I live in a cold weather state. Writing to push through a long winter has been part of my life for many years running. Another constant: seeking escape to tropical climes and offbeat adventure. A few years back, I came across a great airfare to Quito, Ecuador. Without hesitation, it was booked. An eventful 10-day itinerary was put in place: the Galapagos, a couple days in Quito, and more intrepid excursions along the outer fringes of the Amazon jungle. While my Galapagos experience was interesting (where else do people run into the water holding phones high when someone yells “Shark!”?) and I lucked out with a splendid cultural festival mirroring my stay in the capital, it was my days at a lodge along the Rio Napo that provided the impetus for this novel. Now, I have written other books, but it had been some time, too long really. The many demands of everyday life had extinguished the vigor such a project requires. This was about to change.

Learning to swim in the Amazon Jungle

A memorable descent down the eastern slopes of the Andes and driving across shallow streams gave my rental SUV a good workout (here’s my return to the airport rental service). I had booked reservations at the Hamadryade Lodge, as not to rough-it too much. My daughter, Alexandra, was age three at the time. She found great pleasure in the rowdy monkeys that routinely swarm the nearby small town of Misahualli. One day at the lodge, I was teaching “Alee” to swim in the pool. I quipped to my spouse, “At least Alee will be able to honestly say that she learned to swim in the Amazon jungle.” I gave passing thought that it would make for a good opening line to an adventure novel and left it at that. What I did not yet know was that moment had relit my author’s pilot light.

Thunderstruck

Six months later, while lazing in Samara, Costa Rica, the fever hit. I was in our lodge’s pool teaching Alee to swim—howler monkeys prancing the trees above—when it thunderstruck: female adventuress; more hijinks, less gunplay; she’s a 20-something photographer; it will start in Papua (I still have no clue where the Papua angle came from). Part offbeat adventure, part madcap historical, part outright the unexpected, would entail the genre formula. Upon return to Maine, I started my research, and I’m amazed to this day how everything soon fell into place. All the rest were practice; this was the story I was destined to write.

The World so very Long Ago

As I state in the novel, The Great War (WWI) changed everything. The world as we know it today was truly born from its ashes, and national names and boundaries have continued in flux long after the initial blueprint that was the Treaty of Versailles. Missteps Perfecting the Shutterbug Strut is a spirited jaunt through the late 1920s: a time when vague maps touted grand mysteries, every snapshot meant something, and jazzy hijinks abounded. It was a very different world from what we know of today, and Alexandra Illyria Bathenbrook’s playground had less familiar names. I miss some of the more exotic names countries once touted, as read in historical novels or spoken in movies. Asia has suffered the most, in my opinion. Here are my ratings; you are free to think differently.

• Siam becomes Thailand in 1939: I have mixed feelings on this one. I prefer Siam, but ordering Siamese food doesn’t roll off the tongue as smoothly as “Going out for Thai.”
• Burma becomes Myanmar in 1989: Any name change due to a military junta is an automatic thumbs-down, though I really like the word “junta:”
• Ceylon becomes Sri Lanka in 1948: A rare thumbs-up. It now has a mystical oomph: as if the magical offspring of Shangri-La and Ankara (the capital of Anatolia) if they had mated. Please, don’t get me started on a Turkey rant. I’ve never forgiven the Ottomans for Constantinople getting the works, however catchy the tune.
• Formosa (after only five months) becomes Taiwan in 1895: Total fault of the Japanese for this travesty. If they had not invaded in 1895 and scuttled the beautiful name given to this new republic, it might have lasted to the present day. It will always be Formosa to me.
• Persia becomes Iran in 1935: A forever head shaker. Persians were a historically innovative and bad-ass people, led by such titans as Darius & Cyrus, both reputed to be “Great.” What has Iran done for anyone lately? Also, I-ran does not spout great military fortitude. There remains time, proud Persians, to rise and reclaim the name of your kingdom!

I would be remiss not to give a shout out to the 1977 debut of shake, shake, shake… shake Djibouti. Also kudos to the Congolese for realizing the errors of their ways in becoming Zaire in 1971, and remedying the matter once and for all in 1997 by reinstituting Congo. As for the Kistan twins birthed in 1991, I prefer Taji over Uzbe. This is solely because I adopted a rescue cat years ago. He was a majestic feline who had survived neglect and spent the prior two years in a small cage. Thinking that Taj Mahal meant “King’s Palace” I named him Taji and granted him reign over my expansive yard. He was as loyal as a dog and loved sitting on our deck—the wind ruffling his thick orange mane. When he looked at me, I could see his gratitude for this second shot at a happy life. To paraphrase the saying, “Whoever saves one life saves the world.” I later learned Taj meant “a tall, conical cap.” I never quite broke the news to him.

What lies ahead…

The plan is to post some author’s thoughts and delve into the historical settings portrayed in Missteps Perfecting the Shutterbug Strut along the way. It is a book set in the “Era of Wonderful Nonsense” and not captive to the “era of intolerable wokeness.” One can still have fun without being offensive, unless communicating with those seeking to find offense in most everything. Ta for now!