Approaching Abuelo Barú

Most of my days are spent writing. One would think that living in France would be inspiring - to be in the land of Baudelaire, Gide, de Maupassant, Camus, Rimbaud, Saint-Exupéry, Yourçenar, and so on - but no, I wrote nothing of significance the whole time I was there; if I hadn't translated my novel Rats Live on no Evil Star into French, I would consider the time (as far as writing is concerned) virtually wasted. But in the first month alone after arriving in Panama I completed seven stories and four poems.

Every now and then as I work on my writings I hear a low-pitched meow from outside the door. I know who it is; it's my friend, the orange cat. He's not quite a year old, not fully grown. I don't know with what humans, if any, he lives, but he is always clean and friendly. He is kind enough to accept my humble offerings of meat and milk.

Then he will sit in my lap and clean his fur, emitting a loud deep purr, and sometimes wander around my casita just to see what's up. Then he disappears until the next time he condescends to call on me. I hope he appreciates the many cats who spent years training me to be a good servant.

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As they come to me to be written, new chapters will be added to this blog, so stay tuned! But the blogs up to a certain point are now chapters are now in a book.

So, to read more, you need the book A WRITER IN PANAMÁ.

The book is available in three formats:

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