Monday, March 1, 2010Friends ask me what I do in Colima, a town of about 200,000 souls south of Guadalajara as though I morphed into a totally different person when I cross the border into Mexico. Well, actually I do. For one thing I have fewer distractions here. No phone, uncertain, pesky, vexing internet connections, and neighbours who mostly keep to themselves.

So I write more, tend my garden more and talk to my husband more.

Our lives are pretty well contained with a three block radius. The municipal market is close, our friends are close, our favourite restaurants and there are plenty in town, are close. Downtown, a main square with a bandstand in the middle and Sunday bands playing for dancing couples, is a stretch- eight blocks away.  Our house, purchased ten years ago for the millennium is small but comfortable- two bedroom, two bathrooms and a studio in the back garden for me and the birds and the tropical fish. I am thoroughly spoiled.

I engage in novel writing avoidance behaviour. When I hit a snag, as I often do, the house is never cleaner, the dog never better exercised and the meals never more elaborate. And then guilt and restlessness overwhelms me and I sit down at my laptop, refuse the siren call of my email, and just plunge in.



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