I’m bad at names. I don’t mean I won’t remember yours. I mean, I have whole drafts of manuscripts where characters are named things like tkbabysitter and tkserialkiller.
I have this persistent belief that somewhere, somehow… the perfect name is out there.
If I had children, they’d probably be named “Girl” and “Boy” and I’d just put away money so they can pick their own names when they grow up.
I was reading a news article. One of those hopeful, optimistic things where someone has cured Covid or cancer, or invented a less-invasive breast implant procedure.
The doctor had the same name as a torture killer who died in prison a few years back.
I don’t think the murders ever hit the national news, but the name hit me a little off kilter.
“No. I’m Doctor Charles Manson.”
Maybe there’s a Michelin starred chef out there whose name is Jeffrey Dahmer.
Are you the historian or the anthropologist?
Me? I have the same name as a sex therapist in a Midwestern city. (I only know that because I tried to get my name as a domain name.) I have the feeling that could make for hilarious misunderstandings at parties.
I like to do a quick google search of any names I’m thinking of using.
And down the rabbit hole I go.