What’s in a Name?
The problem of choosing character names is a big one in the writing community. Writers talk about it, joke about it, and even make memes about it.
We have developed some interesting techniques to create names that fit our characters. A historical novelist like Carol Ashby may have multiple folders on her computer with lists of names based on country, historical time frame, and the societal ranks within that culture.
Then you have authors of contemporary fiction (like me) who pluck names from pop stars whose videos are on YouTube.
Though I rarely use them personally, I know that many of my fellow authors see baby name books and websites as goldmines.
I can be honest enough with myself to acknowledge that sometimes my name choices are influenced by my twisted sense of humor. The name of the true villain in my first book was a play on the name of a villain I knew “in real life.” I did the same thing with a couple of not-so-trustworthy pastors in my second book. And for a lawyer in my fifth book.
For book five of The Rose Collection (in which the lawyer was featured), I was heavily invested in a former boyband turned reunited “man band” (is that a thing?), Take That. No, I’d never heard of them either. I’d heard them mentioned on Miranda (a silly and wonderful British sitcom that is guaranteed to make me smile when I’m feeling a bit down). In a later episode, the lead singer, Gary Barlow, was a surprise guest — and I had no clue who he was, so I looked him up. When his autobiography showed up on my Kindle Unlimited feed, I took a chance. It was well written, but I was lost when it came to the music, videos, and concerts he mentioned. Enter research mode and YouTube music. It turns out Take That was pretty huge in Europe, and for good reason. Their second wave of music is brilliant (I am not such a fan of their boyband era, but I’m in the minority there).
In Wise and Mighty (book 5), the males of the Taylor family are named for Take That band members. The restaurant where they eat breakfast is Barlow’s Diner. That’s where it all started. As I added side characters, I stayed with the theme of pop and rock stars. The lawyer in question became “Dr. Barry” (Thank you, Bee Gees!).
I let the main character from book six choose her own name. She changed it from Libby Warner to Ginger Douglass. She adopted the last name of Frederick Douglass since she read and reread his autobiography throughout her younger years. As for Ginger? Straight up Gilligan’s Island reference. It was one of the few shows she was allowed to watch growing up. Libby would say that her favorite character was Gilligan because he was funny, but the truth was, she admired Ginger’s self-confidence and style (two things Libby never had). But what Libby loved the most about Ginger was how all the men appeared afraid of her. Libby wanted that kind of power (and the safety it promised).
Not every character’s name is rooted in backstory. That’s when IMDb comes in handy. I can choose a television show (reality shows are great for this) with a mix of common and unusual names and peruse the cast list.
I discovered this week that non-writers weren’t aware that most writers don’t have every name chosen before they start writing. Personally, I don’t know how that would work. I’m a pantser, so sometimes characters show up without warning.
If the writing flows and an unscheduled character arrives, I’ll add a *** as a placeholder and keep writing the action and dialog. I’ll go in later and replace the *** with a name. Sometimes it’s a generic name from IMDb, but even then, I’ll choose a villain from the cast list for the villain in the story.
Because the NAME is everything.
When Catherine Brusk introduced “Kip” in her first novel, she didn’t have to say, “Oh, by the way, he’s a self-confident preppy womanizer”— I mean, she eventually did, but she didn’t have to. The name said it all.
When Chautona Havig’s novels feature characters like “Milton” and “Anne Montgomery,” the reader knows to be on the lookout for classical references.
But the BEST author to wink at the importance of names was The Bard himself.
Years ago, whenever I would break down the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet for my students, I would start with “Wherefore art thou Romeo,” explaining that she wasn’t asking WHERE Romeo was. She was asking WHY he was. It is one of those common misunderstandings that completely changes her little rant. (And yes, it IS a rant, and just once, I’d love to see the balcony scene played out as if Juliet is having an honest-to-goodness tween meltdown).
Poor Juliet has spent the first thirteen or fourteen years of her life completely sequestered so that her father could sell her off to the highest bidder—oh, sorry, I meant MARRY her off to the most eligible bachelor. At her first party EVER, she meets a boy and develops her first crush, not on the grown man her father has chosen for her, but on a guy just slightly older than her. And then, it turns out that her crush happens to be the heir apparent to a rival family.
During her monologue (ranty-rant), Juliet has an imaginary conversation with the boy. After rhetorically asking why he had to be Romeo Montague, she suggests he go no contact with his family and change his name. If that doesn’t work out, but he swears to be Juliet’s love forever, and ever; she’ll sacrifice her own name and no longer be a Capulet. Then, she utters the famous line, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet …”
Shakespeare gave her that line, and it sounds so perfectly reasonable, but the names DRIVE THE PLAY. If it wasn’t for the feud between the Montagues and Capulets, there would be no conflict for Romeo and Juliet to so poorly “overcome.” Of course, as the author, Shakespeare knew this, so he gave innocent and ignorant Juliet this most iconic and ironic of lines.
Sometimes, though, I wonder if when Shakespeare was writing his plays, he used a placeholder for the names of his various side characters while writing his first draft. Did he get inspiration for character names while eating in his favorite pub? Was there a waitress named Juliet? A merchant who’d just arrived from Rome, complaining about his wife Rosaline while attempting to flirt with the waitress? Was someone at a nearby table planning to visit Paris?
In other words, did he work like every other writer?
How many pieces of parchment went up in smoke because he couldn’t get a scene “just right.” How many times did he catch people staring at him because he was making facial expressions based on the action he was writing? How often did he freak out his friends when he went into detail about murder weapons and the efficacy of certain poisons?
And before anyone snobbishly says, “You’re comparing yourself to Shakespeare now?” let me state unequivocally that NO, I am not. I have nowhere near his talent for taking a folk story or myth and turning it into a play that generations of people can relate to. My point is he was a writer and AS a writer, he likely faced the same issues and used some of the same tricks that writers still use today.
But without the benefit of IMBd.
