A simple storytelling exercise inspired by a skeleton Santa in San Miguel de Allende, and how noticing small details is where stories really begin.

I never leave home without my phone—aka my camera. And if I do, I invariably regret it. Today, I saw magenta and orange bougainvillea exploding over walls. An orchid tree in full bloom. A canopy of green so dense it turned the street into a tunnel of shade. It struck me—again—that writing has very little to do with sitting at a desk waiting for sentences to behave. It’s about noticing. Taking in detail visually, aurally, physically. Training the eye and ear long before my fin

I told the waiter Roberto at my local café that I’m using the place as a location for the script I'm writing, Café Eterno. “What’s it about?” he asked. I said it’s the central gathering point for a group of love stories — people yearning for love, falling in love, staying in love, falling out of love, circling back, missing each other by inches. The usual human chaos. Just with better coffee — and a touch of magical realism. He didn't blink, just said, “I owned a restaurant