I mentioned in my last post that I planned to write about the Day of the Dead ceremony that takes place in our town and in towns all over Mexico. It’s historically interesting, beautiful with tinges of morbidness and I find myself not wanting to write about it.
This is what happens with writing. You start off with a plan and then while you’re dreaming the words they move into a different sphere. I was thinking about the rituals involved with Día de Muertos and from this a scene for my novel came into focus. So off I went to write about it and now I’ve lost the impetus to write about hometown happenings.
Poco a poco my character’s tale is getting written and rewritten. In a masochistic way, I’m loving it.
