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ÌýÌýÌýÌý One of the delights of our walks is spying and hearing all the birds as they hop around the branches in the quiet of the morning. The colours that seem to be predominant this year are yellow and orange: at any rate, those are the ones that have caught our eyes. Vince loves it when we discover a new species. He goes directly to his Birds of Mexico book to look them up and list them. We have found the white-ringed flycatcher, for instance. About the size of a robin, it's very distinctive with its yellow neck, which turns white at the head, with a black streak that circles the white along the beak and over the top of its head. Looks like s/he is wearing a mask. We've also seen the black-vented oriole for the first time. Again the size of a robin, this bird is jet black, with a yellow-orange breast. (See the pictures.)




ÌýÌýÌýÌý Of course there are the magnificent frigates, who soar on the breezes far overhead, and the graceful terns who call to one another as they skim the waves. Pelicans are numerous, diving into the sea where they gulp down a fish, sometimes so big they have to wiggle it through their gullets. The pigeons here are gorgeous, so many colours and patterns. They tiptoe up to the pool to have a drink, coo at us all day. Vultures hover when a dead fish washes up on the sand.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý One day we spied something that looked like a huge eel on the shore. Someone told us it was a barracuda. The vultures were extremely interested, but the body was too close to the umbrellas. A kind soul took it away before the smell became overwhelming.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý I know I've mentioned my grackles before. My guy who talks to me hasn't shown up very often. And I'm thrilled that my willet and curlew are back! I've written a children's storybook about them (kind of fudging the facts) and Vince is going to put pictures with it. First, Maire has to edit and approve.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý Last night, we spent hours on our balcony with Maire and John, just watching the sun set. Look at the sample of pictures that Vince got! The sky was so magnificent, it was like being at a play or fireworks: we oohed and ah-ed all night.


ÌýÌýÌýÌý We're also entertained by the ships - a big cruise ship, one cargo ship that carries a helicopter on its back.
ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Some time while I merrily slept, the promised rain came barrelling in. Vince got up and brought the furniture in from the balcony and I heard nothing. Today is a grey one, with a light rain falling. Perfect for shopping (hop on a bus, take a cab back) and writing.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý The readers who answered my question about endings don't prefer happy ones, thank goodness. I'm not contemplating one for this book. But in the last few days, I've made a breakthrough I think. I believe I know where it's going, although that's not always the case when I get there.
ÌýÌýÌýÌý I'm always so lucky with being able to correspond with different writers and readers. Melodie and Cheryl Freedman are great friends as well as fellow writers, at various stages in our careers, and we share our processes and thoughts freely with one another. The Imajin Nation group, formed by our publisher, is an endless source of inspiration and encouragement, as well as information. Judy, whom I have known for many years but only just realized is an excellent writer, is just beginning to think about putting her memoirs into a book. She's had such a difficult journey so far in her life, fraught with tragedy and grief: I think her story would be encouraging to others who have suffered. Bev continues to be a source of inspiration, too. She is obsessed with her writing and willing to do anything to get just the right tone and technique. That's the sign of a real writer. I received an excerpt of a book about the south of France from a friend of a friend, and I am blown away by the potential. Although I haven't been able to meet with them yet, I've just been asked to join a group of CWC women writers, and I can't wait for the sharing to begin. I still have my MCM group too: we've been friends and fellow writers for 36 years. Having these connections is absolutely invigorating and necessary!
ÌýÌýÌýÌý I've finished the last proof of Legacy and now I have the cover. When I get back, the marketing work will restart. In the meantime, off to see where Sweet Karoline will really go...

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ÌýÌýÌýÌý Alas, we are without Internet at the condo these last threedays!!! It's killing us, especially since we had a bunch of missives planned,including bill paying. Pretty weird to admit I am addicted to the technology,but I am. I feel totally cut off. So here we are at Starbucks, getting caught up. BUT â€� I spend the days writing, so some goodhas come of it.ÌýÌýÌýÌý It's amazing how quickly we develop our rhythm. In themornings, Vince and I have kept up our walks. We are determined to do thisevery day. Our mission is to go further as the weeks progress, within our 30minute time frame. But first we have a coffee on the balcony and remark uponthe day. Sun's been up and brilliant for the last three days, just as itnormally is in Manzanillo. No more cloud! The birds gather at the poolside,along the ocean, or on the palm trees surrounding our building. Schools of fishboil up here and there, some leaping into the air, and some vanishing into thesky with the help of a pelican.ÌýÌýÌýÌý Later, I write and Vince chases birds with his camera (thekind with wings). Or he does crossword puzzles. In the afternoon, we dance inthe pool for an hour.ÌýÌýÌýÌý Friday, the weekenders arrived, noisy children and manypeople in one unit. Ah well. That was the advantage of filling this buildingwith retired, quiet Canadians in the past!ÌýÌýÌýÌý On Saturday morning, the whales come back. We are soexcited. The entire building empties out to stand on the balconies or on theshore. We squeal and yell as the humpbacks perform just for us. They're veryclose to shore (for whales) and Vince snaps a series of incredible pictures.They breach high out of water, turn in the air, and belly flop under in a sprayof waves.Ìý The sound of theirenormous bodies hitting the surface echoes throughout the bay. They turn overon their backs and flipper to one another, slapping the water, rolling aroundin a synchronized swimming maneuver. We all watch in awe until their spoutsshow that they've headed back out to sea.ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý The waves are back, too: the lovely rolling pounding onesthat lullaby me to sleep at night.ÌýÌýÌýÌý On to the writing â€� just a little, I promise. Plus I have aquestion to ask of you. I am reading, at last, the book that my friendAnn-Marie gave me in the fall: On Writing by Stephen King. At the same time, Iwas finishing off the latest novel by Elizabeth George, easily my favouritemystery writer. Elizabeth breaks Stephen's first three rules in the pages thatI have left to read. I don't go back to check on the rest. She uses passiveverbs, the phrase "at the end of the day" (at least twice) and she doesn't shyaway from descriptions and adverbs. It's fascinating.ÌýÌýÌýÌý I would say I'm a fairly eclectic reader: I do love mysterythe best, but give me a really great "literary" feast and I'm in heaven. (JohnSteinbeck and Margaret Laurence have a lot of space on my bookshelves.) I amknown to read cozies, trashy beach novels and I do like a good thriller. I'veeven devoured some fantasy books. Now and then, a non-fiction (true crime –yay!) or an auto/biography keeps me going. So there isn't really one style ofwriting that I like most or that I would pronounce as the best. It dependsentirely on my mood. Sometimes I like the clean plot lines of a thriller andother times I love the dreamy descriptions of a literary writer. ÌýÌýÌýÌý As Steve (my friend Stephen King that is) says, he must havesomething to say about writing since he's been so successful for so long. Andhe does. I'm just not sure they're rules. Maybe guidelines, preferences,this-has-worked-for-me's. I read Elizabeth's book on writing, too, and she haslots to offer as well. I keep all their advice in mind, plod on, and have to betrue to my own voice in the end, whether it always works or not. I've gained alot of confidence in my writing over the last few years.Ìý Now I need to work ongetting "my name" out there.ÌýÌýÌýÌý I've got a children's mystery on the go, plus another adultone. No more Emily Taylor. (At least, for now.) There's even a cozy waiting itsturn in the queue. So I may be an eclectic writer, too, which is perhaps notsuch a good thing. Although, there's Steve again. He has written some prettyamazing books and short stories that are not horror, but border more on thefantasy side.ÌýÌýÌýÌý So, here's my question. What kind of an ending do you loveand/or hate? Happy? Sad? Cliff-hanger? Exciting, crash-to-the-end kind? Describeyour favourite ending. This is like a poll, but I don't know how to set one upon my blog. So I'll gather your answers and give the conclusion in a few days.You don't have to sign up to leave a comment â€� just be "anonymous". Although ifyou become one of my followers, I'd love it.ÌýÌýÌýÌý In the meantime, here are some before-the-hurricanepictures, and some after, of our beach in front of our condo building.

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ÌýÌýÌýÌý On the first day of our avowed routine (30 minute walk, 50minute aqua fit), we already detour. We are anxious to see our lovely Briciofamily, so we stop and have breakfast at their restaurant. However, we are bothunable to finish our meals, so maybe we're doing better than we used to. There are clouds today, big fat muggy grey ones. It's all right with me; I have to ease into the sun anyway.ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý My grackle is back, hopping from branch to branch of the palm tree above the pool. He answers my "Hola!" with a squeak of his own. He likes to mimic any sound, so we talk back and forth for a while.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We get a very welcome email from Kristen: Every night we keep Lucas in our room with the door closed.Well last night, Monkey came out of her hiding spot at 4am to wake up and getrubs and snuggles from Catey! She crawled into her bed and purred and rubbedagainst her, let her pet her and then she left again. Lol I'm glad she's comingout at night!ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý When we sit on the sand bank later, I again realize that the ocean is busy. Pacifico has already built this wall upon which we are sitting. In less than four months, he has put back enough that we have a nice flat hard strip to walk on. Much easier to traverse than it used to be, because the slope is further out. But when Joba was done, there was no sand at all, just water. ÌýÌýÌýÌý I think most of you know that I am here to write. My next post is going to be about that process. I hope you'll read, even if you don't write, because I want some feedback. Today, some pictures!

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ÌýÌýÌýÌý Sometimes I think my life is a bit too perfect. I don't liketo leave my children and grandchildren. And my cats. I love being around all myfriends. I love the whole business of writing, the Crime Writers of Canada, ouronline magazine that has just taken wings. I resist going south. Three thingscompel me to go: my husband's love of the sun; the fact that our VBFITWWW's arealready there; and the homey feeling of our rental in Manzanillo.ÌýÌýÌýÌý On Sunday, we take Sahara and Raven (known as Monkey) to mydaughter's house. Her partner, John, likes cats, and her children, Ben andCate, already know these two, so everybody loves them. Even Lucas, my granddog,likes them, though the feelings are not mutual. Monkey is the social one athome. Also the fierce fighter of squirrels and other cat intruders. But here,they turn our expectations completely on their heads. Sahara wanders around,smelling, sniffing, talking to all of us. She faces Lucas on the steps,hissing, showing him that she will be the boss while she's here. Lucas jumpsaway from her, awed by her commanding presence. Poor Miss Monkey hides her facein the cat tent, her nose pressed against the dark interior, refusing toacknowledge anyone. As I type this, she has found a hiding spot under Ben'sbedsprings. She only comes out to eat a little, perhaps to drink some water,use the litter box (we hope), when Lucas is asleep behind closed doors.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We drive home from Kristen's in a raging snowstorm, forcingBen, Lucas and Kristen to be car-bound for four hours, there and back. We'rejust glad everyone is safe later in the evening.At 4 a.m., we traipsing through snow in our running shoes toa waiting cab, shivering in the pre-dawn dark. The airport seems to bedeserted. We go through check-in and baggage in record time. Now we wait.ÌýÌýÌýÌý I suddenly remember that I have left my Kindle charger athome. In the middle of the latest Elizabeth George!! The only other book I haveis "On Writing" by Stephen King, which I've been dying to read since my friendAnn-Marie gave it to me in the fall. Maybe it will sustain me through the fourweeks â€� or is this a message? Just write, you idiot!!ÌýÌýÌýÌý Once we are on the plane, I am committed, relaxed, happy tobe heading to the heat. I look forward to the sound of the ocean in my newbackground, those waves washing onto shore, their gentle shush a soothinglullaby. ÌýÌýÌýÌý Some of the other passengers are clearly on short-termvacations. They drink a lot, talk at high volume, whoop and clap for the flightattendant after she demonstrates the safety procedures. They even snort, cough,sniff and sneeze far louder than the drone of the aircraft. I have left myearphones in my bag above me, and can't b bothered to fetch them. I curl up inmy seat and do several hours of those semi-conscious naps. I hear everything,see nothing.ÌýÌýÌýÌý It takes an hour to go through customs and to collect ourbaggage. Suddenly the short-term vacationers are surly and impatient: keep theparty going! If only they served tequila in the line-ups.Along the route with our chatty cab driver, we see the signsof hurricane Joba: a highway ramp is still in pieces; the banana groves aresparse. But mostly, we are amazed at the recovery. The majority of roads andbuildings are erect; the greenery lush.ÌýÌýÌýÌý When we arrive at Suites Flores in Las Brisas, we areinstantly at home. John and Maire greet us, as do Marta and Andres andChristine and Judith and Brian. How could we not feel at home when we've livedwith these people for months at a time, four years in a row?ÌýÌýÌýÌý Maire and John have provided us with the essentials: beerwith limes, wine, 2 red wine glasses, a note alerting us to what they haven'tgiven: a piece of shit tablecloth, and a lunch of chicken, rice and vegetablesthat really taste like vegetables: rich avocado, juicy tomatoes…ÌýÌýÌýÌ� Plus great news: Maire's Kobo charger fits my Kindle, and Iam off to the reading races once again.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We wander down to the beach and here is the startlingreminder of the power of nature. The sand is about one and a half metres down.Last year, we took one step onto the beach â€� this year, we need all four tiledstairs plus six more wooden ones. The narrow, flattened strip of sand is highabove the ocean. Now when we sit under the umbrella, we can't see theshoreline. From here, we need to walk to the edge, then traverse the slope, tosee the crabs running along the shallow water, where last year, we'd gaze uponall the activity from our chairs.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We unpack, find all kinds of goodies in our bin: greensheets, towels (thanks, Marilynn!) and lots of other useful stuff. ÌýÌýÌýÌý There's a new pasta place just across the street, next toBricios, so we enjoy a sumptuous dinner and excellent wine. We're in bed at aridiculously early hour.ÌýÌýÌýÌý The next morning, Vince awakens me with a kiss and a HappyBirthday! I check my email and see tons of lovely messages. What a perfect wayto wake up to being…never mind how old. The birds have gathered outside to singto me. I feel so utterly relaxed. It's warm and salty and musical in my worldtoday.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We hop into a cab to Centro Manzanillo. John has gone up themountain with a group of Canadian friends. We meet them all at the lovelyColonial Hotel. Along the way, we notice all the construction. The port isbusier than ever. Manzanillo is booming.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We meet some new Canadians, plus our friends from last year,Carole and Mike, and greet their daughter Vanessa. They are awesome people!Especially because they are connected to our former neighbours andstill-friends, Diane and Paul, and their daughters. We'll see Mike and Caroleagain, I'm sure.ÌýÌýÌýÌý After breakfast, we shop in Manzanillo, then take a cab toWalmart, where we shop for the week's essentials. Our apartment is now all set:furniture rearranged, fridge stocked, wine and beer chilling.Later we watch Mexican TV. That's the ocean: the shipscoming in and out, the birds soaring overhead, the people drifting through, thefish jumping. No whales yet, though I call to them. Maire and John take us out for dinner at El Caribe. It'sstill hazy and cloudy, so we don't have much of a sunset, but the food is delicious.The restaurant no longer sits on the sand: Joba took all of that away. They'vehad to build a deck and their roof is still only half done. ÌýÌýÌýÌý When we return, Maire and John have carrot cake, candles, agorgeous calendar with painting from a transplanted Toronto artist we met lastyear, and a beautiful green wrap. Aren't they amazing?We play dice, skype with Kristen, play dice, and drinkexcellent wine, scotch and beer. Now it's well after nine, so I guess thatmeans…bedtime.

This book doesn't come out until the spring, but I was so excited about the cover that I had to post it now (click on Emily Taylor Mysteries to see it). I am particularly proud of this book. It's heart breaking and complex, but I think it's rich and honest. I can't wait to introduce it to those who haven't read it yet.

ÌýÌýÌýÌý Maybe it's because I grew up in a family of girls, but Ihave always had lots of girlfriends. I know Julio and Willie weren't reallysinging about the friend kind of love, but I think the line is stillappropriate.ÌýÌýÌý All my friends are no longer girls. They're women. Notladies, either, because none of us would conjure up high heels, crossed ankles,delicate laughs, or formal clothes. We can do that, but we'd rather not. We runaround in sneakers, sit crossed-legged, laugh so loudly we get kicked out ofrestaurants, and are more comfy in track pants or jeans. ÌýÌýÌýÌý My women pals are large (not necessarily in size, but inlife), smart, loving, and unique. We talk about everything, from food to sex toother pleasures and pains. We discuss our husbands, or man friends, or otherwomen, or television and movies. We recommend the latest books we'rereading. We love to all finish the same novel and then see the film version.ÌýÌýÌýÌý Some of my friends are blood related. They're my sisters. Ilove being with them. They're funny and often wild and always interesting.Conversation never lulls. In fact, it's surprising we can hear each otherbecause we all talk at once. Our family get-togethers are absolutely nuts. Wedo recognize that it's difficult for some of the significant others to take,but if they hang around long enough, they are loved so fiercely that, even ifthe relationship doesn't last, the family connection often does. We have thehugest laughs you've ever heard and we indulge in laughing every few minutes.ÌýÌýÌýÌý One of my sisters died nine years ago, and her laughter still rings in ourears, and we still see her mooning us from the car as we caravan down thehighway. We still watch her dance on the deck or sit on the balcony watching aseagull float by.ÌýÌýÌýÌý One of my closest friends is my cousin. We've known eachother since birth, just like a sister, and have that flow of shared genesbetween us on top of our enduring friendship.ÌýÌýÌýÌý I remember writing a poem a long time ago stating that thehighest compliment I can give to one of my friends is that they are like asister to me. Because for me, sister means joy, love, and hope.ÌýÌýÌýÌý Some sisters are related by marriage (and continue even if the marriage didn't). Some have grown upwith me. We met in high school or in our first year of teaching. We haveliterally gone through every twist and turn in the road that can be imagined.We've watched each other change and grow and learn. Others were met later alongthe path, but have no less a place in my heart and in my life. ÌýÌýÌýÌý They've helped me through divorce (now that's anotherstory), child rearing, loss of loved ones, difficult times. They've been thereat the celebrations and crossroads. Happily, I've been there for them, too, or atleast I've tried.ÌýÌýÌýÌý We support one another, praise or critique when deserved orneeded, raise a glass or two or more in tears or laughter. We can bitch andcomplain without feeling censored or misunderstood. We can disagree withoutlosing each other's respect. In fact, sometimes it only heightens our esteem.We can be annoyed with another, because we can be real. It doesn't shake thatdeep abiding love.ÌýÌýÌýÌý I realize and never take for granted that I am especiallylucky. I have lots of women friends. I adore them. They help me laugh, cry,think, learn, and grow. They demand that I be honest and true, not just tothem, but to myself as well. As the saying goes, they insist that I be the bestI can be.ÌýÌýÌýÌý To all the girls I've loved before, I still love you now.Ìý

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For my latest book, I amresearching psychopaths. Talk about infusing your dreams with nightmarish facesand situations! When I was in university, psychology classes were, admittedly,my favourite. I'd thought English would be my first choice, but it was thestudy of human behaviour that interested me most. Maybe that's because I was ateacher.Not that all of the kids I taughtwere psychos, but there were a few. Some of them are now either CEO's of bigcompanies, living under a bridge, or in jail. The rest I've lost track of. Acouple were only sheep in wolves' clothing, because they turned around andbecame responsible citizens. Or maybe they are the ones who hide best. Maybethey're like Dexter.Those kids whose eyes glinted whenthey hurt another child, or flashed when you told them to sit down, or becamevacant when you tried to instruct them � those were the ones I foundfascinating.In the case of my latest tome, thepsychopath is an adult. Someone who manipulates and uses others strictly forher own comfort and gain. She appears to be caring and sweet on the outside,but inside…So I want you to help me! On yourroad of life thus far, have you met a psychopath? Has someone completely andutterly fooled you, used you, discarded you? Or do you know someone who has hadthat experience? If so, write to me! Tell me all about it. I promise not tocopy your story. I just want to glean the feelings. And don't worry if you'renot a writer. The words don't matter. The situations and the emotions are whatinterest me.Email me at castolfo.com.Visit my other psychopaths at or .

I am so honored to be the guest blogger at Mystery Maven today. Check it out!
Cathy Astolfo tests the hypothesis today at Mystery Maven Canada.

ÌýÌýÌýÌý The lovely white, silver-embossed invitation states that weare invited to my cousin's for dinner and that she is dreaming of a whiteChristmas. I assume Cugina (about the only Italian word I remember from allthose months of study before a trip to Italy â€� female cousin) is referring tothe sprinkling of snow that we receive on the eve of the party. ÌýÌýÌýÌý Not so.ÌýÌýÌýÌý My Cugina's house is not only decorated in gorgeous whiteroses, ribbons, snow people, feathers and baubles, but everything we eat anddrink turns out to be white. (OK, maybe I do spoil it with my penchant for red wine.)ÌýÌýÌýÌý First, we sip on White Cosmopolitans, which for some reasonlend an even merrier atmosphere to the already congenial evening.ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý My cousin andher husband are not only related, but my cugina is also one of my best friends,someone who knows me so well because she was there as I grew, made mistakes,changed, and sought my dreams. Another couple is also related: my husband'sbrother and his wife. Again, we are blessed because we really like them as wellas love them, enjoy their company and their unconditional love. The fourthcouple is relatively new to us, but it seems as though we have always had theirlove and friendship in our lives. White Cosmopolitans only make me happier tobe here!ÌýÌýÌýÌý Cugina has referred to the repast as a "tasting dinner". Wesoon understand what she means. Every serving is a small sampling of a rich, delicious,flavourful treat. Even if you wanted to, youÌý couldn't eat an entireplate of each delicacy, because they are so laden with taste and sumptuousnessthat you'd explode from too much pleasure.ÌýÌýÌýÌý Placed on white dishes or bowls, each fantastic entrée is avisual as well as an aromatic and scrumptious delight. Here, in order, are thedelicacies we savour:Sundried Tomato/Brie phyllo bundlesCream of Cauliflower SoupCarmelized Onion TartScallops with Parsnip PureeSwiss Fondue/BreadsticksLemon RissottoChicken Pops/Peach SauceWhite Mac and CheeseLobster CrepesÌýÌýÌýÌý As if that weren't enough, we are led into the living roomafterward to an array of glass dishes that display sweet desserts that arebeyond description. Limoncello MousseClementine Shortbread SandwichesCheesecakeCoconut CupcakesShortbread SnowflakesPeanut Butter/White Chocolate BallsWhite Chocolate FudgeIced Almond CookiesCake PopsSugar Cookie Christmas TreesPeppermint Stick CookiesWhite Candy Jars.ÌýÌýÌýÌý I shovel in as many as my already-stuffed tummy will allow,but I wish there were two of me. (Which there might be in the morning.) Inaddition, my glass has never been empty all night long, which could account forthe slight headache and dehydration the next day.ÌýÌýÌýÌý My Cugina is a wonder. Plus forever I will be able to saythat I didn't just dream of a white Christmas; I ate one.