Before I did this work, I spent years listening to a story. My father told it again and again: the murder of a nurse in Cañas, Guanacaste, in 1954. A crime that was never solved and that the town held in its memory for decades.

Every retelling brought a new detail. A different question. And with it the certainty that if nobody wrote it down, the story would disappear along with the people who remembered it.

So I wrote it. It's called La Enfermera de Cañas, and it took research, family testimony, documents, and oral memory.

In that process I understood what is now at the center of my work: knowledge that isn't structured gets lost. It doesn't matter whether it's the history of a town or the judgment of an expert with thirty years in the craft. If it isn't recorded, it leaves with the person.