The project began with a code name I did not entirely trust: Exotica.
It sounded like a lost record, a nightclub sign, a perfume, a promise made by someone pointing beyond the edge of a map. It also carried the long habit of turning other people’s homes into scenery for Western desire. That tension is why I kept it.
I do not want to build a fantasy nowhere assembled from interchangeable tropical ruins, pirate clichés, and borrowed Asian ornament. I want the project, code-named Exotica, to ask why the unknown is so often marketed as beautiful, available, and empty. Empty for whom? Available at whose cost?
“Who draws the map? Who pays for the voyage? Who is already living at the destination?”
The first musical image was a woman singing above deck while another voice answered from below the hull. The surface voice wanted distance. The underwater voice wanted recognition. Between them I heard rigging, low drums, wood strain, breath, and a chorus that could become either a crew or a warning.
The first character was Mira Vane, though she did not yet have that name. She was simply the captain who mistook curiosity for innocence. I knew she would be brave. I also knew bravery would not protect her from consequence.
I wrote three questions on the first page of the story bible: Who draws the map? Who pays for the voyage? Who is already living at the destination?
That is the beginning. Not a plot yet. A compass.