I've been busy. We've been busy. And perhaps I'll write of that. Or not.
What I will write about for the foreseeable future is my journey in writing a novel. So, to all of my faithful readers (the approximate number previously noted) who are hoping for more "retired emigrant/immigrant/expat pontificating and bloviating" stories, move along. By all measure that should cut my dedicated readership down to about six. I think I can keep six people happy by writing every now again.
I started writing a novel some time ago. It was going to be a drugs and murder whodunit set in Belize and Mexico. A diver (with a history of course) comes upon a sunken drug-running torpedo boat (yes, they use those) and the mystery and danger flow from there. The research of the various cartels, countries, drug routes, etc. proved quite interesting and thanks to the Internet and the guy at Milagros Cafe who happens to have "connections", there was no lack of information. As my research progressed I started to use what I learned into fleshing out the basic storyline. Then one day, an interesting coincidence - something I had proposed in my (quite fictional) novel became reality. That is, I had the big, mean cartel guys doing something big and mean in my story and then I read about it in one of the Mexican newspapers. Just a coincidence I said to myself though Wifey thought it quite interesting.
After the second or third such episode, suddenly I wasn't writing fiction but, what would become, historical fiction. Not exactly the direction I had anticipated. My daughter said I should by a lottery ticket if I was going to continue being so "lucky" predicting future events. I don't think I was lucky. I think what I was projecting, through my research, the right actions for the cartels to take under the circumstances. In other words, I should be their leader.
It wasn't a lack of ambition but a lack of a nickname that kept me from applying for the job. All the big drug guys have nicknames or, if you're a Zeta, you have a number. Z-42 was captured a few months back. Well, he wasn't really captured, he defected, but that's in my book. The leader of the of very violent Knights Templars (not to be confused with the super secret society everyone knows about AKA the Knights Templar/Freemason/Rosicrucians/etc.) is nicknamed "La Tuta". (The last hombre to call him "La Tutu" under his breath is still desiccating in the deserts of Guerrero). In a shocking coincidence, La Tuta was captured in February just before Z-42. OK, it wasn't really coincidence and he wasn't really captured either but they made it look that way. After all, Uncle Sam was watching, even participating because, well, the FBI and DEA love to play in other's territorio since they get per diem, hazardous duty pay, and hookers. Yeah, that came out too. Historical fiction. It can get a little scary if there's less than a light second between your fictional scene and reality!
So I kicked back for a while and got very busy doing other things.
I'm back now and working in a completely different genre. So different I don't know that is has a name yet. Somewhere there's probably a rule that says "New writers will not invent new genres" but we know that's already been broken so it's not really a rule, yes? If someone like W. Somerset Maugham can say: “There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.” Then I'm not really worried about rules. What's new?
I'll avoid, for now, the very strange coincidence between my new what-may-yet-become-one-day-a-real-novel and reality. Wouldn't want to give everything away so soon. And, since there was far, far more than a light-second involved, figuratively speaking, I'll not succumb to paranoia.
If I promise to provide an occasional recipe on the blog, I think I can convince two more people into hanging around. Next time my happy eight, next time. I promise.