Normally you look through a book of baby names. But not my parents. My parents actually got my first name from a book. But it wasn’t a book of baby names. It was a crime novel. A noir. Written by a Florida author you may or may not have heard of. His name is John D. MacDonald. And what that man did, I can only dream about right now.

John D. Macdonald is a bit of an enigma. And what he managed to do was write a series of novels in which the same main character always plays the leading role. And every book, believe it or not, has a color in the title. That’s true. The deep blue farewell. A brown and sandy silence. A nightmare in pink. A purple place to die. The man has written 21 of them. At the same time, the number of his individual novels is in the high double figures. This man is an enigma. Productive.

And very Florida. In my opinion, no one has come close to MacDonald’s work. No one has come close to the kind of noir that only these novels possess. There were two film adaptations that achieved mixed results. Pretty lackluster receptions. However, his standalone novel The Executioners was the basis for both versions of the film Cape Fear. Both films were exceptionally well received. Because both are great. But something about MacDonald’s crime series never fully translated to the screen.

But I digress. It took me a while to figure out exactly what I am, and after 44 years in this life, I finally have it figured out. I’m not saying I’ll ever make a dime from 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 another since kindergarten. I write when I don’t have to. And when I got to the next grade, a different teacher allowed me to do these little plays at the end of the day. I had a clipboard with pages that we had to pass to each other so we could read our lines. Why those teachers let me do that, I’ll never understand. I was a bad kid, too. And they showed me mercy. I haven’t recalled those memories in ages.

Speaking of memories, sometimes I would hit the gym at 5 a.m. after working out with Molly. And what got me through those mornings was my birthright. I would get lost in the old pages of my parents’ original paperbacks. The smell of those things alone would transport you. I would watch the daylight emerge from behind John D. MacDonald’s words. Jot down the gym membership number. Sip one of those workout drinks. Read a few more pages. And so it went. Then a cup of Cuban coffee at 9 a.m. and another hour.

My parents instilled in my sister and me awe of everything to do with Florida.

My aunt and uncle ran the largest bookstore in Florida. St. Pete’s, to be exact. It was called Haslam’s. They say Jack Kerouac’s ghost haunts the halls of the premises. There’s no photographic evidence. Just witness testimony. But they’ve housed every Florida author that ever was, is, and, if they still existed, would be. There’s a pretty intimidating array of Florida authors, past, present, and those on the rise. I hope to share bookshelf space with some of them. But I’ve got my sights set on one guy. That MacDonald guy.

Of course, the main character is called Travis. And now it’s clear what my parents named me. And more than the name, it’s the philosophy I inherited from my parents and a Florida writer named John D. MacDonald. In fact, it comes from Travis’ mouth. Not from me, Travis. From him, Travis. More specifically, from Travis McGee. His philosophy is: live your retirement your whole life. And that’s something I chase every day. Something I honor, both in terms of where I’m from and where I’m from. Something out of the imagination that inspired a pulp noir crime 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 dank mystery of Miami. The corrupt city government. Maybe a woman in danger. A friend dies. It’s all connected. The only evidence is circumstantial. I think I’m on to something. To be completely honest, I’ve already written 2,000 words. So while I finish this first draft, check out John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee series. And think about how much cooler my parents were than yours. Just a side note.