Okay, let’s do this with a bit of a self-plug twist. As discussed in a prior post, I’m one of those writers who obsessively pins real-world locations onto imaginary maps. It keeps my scenes grounded and more distinct than an encounter in “Generic Alley #4.” Ian Fleming did this to the point that some Bond novels read like travelogues. I’m writing speculative fiction, so I just sprinkle little accents and textures, sometimes odors, because I’m not Ian Fleming, and it turns out editors hate it when writers not lending their characters to blockbuster franchises get self-indulgent like that.

To the locals, I apologize in advance when I get something slightly wrong. I know it’s like pouring orange juice on your cereal. Nothing snaps you out of a story faster than an author meticulously describing the “secret speakeasy” behind a restaurant door when you know darn well it’s a closet for napkins and straws because you actually used to work there. I promise I’m trying.

To that end, because the lists are practically the same, here are (in no particular order) my top five travel destinations that have been used as locations in my writing—also known as the reason nobody wants to take a vacation with me.

Kaunas, Lithuania

I’ve probably talked enough about Kaunas and the specific sites referenced in The Halferne Bodhi in other posts, so I’ll leave this one short. Suffice to say, if anybody from Kaunas is reading this, I would gladly meet you on the Laisvės Alėja for kepta duona and gira, my treat, if you would be willing to help me check out a couple of dark alleys in Old Town, strictly for research purposes.

Lerici, Italy

One of the opening scenes from The Prytannus Liberation starts with Kat Rossi and Mel Burton meeting on a boardwalk at a reception on the Scogliera beneath Castello di Lerici, where they celebrate the retirement of Captain Radcliffe of the St. Pantaleon by drinking nocino Manhattans. As a person of French ancestry, I can’t endorse the local tradition of substituting nocino for vermouth and “reinventing” established cocktails. Still, I will include it for authenticity and promise to try it if I ever get the chance. I didn’t get too deep into why I chose that particular location for a scene, but suffice to say, the Golfo dei Poeti was a favorite of Lord Byron, the Shelleys, D.H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf, and others, so maybe there’s something in the water. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been there.

Marbella, Spain

Another Mediterranean destination, this time on the southern coast of Spain. This is where Ursza Venter finally tracks down Jaysn Katsaros at an ironic lecture on “Mirror-Self of the Masses” in the opening scenes of The Prevo Contingency. She later corners him at a local beachside tavern, a favorite of his, as it is a short walk to a modest bungalow he keeps for infrequent visits to Earth. She drinks orange juice; he drinks Rioja—though by the end of the night, she’s learned to like the latter, and he’s emptied his guts into the sands. I can show you the exact spot on Google Earth, but it won’t exist for a couple of centuries.

Silden, UK

The Halferne Incubus is my only novel set entirely on Earth, and covers several real-world locations in England and France. We’ve got the Green Baize Gaming Parlor on Wardour Mews, where Parrino busts Skurv, the Abbaye de Saint-Roman in Beaucaire, the Club Toussaint Necropolaunt in Avignon, and the Nine Stones Café in Kensington near Earls Court and Brompton. Serah Wyles, herself, was raised on a farm in the agricultural preserves of Silsden, which coincidentally happens to be where my great-grandparents, the Wilkinsons, hail from. It was a tribute, not an attempt to save research time. Although my team at work is based in the UK, I’ve not yet been lucky enough to get called over for a visit with the people who sign my paychecks, so WTF, guys, it’s been seven years.

Weaver Bay

Weaver Bay started as one of my long-playing jokes one Saturday morning when I didn’t have a bunch of bands and cohorts coming over to play “radio station” in the basement. I sat with a particularly good cup of tea in my midwestern garage mancave. I spat out a website for a fictional disc jockey I intended to use as a stage persona for a new comedy podcast that I wanted to do. Sadly, I never got around to it because, as a “joke within a joke,” I started making a second website for the tourist-trap town he broadcasts from, and that open-ended concept just snowballed and got away from me. The bit got legs. Friends started sneaking lore into it. Suddenly, I had a shared universe with a boardwalk, civic squabbles, and an alarming Starbucks density. I assume their encouragement and participation mean I’m funny, though it seems to be the only empirical evidence. It became the fictitious setting of the Music Video Revival “Public Access Show,” as well as The Pessimal Refrain, and it gets name-dropped in all of my other comic novels, as they take place in “The City,” which is just a short rental scooter ride up the turnpike.

Perhaps one day I will attend Weavermore Music Festival, catch a Women’s Tackle Baseball game (Go Weaver Bay Baysballs!), maybe sit in on a bass circle at F.E.P.P. Cove, or stop at a dozen or so of the 19 Starbucks on the ever-expanding Boardwalk—but not the “Secret Starbucks,” that’s for locals only. Until then, I’ll just continue to write about it and keep putting “Mayor of Weaver Bay” under “past work experience” on my résumé.

If you’re from Kaunas, Lerici, Marbella, Silsden, (by some miracle) Weaver Bay, or any other real-world place I’ve ever speculated on, I’d love your corrections and quibbles. I’ll cheerfully buy the first round (or a nocino Manhattan, if I must) in exchange for your best “you missed a tiny thing you might find interesting” note.