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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
June 10, 2013
Choose Your Name by ~yoursingingsatellite An interesting subject choice for this piece of creative nonfiction.
Literature Text
“John Brant,” I whispered, and a dashing British gentleman appeared in my mind, arrogant and suave as the slim-fitting Italian suit he wore. He sounded classy, not overly pompous. But there was just something about him. He could be the cool confident charmer I was looking for. But he could just as well be a stiff stocky soldier with his pride shoved far up his ass.
“John Chase,” The name rolled smoothly off my tongue. Another man took form, both the same and different from the first. He was just as charming, perhaps a little lower in class with a bolder tongue. And was that a little mischief I saw in his eyes? Undoubtedly, he was smoother than the latter. He could work. A common name for a common man. Maybe a little too common. But he could work.
“John Davies,” I frowned, my eyes still closed as I wrinkled my brow. This man was full of question marks. Unlike the previous two, I couldn’t picture him quite as clearly. And I wasn’t sure how I liked the way his name sounded. Originally I’d imagined a single-syllable last name would’ve suited him to keep it simple. Though Davies was simple enough. I opened my eyes and looked at it printed on the screen. Looks like a pirate’s name, I chuckled. Still… I uttered that name again. And again I saw the outline of a man but no clear image of him.
“John Ford,” Simple, classy. What’s not to like? A little toward the high-end like Brant, though perhaps not quite as flamboyant. I imagined him neat and sophisticated, a glass of sparkling champagne in one hand, a cigar in the other, and naturally, a lady by his side. Very Bond-esque, without the guns and none of the secret agent business, of course. But… “It’s not him.” I concluded. Too high up. Too posh. Too…old.
“John Forest,” I muttered the last name on the list I had so far. I tested it out on my tongue, placed it on my malleable character and searched for the details to fill in. He looked like his name. Brown hair. Green eyes. This one was more grounded than the rest⎯maybe a little kinder in the eyes. An everyman’s name. He didn’t possess the same wit or sexual magnetism as the man I had imagined. But of course, I could just write him that way. Perhaps the name could bring a little more balance, make him seem more likable. But wait. There was something else. He was…American? My nose wrinkled, but as the thought settled in my mind, I relaxed. He’s American, I accepted. Hardly any problem at all.
I looked over my list again, articulating each name, visualizing each man that came with it.
Well, Brant was out of the question, and I suppose Ford was too. “John Chase,” I liked him. I really did. But was he too wild, too risqué? Or perhaps too ordinary in status? Or maybe he just wasn’t worthy of the man I had in mind. Now that I thought about it, he did sound an awful lot like a cowboy. “John Davies,” I stopped at that name again and still I couldn’t imagine the man. But maybe mystery was the appeal. I pictured him again and this time I could see an enigmatic smile, full of secrets, full of puzzles. Maybe. But I had intended to reserve the mysterious quality for another, female character of mine⎯my femme fatale. But that was another matter for another time. For now… “John Forest,” I pronounced. Should there be a double “r” in there? I spelled it out. John Forrest. Yes, that looked a lot better, actually. Other than that, there was nothing blatantly wrong with the name. Still, something was bugging me about it. It didn’t fit perfectly. None of them did. But maybe that was the trick. Maybe you didn’t have to impose the right name on your character. You just pick one and let him grow into it. After all, what’s in a name? Even so, the great Shakespeare was not always right. If Romeo was called “Rotting Garbage”, I’m sure there’d be some differences in the story.
Was it entirely possible that his first name was the problem? I ruminated on that thought. NO. It had to be “John”. I couldn’t think of anything more simple, straightforward and equally masculine at the same time, and not to mention flexible. It suited a farmer and a nobleman. “John” was neutral. It set the backdrop of his character. His last name though, was his identity. It didn’t⎯by any means⎯define him. That was my job. But it gave a first impression, and first impressions last. Once again, I looked over the list of names.
I considered looking for more. John Smith? Way too common, way too anonymous. John Hugh? Old-fashioned. My math teacher was Mr. Hugh. I hated that bastard. John Jones? Bleh. Tasteless. Alliteration is for kiddy cartoon characters and everyone knows that. John John? Funny… It was tempting to eenie meanie my way out of this and just get it over with. Let the character mold into it instead. I doubted anyone would pay attention to such trivial details. That’s the thing with those who are language-inclined. We overanalyze, we search for meaning when there is none. Names are important, even when they aren't.
“John Chase,” The name rolled smoothly off my tongue. Another man took form, both the same and different from the first. He was just as charming, perhaps a little lower in class with a bolder tongue. And was that a little mischief I saw in his eyes? Undoubtedly, he was smoother than the latter. He could work. A common name for a common man. Maybe a little too common. But he could work.
“John Davies,” I frowned, my eyes still closed as I wrinkled my brow. This man was full of question marks. Unlike the previous two, I couldn’t picture him quite as clearly. And I wasn’t sure how I liked the way his name sounded. Originally I’d imagined a single-syllable last name would’ve suited him to keep it simple. Though Davies was simple enough. I opened my eyes and looked at it printed on the screen. Looks like a pirate’s name, I chuckled. Still… I uttered that name again. And again I saw the outline of a man but no clear image of him.
“John Ford,” Simple, classy. What’s not to like? A little toward the high-end like Brant, though perhaps not quite as flamboyant. I imagined him neat and sophisticated, a glass of sparkling champagne in one hand, a cigar in the other, and naturally, a lady by his side. Very Bond-esque, without the guns and none of the secret agent business, of course. But… “It’s not him.” I concluded. Too high up. Too posh. Too…old.
“John Forest,” I muttered the last name on the list I had so far. I tested it out on my tongue, placed it on my malleable character and searched for the details to fill in. He looked like his name. Brown hair. Green eyes. This one was more grounded than the rest⎯maybe a little kinder in the eyes. An everyman’s name. He didn’t possess the same wit or sexual magnetism as the man I had imagined. But of course, I could just write him that way. Perhaps the name could bring a little more balance, make him seem more likable. But wait. There was something else. He was…American? My nose wrinkled, but as the thought settled in my mind, I relaxed. He’s American, I accepted. Hardly any problem at all.
I looked over my list again, articulating each name, visualizing each man that came with it.
- John Brant John Chase John Davies John Ford John Forest
Well, Brant was out of the question, and I suppose Ford was too. “John Chase,” I liked him. I really did. But was he too wild, too risqué? Or perhaps too ordinary in status? Or maybe he just wasn’t worthy of the man I had in mind. Now that I thought about it, he did sound an awful lot like a cowboy. “John Davies,” I stopped at that name again and still I couldn’t imagine the man. But maybe mystery was the appeal. I pictured him again and this time I could see an enigmatic smile, full of secrets, full of puzzles. Maybe. But I had intended to reserve the mysterious quality for another, female character of mine⎯my femme fatale. But that was another matter for another time. For now… “John Forest,” I pronounced. Should there be a double “r” in there? I spelled it out. John Forrest. Yes, that looked a lot better, actually. Other than that, there was nothing blatantly wrong with the name. Still, something was bugging me about it. It didn’t fit perfectly. None of them did. But maybe that was the trick. Maybe you didn’t have to impose the right name on your character. You just pick one and let him grow into it. After all, what’s in a name? Even so, the great Shakespeare was not always right. If Romeo was called “Rotting Garbage”, I’m sure there’d be some differences in the story.
Was it entirely possible that his first name was the problem? I ruminated on that thought. NO. It had to be “John”. I couldn’t think of anything more simple, straightforward and equally masculine at the same time, and not to mention flexible. It suited a farmer and a nobleman. “John” was neutral. It set the backdrop of his character. His last name though, was his identity. It didn’t⎯by any means⎯define him. That was my job. But it gave a first impression, and first impressions last. Once again, I looked over the list of names.
I considered looking for more. John Smith? Way too common, way too anonymous. John Hugh? Old-fashioned. My math teacher was Mr. Hugh. I hated that bastard. John Jones? Bleh. Tasteless. Alliteration is for kiddy cartoon characters and everyone knows that. John John? Funny… It was tempting to eenie meanie my way out of this and just get it over with. Let the character mold into it instead. I doubted anyone would pay attention to such trivial details. That’s the thing with those who are language-inclined. We overanalyze, we search for meaning when there is none. Names are important, even when they aren't.
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Was dull, as funerals
go.
It was nothing I could help, the sound of it
left me. And in the moving crowd of black
around collars and scarves and
the formless grays of our town
, bowel movement of black,
broken by a laugh, then two, then
a whole cascade. Who is to say
I wasn’t mad from knowing the truth
or wanting to, not knowing enough?
Bobby Sweethouse died
throwing himself off the school roof.
His mother was the first to collect his remains,
ashamed almost to see
all the mess her boy had made.
Many of my friends had said,
he deserved this for being a queer,
or something along those lines, I’m sure
they could pull whatever th
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I wrote this out of the blue. I don't know about other writers, but personally, it's a process for me to choose names for my characters. Sometimes, nothing just seems to fit. Other times, you choose a name first and build your character around it.
This was going to be a journal entry but I figured it was too long, and I wrote it in a short story form.
Feel free to point out any grammatical mistakes. I would really appreciate it.
This was going to be a journal entry but I figured it was too long, and I wrote it in a short story form.
Feel free to point out any grammatical mistakes. I would really appreciate it.
© 2013 - 2024 yoursingingsatellite
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I have the hardest time choosing names. I have a great story in mind, but my issue is naming my characters. I've gone through a few, but haven't been too happy. This story has more than one main character, as it is intended for a video game my fiancé and I plan to develop, but I want lovable characters with appealing names. I had a list, but I've ruled most of them out and I just can't settle with the one I like more than others. I've tried numbering them and rolling dice, writing up a mock story testing the name out, and still haven't been satisfied. Have a last name for the younger female and only first names for two of my adult males and an adult female and only an inkling idea of a couple others. That's the main thing that has stopped me from writing so far. I've been sitting on this for over a year now, somethings have come in the way like work and school, but now that I have the time I really want to start writing, but I just can't figure out suiting names. I know their personalities, strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, what they look like, what they sound like. I just don't have names. Oh, what's in a name! Oh, woe is me! I know I'll figure it out sooner or later, but I'm kinda picky on names as they are very important to me when I am the reader/viewer/player and I intend to appeal to those with similar interests in a story. As I've been told, you can be your worst critic.