The Name Game II: Characters
Modern stories are character-based.
If you write mystery, there's a good chance that
you write a series, and that means you have a continuing character.
People may even refer to your books by that character's name: James
Bond, Jack Reacher, Stephanie Plum, the Hardy Boys (Would that
series have survived if they'd been called the Sickly boys?).
Your character is your brand, so you have to give
him, her, or them a memorable and evocative name for people to
remember. Sometimes, I don't find the right name until I'm
struggling with the fourth or fifth draft, and I may change it
several times until I find the one that sticks. Ideally, the name
captures the character's personality and suggests something about
him or her.
Sometimes, you can be symbolic, like Scout in
To Kill A Mockingbird or Faithful in The Pilgrim's
Progress. For years, I've said the ultimate victim name,
especially in a book about a con game, is Patsy. Allusions are a
good shorthand, too, like naming a lover Romeo or a martyred
character Jesus, Sebastian, or Joan. But symbolism and allusion get
old or pretentious very quickly, and then you have to go for the
more ordinary without succumbing to the mundane.
Maybe a lyrical or pretty name-I know, that's
very subjective-or very unpleasant. Flannery O'Connor's character in
"Good Country People" calls herself Hulga because she wants to sound
ugly. The name almost rhymes with the adjective. And what does that
tell us about her as a person? Many naming dictionaries for babies
exist, and some of them sort the names by gender, language of
origin, culture, or meaning. Look at sounds, too. What do they
suggest?
Many heroic characters have short names with
strong consonants. Shane, Sam Spade, Shell Scott (Shell suggests a
bullet or armor, too). They often have strong consonant sounds, like
Harry Bosch or Joe Pike or Carlotta Carlyle. Sara Paretsky's
V.I.-Victoria Iphegenia-Warshawski gives us an interesting rhythm
and a fully-realized symbolic and allusive name. Victory and a
sacrifice in the same name. It's memorable. So is Sherlock Holmes,
and Conan Doyle took the names from two real people he knew.
When I find the right name, I know how and why
the character has it, too. The romance writer Taliesyn Holroyd in
Who Wrote the Book of Death? is a man writing romance, and
Taliesyn is an over the top romantic name. It's also originally King
Arthur's male bard, so it suggests the gender, too. The woman half
of the team is Beth Shepard, and she's a victim, so her last name
suggests a sheep or (sacrificial) lamb. She uses bopeep as her
e-mail address.
Zach Barnes was originally the PI in Who Wrote
the Book of Death? When that book didn't sell, I gave his name
to the PI in "Stranglehold" because I was trying to sell a series
and liked the name better than the name I was using. Greg Nines has
the same rhythm as Zach Barnes, but the consonants are softer. Megan
Traine, the female lead in "Stranglehold" and the still unsold
series, acts and looks like a Megan. She's smart, feisty, and
gorgeous. Her name rhymes with the name of the real woman who
inspired her, my high school classmate, a professional musician in
Detroit.
I'm working on a novel now with a cop named Tracy
Hendrix. His grandfather admired actor Spencer Tracy, and his father
liked Jimi Hendrix enough to change the spelling of his own last
name. Tracy's detective partner is Jimmy Byrne, so the rest of the
cops call him "Trash," making the pair Trash and Byrne (Cue the
rim-shot). The book deals with roller derby, and all the skaters use
rink names that suggest their real occupation. For example, I have a
physical therapist who calls herself Grace Anatomy and a divorce
lawyer named Roxi Heartless.
Will those names be around for the final
draft?
I don't know, but for now, I'm having a lot of
fun.
How bad can that be?
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