Names for my figurative children
I’m having difficulty sticking to character names.
In the beginning, I was certain that I would use the name Aiden, as that is the name I had planned to name my son (should I ever have one). I blindly made this choice years ago, because at the time I just felt that the name “worked.” It was a name I could imagine myself saying lovingly and yelling in anger. But as I get older and the idea of having children seems to move further and further down my list of priorities, I reasoned that the character in my book, being my figurative “child”, could have the name instead.
However, I have been doing some mild research on different names, and I came to find out that Aiden has recently become very popular… and, naturally, that has now made it completely unappealing to me. I’m just not a fan of picking anything that is too mainstream – there was to be some uniqueness to it. Meaning, if the world were clamoring for the color white, and the extremists were picking black to stand out, I would prefer to settle for something gray.
So, if Aiden is too mainstream, then what name should I use? This was only one of the surprisingly frustrating obstacles I had to conquer before I could even begin to write, because my characters had to have their names. They simply had to. I couldn’t write about nameless people.
I initially found myself using the name Noah, and even though I was always a little indifferent about that choice, I eventually got used to it… which wasn’t what I was looking for. I don’t want to be used to my lead character’s name, as I would imagine that the reader would have to do the same thing. After much debate, I’ve since decided to try out the name Ethan, and so far this choice has made the story flow a lot better. Unlike Noah, I can actually take Ethan and his struggles seriously.
So, I’ve got the guy’s name… but what about the girl? I started off with Emily, but like Noah, it was a name I really couldn’t take seriously – especially for the role that she was supposed to play. “Emily” just wasn’t a powerful enough name. I tried out a few other names, mostly ones that began with E or A, and this had lead me to falling in love with the name “Emma.” It wasn’t until a few days after I had chosen this name did it strike me that I had unknowingly named my main character after a girl whose website I used to love. Usually name associations like that would push me toward another choice, because after that point it becomes impossible for me to not be reminded of that other person I knew who had that name. However, in this case, it actually made me like my main character more. I liked naming her after that girl whose website and creativity I used to envy.
And this is who I’m writing about – Ethan and Emma. The names sound good together, which has become some sort of odd requirement for me. I’ve come up with a lot of other names that I’ve liked, but when they didn’t sound good together I felt like I was forced to pick something different. Maybe it’s just my opinion, but you can’t write a story about a couple whose names sound like oil and water in your mouth. They have to roll off the tongue – a book is nothing but words, so the names have to read as though they belong together. The reader will imagine the rest.
But, sadly, all is not perfect, because both names being with an E. E! Counting Ethan and Emma, that would give me a total of four characters in the book whose names begin with an E. One of them I can’t change, the other one I could – but that would still leave me with three E’s, all of which are “main” characters.
Of my options, I’ve been trying to find a better girl’s name – mostly because that was the name that I struggled with the most. I figure that if I had difficulty picking it, I could probably work a little harder and do better with it if I tried. Right now, the whole name issue is bothering me enough that I’ve started to stall writing chapter three (and option to write blog entries, obviously). Important things are supposed to happen in chapter three, and the shit hits the fan in the fourth – yet here I am, delaying all of that so that I can nitpick over a name.
Decisions
Today was... frustrating.
Over the course of the past four months, it seems as though I now have a different job than what I had six months ago. However, this isn't the result of anything that actually changed for me. This is all the result of positive things that happened to other people, like my coworkers getting promotions and a new hire joining our department. During all of the shuffle and confusion, it seems that no one noticed that I was trampled underfoot. Well, no one other than me, I should say.
I know that these things sometimes happen without intention. Today I had the opportunity to speak my mind on the issue, and I did so quite frankly, and I appreciate that the managers of my department took the time out of their day to listen to my concerns.
However, for me to be told that nothing can change, and that I need to find a way to make the current situation work, is not ok. I understand that my managers might not have a choice in telling me this, that this may be the best they can do for me right now, but unfortunately that answer is not ok for me.
So, that leaves the obvious question: "what should I next?" At first it didn't feel like I had alot of choices available to me. I'm not a fan of job hopping, and if I had to be honset, I really had envisioned myself building a career at this company. I could forsee myself planting roots and I had a pretty good feeling about the direction I wanted to go. The idea of going from that to peddling my resume around again isn't very unappealing. This is probably because I have never really had a "corporate mindset," and over the past few months I have become more and more skeptical that this is really what I should be doing my life. I mean, sure, I enjoy Data Entry - but is this really something I can do forever?
Today, I was given a very clear answer to that question. Apparently, by either my own choice or someone else's, the answer is no.
So, after careful thought, I have decided to start saving my money. I always say I'm going to do that, but this time I mean it - because when I finally do finish my book, I will get an agent. And when I get an agent, I will get published. And once I am published I should have a reasonable idea of whether or not I will be able to embark on my new career: being a full time writer. I feel pretty confident that I can do it - I just happen to have a long, grueling road ahead of me.
I will use my experience today as motivation to push myself forward. I am more valuable than to simply be told that I "must find a way" to make a miserable situation work, and I will prove it.
It's time to pull up Open Office and put my money where my mouth is... quite literally.
On the subject of… Writing
I've been wanting to do something more with my life for a while now, something I can actually be proud to say that I've done, and this feeling has only gotten stronger since R. came into my life. His effortless ambition and motivation leaves me wishing that those things came more naturally to me, but it has always been a struggle for me to muster the motivation to achieve even the most mediocre amount of success. I'm not sure if this is due to my upbringing, where I spent the majority of my adolescence listening to my father chant "it doesn't matter if you want to do it; you have to," as if this experience instilled some sort of subconscious defiance that renders me completely unable to prove my father right. Or maybe it's because it's simply not in my nature to peruse something that I can't, in my gut, justify as something I want spend precious time doing. Maybe I really am that self important. But overall, the only thing I've been able to confirm without a doubt is that that somehow, somewhere, there is a disconnect in my mind between doing things I don't want to do and the things I need to do in order to achieve success. They never seem to be one in the same.
This is why I've been fairly content with my current career path, even if it doesn't put me on the road to wealth and riches. If it came down to a do or die choice, I would prefer to live modestly for the sake of being able to wake up in the morning and not completely hate my life for the next 8-10 hours that I'm at work. And that's how my life is right now - I can wake up in the morning and really have no remorse or regret about having to go to work that day. In my own way, I enjoy the fact that I prove my father wrong every single work day, as he couldn't seem to fathom the idea of having a job that you didn't absolutely despise. I was always taught that you would never like your job - and yet, here I am, content where I am.
Or am I?
Despite my skepticism, I have always been a creative person. I have kept this website open since the summer of 1997. In the beginning, web pages and graphic design took the place of my hobby of drawing. It also took the place of my career plans, because I went from being a "Cartoonist for Disney" to "Graphic Designer with an office in New York."
For a long time, I primary web pages and filled them with text. Over time, however, my web pages became text surrounded by a web page. If I really had to be honest with myself, that is the real reason why I continue to pay $9/month for this website, the real reason why it just doesn't feel right not to have some place on the internet... because what if I needed to write? What if I simply had to, wherever would I put it? On my hard drive maybe, where no one would ever see? No, that won't do. That was always the thing about my writing. I couldn't just do it - someone had to read it or it was as if it didn't exist. My writing is that poor tree that falls in the forest - someone needs to hear it or else the very existence of the action is in question. If no one reads what I wrote, was it really written at all?
And so, we come full circle - me dealing with this dilemma of needing to want to do something, yet having all of this really unappealing stuff I have to do in order to be successful. And I'm fairly certain I'm happy, but what if I took a harder look at the things I want to do? What if, hiding right under my nose, there was something I wanted to that I could also be successful at?
The idea of being a writer is something I've tossed around before. I've mentioned it whimsically in this journal a few times already, and usually nothing came of it. This is primarily because that while I may be able to write to a sufficient degree, I always seemed to fall sort of coming up with an actual story. Minor detail, right? Exactly. If you can't come up with a story you might as well enter data into a computer all day which, what do you know, that's exactly what I've been doing for the past four years.
But what if... I came up with something. An idea, with a full group of characters and a world of conflict. What if... I feel really good about it. And what if... I was already on Chapter 2.
Maybe I could be a writer. Maybe I really could do this, and maybe I'd even excel at it. Maybe writing a book could be the first thing I would ever be proud to say that I do.
Although, it will take some time for me to keep a straight face when saying "I'm a writer." Has anyone ever been able to say that without all those within earshot immediately thinking that this person must be one of the most pretentious, self righteous messes that they'd never want the displeasure of talking to? The audacity of someone calling themselves a "writer!" How about calling yourself a princess and asking me to kiss your feet while I'm at it!
On second thought... maybe that's a perfect fit for me.
Ten Candles
Ten years ago today a 16 year old girl stood near a terminal gate in Regan National Airport in Washington, DC. The weather was cloudy, cold, and rainy - typical Virginia holiday weather - and she peered out through the layers of gray to watch the planes as they landed, trying to guess which one might be carrying the passenger she was waiting for. Her father paced restlessly behind her, in his typical and aggravating fashion, sometimes stopping to stand behind her and join in the watch of the runway traffic.
Today was the end of a 7 month long wait, but in the eyes of this teenager it had felt like all of her life had been spent building to this moment. Over dramatic and always right, this was when her life would finally start to make sense. The mountain of expectation of this moment had never seem to fully settle in to reality until the arrival announcement was made and the terminal door was propped open. He would soon be walking through that door.
Ten years ago today a 16 year old girl sat in the back set of her parents car as they drove through the parking garage of Regan National Airport. She was quiet and awkward, realizing for the first time that she had never really thought about what would happen after their initial meeting, having for so long assumed that it wouldn't go well, that she would be unwanted... until the 16 year old boy sitting across from her reached for and took her hand in his. She looked at him and smiled, genuinely surprised by the gesture, but kept her hand loosely gripped to his for the rest of the hour trip home.
Ten years ago today a girl was caught by surprise, mid sentence, by a kiss from a 16 year old boy. Standing in her bedroom under the bright light of the fan, her first time physically alone with him, the thought had not even crossed her mind as she babbled mindlessly about the decorations in her room. She looked up at him with wide eyes, barley having time to acknowledge the moment of her first kiss, while he stared back at her unapologetically. His reasoning was only a blunt confession: "I had been wanting to do that all day."
Ten years ago today a very childish girl made a very adult choice no more than 10 hours after first holding hands with a 16 year old boy, no more than 7 hours after her first kiss. Over confident and always right, she felt there was no point in waiting for a better opportunity than the present. This was where her future was finally starting to begin, and anxious for it to finally start, she vowed would be as close to him as she could possibly be from that moment on. A willing participant in the end of their innocence, she couldn't wait to see how much better tomorrow would be.
I acknowledge the anniversary of this day every year, but there was a very long period of my life where I struggled with the ramifications of the decisions I made that day. The person I was at 16 is a stranger to me, with the distance strengthened over time by my resentment for my carelessness and youthful ignorance. Life is riddled with crossroads - it is usually only after we have chosen our path that the options we once had before us start to be come clear, helping illuminate the unknowing mistakes in our judgment. Ten years ago today I committed my first distinguishable regret. I don't think I will ever reach a place where I can forgive the version of myself who never had a second thought of what that decision could lead to, whether it be because she couldn't have known any better or because I'm just not the forgiving type. But, now that I have finally reached a state of peace in my mental health, can I take a moment and acknowledge this dark anniversary in my foolish past. It's part of who I am and what lead me to here, and although I am never one to shy away from entertaining the ideas of where I could be if I had done things differently, for the first time in a long time... I don't see the point in it.
Fill ‘er Down
While waiting at stoplights I keep catching myself gazing in vapid disbelief at the current price of gas. I had thought that I would never see gas be cheaper than $2 a gallon again, and I think the fact that it has continued to fall well into the current $1.80 range is messing with my perception of reality in a really ridiculous way. I pass three or more gas stations during my five minute drive to work and each time that the price catches my attention I have the same moment of "WTF?", in the "what year is it again?" sort of way, accompanied a fleeting desire to pull over right then and fill up my tank because tomorrow it just might be $3.50 a gallon again. Because that could totally happen. Totally.
For as bad as my memory is, I still have very vivid memories of the time I finally started to pay attention to the price of gas. While I drove my family's 93 Chevy S10 during my senior year of high school, my father was the one who took care of the general maintenance of the vehicle - including keeping the tank full at all times. It wasn't until I was away at Radford University and my two close friends, Michelle and Dave, both had vehicles to maintain and budget for with their own money that it became something that I actually had a conversation about it with another person. My first year of college was also the same year that 9/11 happened, which is exactly why I finally started to take note of the price - as after the towers were hit the amount per gallon started to legitimately climb for the first time in almost 20 years.
I specifically remember a time when Dave and I were about to take a somewhat usual trip to Blackburg, in order to pick up Nadia from Virginia Tech for the weekend, and hearing Dave grumble and bitch about how the price had shot up to $1.68 and the following 20 minute conversation about how fucked up that was. In a lot of ways, my recent reality check over something as simple as the price of gas is tied directly to that memory. It has more to do with that time of my life than it does with something as relatively insignificant as how much it costs me to put gas in my car, and it's making my thoughts dwell on a lot of things that usually stay blissfully forgotten.
I could do without seeing the price drop to $1.68.