A year ago, I travelled to America and wrote a book, amongst many other things (sort-of-fainting, firefly spottings, book bingeing, wearing a polka dot dress with blue tights and red shoes – you know, the usual).
Inspired by Mystic Seaport, several friends and I sat around a table and concocted a plot. It was going to have action, adventure, a spice of mystery and a great dollop of humour. (Humour spelt without that English ‘u’, by the way).
And then, plot developed, I settled down to the task of bringing our plot bubbles, character sheets and knock, knock jokes to life.
And so I did. My friend proof-read it, just to make sure that I had the American lingo down to pat. These things are important, you know. I’d never consciously written ‘sneakers’ before. Or ‘potato chips’. It was all very novel.
Once this was done – the night before I departed from Uncle Sam’s shores, I finished the Blurb book of ‘Accidental Adventure’ and ordered two copies: one for my friends, and one for me.
And that was that, the books arrived at their destinations and my version sat on my shelf. I dabbled in a little editing, but it was largely untouched. Until … until now.
Because I am a contrary creature, who apparently detests doing the things I am actually supposed to be doing (*cough* Our Intrepid Heroine the Second *cough*), in honour of the anniversary of my trip to the U S of A, I decided to publish ‘Accidental Adventure’ – the story that was written before Our Intrepid Heroine was completed.
Much editing, overhauling, adding and subtracting later, it is done. Drum-roll please …
One moment they are sailing across a sheltered bay for a camping trip, the next they are surrounded by fog and end up in the Caribbean.
Or are they?
A highly improbable adventure, in which fishermen wear suits, English gentlemen aren’t quite what they seem and three siblings can’t tell friend from foe.
It’s contemporary, Christian, sprinkled with knock, knock jokes and dosed with wildly improbable happenings. But you know what? Suspend your disbelief for just a little while, and sail along with a tale born around a circular table, across the proverbial pond.