My life so far has been episodic, a series of separate, closed chapters divided by places, events, and the men I have known; some of them vignettes, others no more than anecdotes."" So speaks Miranda Pickerel, just about perfectly sizing up the kiss-and-tell first novel she stars in. Born of American parents in Manila (and interned there in a camp during World War II), Miranda grows up and writes a newspaper column in her hometown; gets a job as a stringer for Time, Inc. in Southeast Asia; interviews Sihanouk, Madame Nhu, and Sukarno (sleeps with him too); smokes opium; and survives a few broken hearts. When her stepmother dies, Miranda leaves the book she's writing about her exotic life in order to console her father by accompanying him on a yacht cruise around the Hawaiian Islands. As they sail, she recalls . . . and recalls. . . and recalls. . . . Miranda, your final feeling is, has done unusual things but without flair or feeling; mostly she seems spoiled and captious. I Was A Woman War-Correspondent--in what reads like the barely fictionalized autobiography (complete with transcripts of all those interviews) of a not-very-interesting, rather shallow globetrotter.