Normally, you’d flip through a book of baby names. But not my parents. My parents did take my first name from a book. But it wasn’t a book of baby names. It was a book of mystery. A noir. Written by a Florida writer you may or may not have heard of before. His name is John D. MacDonald. And what this man did is something I can only dream of at this moment.
John D. Macdonald is a bit of an enigma. And what he managed to do was pull off a series of novels starring the same lead in all of them. And each book, get this, has a color in the title. That’s right. The Deep Blue Goodbye. A Tan and Sandy Silence. Nightmare in Pink. A Purple Place for Dying. The man wrote 21 of these. All the while, his stand alone novel count is in the high double digits. An enigma, this man. Prolific.
And very Florida. In my opinion, no one has come close to MacDonald’s oeuvre. No one’s come close to the kind of noir only these novels possess. There were two film adaptations, which varied in results. Fairly lackluster receptions, to be real. However, his standalone novel The Executioners was the basis for both versions of the film Cape Fear. You know Cape Fear. Both films had exceptional receptions. Because both are great. But something about John D. MacDonald’s mystery series could never fully translate to the screen.
But I digress. It’s taken me a while to figure out what exactly I am, and 44 years into this life, it’s finally clear. Not to say I’ll ever make a dime at it, but everything I do revolves around writing. And one day not too long ago I realized, oh that makes sense. I haven’t stopped writing one way or the other since I was in Kindergarten. I wrote when I didn’t have to. And as I advanced past the next grade, another teacher would allow me to throw on these little plays at the end of the day. I’d have one clip board of pages that we’d have to hand to each other to read your lines. Why these teachers let me, I’ll never understand it. I was a bad kid, too. And they showed me grace. I haven’t called up those memories in ages.
Speaking of memories, I used to open up a gym at 5am sometimes coming off of Molly. And what got me through these mornings, was my birthright. I’d get lost in the aged pages of my parents’ original paperbacks. The smell alone if these things would transport you. I’d watch daylight emerge from behind John D. MacDonald’s words. Write down the gym members number. Sip one of those workout drinks. Read another couple pages. And so it went. Then a 9 am cup of Cuban coffee and one more hour to go.
My parents instilled a sense of awe in my sister and I about all things Florida.
My aunt and uncle ran the biggest bookstore in Florida. St. Pete’s, specifically. Named Haslam’s. It’s been said Jack Kerouac’s ghost roams the aisles on the grounds. No photographic evidence provided. Only witness accounts. But they’ve housed every Florida author there was, is, and if it was still on, would be. There’s a pretty intimidating host of Florida writers past, present, and those on the come up. I hope to share some bookshelf space with some of ‘em. But I only have my sights is one guy. That MacDonald guy.
Obviously the main character’s name is Travis and now it’s obvious what and why my parents named me. And more than the name, it’s the philosophy I inherited from both my parents, and a Florida writer named John D. MacDonald. Really, it comes from the mouth of Travis. Not me, Travis. Him, Travis. Travis McGee, in fact. His philosophy is such: Live your retirement throughout your life. And that is something I chase everyday. Something I honor both who I come from and where. Something from the imagination that spurred a pulp noir mystery series about a reluctant investigator named Travis McGee who lives on a houseboat called The Busted Flush.
I love my name. I love the story behind it. I love the humid mysterious allure of Miami. The corrupt city government. Maybe a woman in peril. A friend dies. Everything’s connected. The only evidence, circumstantial. I think I’m on to something. Full disclosure, I’ve already written 2000 words. So while I finish this first draft, you guys go check out John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee series. And remember how much cooler my parents were than yours. Just saying.
