There are two reasons that help me to understand why people procreate. Only two. Two reasons that positively offset all the sleepless
nights, incessant, irrational crying and projectile bodily fluids. These are…
- You can make the baby wear a hat with ears.
- You get to name another person, and help create their initial identity.
The ‘hats with ears’ thing is a no brainer. Literally every baby that was ever born looks
a million times better in a hat with ears. There is no exception. Take a
look at this
website. Their section of ‘hats with ears’ is called ‘Ear Hats’. This is most pleasing. We should all have a cupboard or drawer where
our Ear Hats are stored. On the
downside, however, it seems they have been categorised by gender. I’m not sure how gendered an Ear Hat for a
new-born needs to be, but hey ho.
Source: Beanie Designs |
Anyway, on to point two, which is the excitingly giddy
responsibility of naming a child. And
now I must clarify the reference regarding identity. As much as I feel that names and identity
are deeply entwined, I also know this isn’t set in stone. Identity can be played with at any point. Whether it is a toddler deciding they are
going to be a dog for the rest of the day, or whether it is - as I did - ditching Nicola as my first name the second I started High School. Identity and the power of a name are fluid
concepts, and usually under the control of the individual concerned. Yet, and yet…. how absolutely brilliant to
have the chance to push-start someone on their way by giving them their name.
Because of my refusal to put up with the other aspects of
child-rearing as stated above, I have to satisfy this desire for attempted personality
creation, with the naming of my characters. And let’s face it, here I have complete control over the shape of their
lives, and how they choose to behave. It’s the perfect way to flex my naming muscles without having to wipe up
escaping excrement from the sofa cushions. So far, anyway.
Naming my main character - the female protagonist - felt as
important as naming a child. I ended up
calling her Tilda. Not only is this a
name I like, but it hinted at a slightly interesting backstory which may or may
not tally with what we learn about her. I wonder how many Tildas would have been born in Stockport, forty years
ago. (Age and birthplace teaser there
for you.) I also like the idea of her
originally being called Matilda, because I had a doll with that name in 1979. Perhaps rather tellingly, my doll was not
named by me, but my mother. As were my other dolls, Gilbert, Cilla, and the less imaginatively titled, Dolly. But I digress.
My male lead character’s name was harder to pinpoint. At the time, I was watching series one of
Homeland, and felt drawn to the name of Damien Lewis’ character, Brodie. I liked how it was his last name, but also used
as his first. It felt too easy just to
nick that, so I scratched my head a bit longer until I came upon the name,
Grady. Jessica Fletcher’s nephew on
Murder She Wrote deserves to be immortalised in print, and this was the perfect
opportunity.
So, my unnamed main characters became Tilda and Grady and I
got on with writing their story, whilst sleeping soundly, and not requiring a
packet of baby wipes to be glued to my side.
If only I’d been able to find the perfect Ear Hats for them,
then I’d have been truly content.
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