Hokey Pokey Wednesday: A Lot's in a Name

           During rush hour on the Southern State, there isn’t much to do except stare at the back of the car in front of you.

   

            Last week we were behind a cherry-red sports car with an engraved license-plate holder.

The top of it read: “Viviana & Hugh.” There were hearts and a date at the bottom.

            “I wonder how that happened,” I said to my son, Michael.

            “How what happened?” he asked.

            “How a Viviana wound up with a Hugh,” I said.

            “Why not?”

            “Because a guy named Hugh is down to earth, reasonable and grounded. He might wear a little bow-tie.”

            “And a Viviana?”

            “Dramatic and flamboyant. A flamenco dancer would be named Viviana.”

            “Who would put that on their car, anyway?”

            “Viviana would. There’s no way Hugh did that, except at gunpoint.”

            “Huh,” Michael said.

           

            Shakespeare wrote:

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

            Yes. But would we think of it the same way? Names do have certain connotations. Otherwise, we would all name our children “Jack” and “Jill.” (And even those invoke images of a hill and a bucket, and tumbling after.)

            Names have flavors, like ice cream.

            Some are vanilla – like Hugh.

            Some are strawberry banana kiwi with a little umbrella on top – like Viviana.

            You can also tell a lot about a parent by what they name their child, and you can be sure that subsequent names will be in a similar vein. A person who names their first child “Jade” might name their second one “Ruby.” Someone who names a first offspring “James” will not be considering “Zebulun” for the next.

            I went to a play once, in which brothers were named “Albert” and “Cougar.” That simply did not ring true for me. No way did the same mother name those two boys.

            Consider Frank Zappa’s children: “Moon Unit” and “Dweezil.”  They say a lot about Frank and his wife, don't they?

            I named by sons “Michael Ryan” and “Casey Quinn.”

            I'm not Irish. I just love Irish-style names. My mother thought I used the name “Ryan” because when I was in sixth grade I liked the soap opera “Ryan’s Hope.” Yeah, that would be a stable thing to do. 

            For the most part, people I’ve met have fit their names. How does this happen? I wonder if anyone has done a psychological study about this.

            Maybe our upbringings match our names, if that makes any sense. But I suspect parents raise their children in a manner consistent with our names.

           

            But what do I know? I’m just a writer who thinks too much about these things.

            What’s in a name? For me, it’s the first insight into a character. As a matter of fact, Willow, the narrator of my novel Saved By the Music, first appeared in my head ranting about how much she hated her wishy-washy name, - and how her mother, Isodora, purposely named her Willow to keep her down, like a drooping willow tree.

            For all humans, a name is that first piece of the puzzle that makes us who we are.

 
           For a cat who hears you calling him, it’s supper.

Dinner or a novel?

Hello again!

Welcome to Tightrope Tuesday!!!

Yesterday I wrote about how I overcame my fear of writing a novel & pounded out two in three months.

But how did I manage parenting at the same time?

The answer is: poorly.

You would think that the hard part was managing to keep the books separate in my head. No, it seemed that the deeper I swam in the manuscripts the more adept I became at swimming.

The hard part was drying off. Coming back to reality. Life.

Let me just say that I hate cooking. I always say: “We can make dinner, or we can write a novel.” I choose the novel!

Maybe there’s a genetic gene missing in me, but I get no thrill from serving up dinner. I’m glad when people appreciate my offerings (I happen to be good at basic things – the secret is keeping it simple) – but tearing myself away from my computer to boil water for rice and chop garlic is about as appealing to me as a thirteen hour plane ride with no leg room and someone snoring next to me.

Even worse is planning a meal. I dread that question: “What’s for dinner?”

Shop-Rite claims to have the answer, but I shop in Stop & Shop. I would guess that even in Shop-Rite you have to hunt down their aisles for the answer. Honestly, don’t we have to do enough searching in our lives? Supermarkets should make announcements: “Dinner for tonight: Grilled pork chops marinated in whatever sauce with whatever sprinkled on them and a side of whatever.” You can see how much I care.

It’s just FOOD!!! Whatever!!!! Can we get back to writing, or what???

So let’s just say that while I wrote two novels simultaneously, there was lots of Chinese food involved.

I should’ve dedicated the books to the people at the Chinese take-out place.

I was still married at that time, and my ex is a devoted dad – but he didn’t cook dinners back then. Funny how we both cook separately now – is it a rivalry? Hmmm...The psychology of cooking dinner for your kids. You see how I think of things – as possible topics.

Anyway, how I managed to take care of my kids while I wrote the books is kind of a blur, but they did survive. I like to think I passed on my work ethic to my son Michael, who is quite devoted to his schoolwork. Casey is a little tougher, but he’s coming around. I love to look up words with him in my WRITER’S FLIP DICTIONARY.

I know I’ve set an example to follow a passion – and Michael is doing that with law.

But there is a price for passion, and that is often everyday life. When I’m typing an idea and Casey is staring at me from the staircase because he wants me to give him a ride somewhere, it’s hard to concentrate. (Mental note: Lock myself in a room where he can’t get to me.) Just kidding ;)

A writer friend of mine told me about someone she knows who hangs this sign on her office door for her kids: “I don’t love you when I’m writing.”

Ouch! Massive shrink bills ahead!!!

I ALWAYS love my kids, and they know that. But they also know they have a growing number of adopted siblings who I must nurture in my manuscripts. Like new additions to the family, they need extra attention. And, like real babies, they call to me in the middle of the night! I could never leave my kids wailing in the crib – nor can I ignore my characters’ cries.

Being a writer’s child is tough. But it’s also not so tough, I think.

I’d like to think I bring empathy and honesty to the dinner table, even if the steak is burnt because I needed to jot an idea down.

What I remember most about that time when I wrote the novels is what five year old Casey said when I finished: “Mommy, please don’t ever write two books together again.”

I didn’t write two novels simultaneously again, but a month later I was struck by my darkest novel, EVOLUTION. That sent me into a deep depression, and literally altered my personality. My poor kids...

The good thing was that I wrote it over the summer. I do tend to get these things out fast. Like Stephen King said: Write a novel in a season.

I think my kids have survived relatively unscathed. If not, I’ll have to chip in for their shrink bills. It’s only fair.