I called the wrong Air Canada number, can you try?' So he tried and couldn't even get onto hold - they weren't taking calls anymore. Recorded message said whole Eastern Seaboard was shutdown and there was a HUGE volume of travellers trying to re-book. Bugger off. That last part was mine.

So at 8:30 this morning Air Canada finally answered me. My left ear is flat. I know all about their bonus frequent flier points and the specials between Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and New York. The recording will be my last conscious thought on earth, 40 years from now. My last words - 'This is a deal that's hard to say no to.'

So now I can't fly out until tomorrow morning - which will make it very tight to get to the New Canaan library for noon. The publishers have arranged for a limo to pick me up at the airport and drive me there. Fast. I'm sure I'll make it for the panel discussion, which I'm really looking forward to. It's with the wonderful Rosemary Harris (Pushing up Daisies) and Jan Brogan (Yesterday's Fatal).

But yesterday's storm was fantastic. All the buildings around our apartment disappeared. Couldn't see anything - it just descended upon us. Howling and blowing. Almost a foot fell in 12 hours. It was stunning, and frightening and very beautiful. Nice to be warm in the apartment. And I still am!

So, another day in Montreal, then heading out.

Nice bit of news though - The Cruellest Month was again on the bestsellers list here - ninth week!

Hope the storm wasn't too hard on you - I know the Eastern and Central US, as well as the Toronto area were whacked.

Stay warm - stay in bed. I plan to.

I think I can, I think I can

sunny, cool, highs minus 6


A man's life is what his thoughts make it.
Marcus Aurelius

The calm before the storm. Huge one expected to hit Quebec tonight, tomorrow and perhaps in to Sunday. Wouldn't you know it?

Am flying to NYC Sunday to start US tour. Not sure the planes will be flying, but not much we can do about that. As some of you know, I wasn't always happy about flying but have gotten over it, for the most part. But must admit when faced with flying and a major winter blizzard, I feel that 'ol time anxiety.

the trick, I've learned, is to pretend I'm someone who is not afraid.

Works in other areas too.

Well, am driving in to Montreal today, to avoid the roads and the storm. Will try to post tomorrow.

Be well, and speak tomorrow!

My invincible summer

snow, freezing rain, strong winds, another storm, temps minus 7

In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me
there lay an invincible summer.
Albert Camus

Well, this is certainly a winter of depth, and length! But what a summer inside! Yesterday was the US launch for THE CRUELEST MONTH. The good people at Goldberg McDuffie Communication in New York, the publicity company hired to take the books to the next level, sent a goegeous bouquet of roses. Especially stunning on a dreadful, dramatic day like this. It's a 'water in the tub' day - in case the power goes out. Oh dear, I can hear a drip behind me, which means the roof is leaking too. Oh well. It's always something.

We had the most wonderful review of THE CRUELEST MONTH from the prestigious publication Mystery News. One of the editors, Lynn Kaczmarek, did the review herself and gave it five out of five quills. Here's what she wrote:

The Cruelest Month, by Louise Penny

Somehow in this day of the thriller where crime fiction is becoming more noir by the moment, Louise Penny is almost single handedly taking us back to the good old days of the traditional village mystery. Influenced by Simenon, Christie and Sayers before her, Penny is doing them all one better. Still Life won most of the major awards, A Fatal Grace was a fitting sophomore effort, but The Cruelest Month soars above them all.

Luckily, we’re back in Three Pines once more with our cadre of friends, including Peter and Clara Morrow (both painters—though Clara may just be more talented), Gabri, (whose partner Olivier owns the local bistro), Myrna (whose large and generous frame is almost as big as her heart), Ruth Zardo (the all-too-direct nationally known poet who is found with two baby ducks following behind), and Odile (who is definitely not a nationally known poet). It turns out that there is a psychic in town on vacation and a group of folks decide to go up to the Old Hadley place for a séance. All in good fun, really—until one of them ends up dead. Could one be scared to death in Three Pines?

Chief Inspector Armand Gamache and his team are called in to investigate. But there’s a traitor in the mix somewhere and Gamache ends up trying to figure out much more than who or what killed another member of the Three Pines family.

These books are so much more than traditional mysteries—the writing is sublime and the characters unique yet much more developed than their individual quirks. They can be kind and cruel. It’s so easy to love Gamache—intelligent, compassionate, he’s the one rooting for the underdog. But to somehow love Ruth Zardo as well? Not an easy feat.

In Louise Penny’s books, these characters breathe. And they die. “Loss was like that, Gamache knew. You didn’t just lose a loved one. You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually it all came back, but different. Rearranged.”

And this place, this wonderous, fantastical place—“How do you explain a village like Three Pines where poets take ducks for walks and art seems to fall from the skies.” The answer, of course, is that you don’t. You’re just incredibly thankful that it exists, if only in the brilliant mind of Louise Penny.

Characters and place really do it for me, but the intriguing nad complex plot made this book one of the best reading experiences I’ve had in a while. Me, the fireplace, snow falling quietly outside and The Cruelest Month—it was magical.
My recommendation is that you go out right now and buy copies of Still Life and A Fatal Grace and immerse yourself in this world. You should have them finished just in time to read The Cruelest Month and behold the ushering in of a new era of traditional mysteries—21st century-style.


And on that note, my friends, I'll leave you. Breakfast, then back to Three Pines. My goal is to hit a certain scene, a turning point in the book, before the US tour begins on Sunday. Lots of writing, but I mapped it out yesterday. Hope I don't spring a leak.

Be well.