What's In A Name?

It's my pleasure to introduce Katherine Grey at Tattered Pages today, who brings with us a great post about naming characters. Take it away, Katherine!

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”  A college professor once explained this line from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet as meaning names do not matter.  The line was spoken by Juliet in reference to the Montague name as a way to imply that his name meant nothing or was of no importance.  I’m not sure I agree with my former professor when it comes to the names of characters.

For me, main characters, and definitely in the case of the hero and heroine, have to have names that fit.  The names define them in a manner of speaking.  For example, an alpha hero just doesn’t seem very alpha if his first name is Bernie.  (No offense to any Bernies out there.)

At times a character will come to me with their name already intact.  This was the case of the heroine in my current work in progress (WIP).  She came to me fully formed with her back story, her conflict, and most importantly (to me) her name – Olivia St. Germaine.  Other times, characters will come with everything but their name and I give them one.  Some times as soon as I say it aloud, it seems to fit and the character will smile at me and nod in agreement.  Then there are the times when the character will back away, making the sign of the cross with their fingers at the sound of the name I’ve given them.

There are times where the name I’ve given them just doesn’t fit after I’ve started writing about them and I struggle to keep the name I gave them.  Some characters tell me, “Stop calling me that, damn it.  My name is…” which makes things easier.  And then some characters go through a process of different names with their names changing the way a teenager changes clothes until we both get tired or the name finally seems to fit.

A secondary character in my current WIP started out as John.  Four name changes later, I learned his name is David.  The “Find and Replace” feature in my word processing program got a work out as I kept having to find and replace his old name with each successive new one.  Finally David is happy and has become much easier to write.

So Mr. Shakespeare, with all due respect, I have to say, “A rose by any other name may still be a rose,” (I’m paraphrasing here, badly) but a character by any other name can be a completely different person.

Check out Katherine Grey's latest release IMPETUOUS, available now at The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble!

Mateo de Montayas, an impoverished Spanish count, comes to England to recover a stolen family heirloom and to satisfy his hunger for revenge against the man who destroyed his family. Arriving in London, he learns his hated enemy died three years before but has left behind a daughter. What better way to retrieve the heirloom and exact revenge than to use her to his advantage?
Teresa Darlington will do anything to keep scandal away from her frail mother and prove her father wasn't a thief, even risk her reputation in a race to find the missing heirloom before the Count does. But she didn't count on falling in love with the man determined to ruin her family. Can she find the heirloom before he does and protect her family, or will her heart lead her in a different direction?

Excerpt:

Teresa cast a furtive glance around the darkened garden. Now that it was time to put her

plan into action, she wished she were any place but here. Had she finally allowed her impulsive nature get her into something she couldn’t get out of? 

Determined to silence the fears clamoring within her, Teresa forced herself to go over all

Freddie had taught her in the last week. She checked her pocket for the stub of candle she

grabbed earlier. 

With one last prayer, she hoisted herself up and through the window. A surge of adrenaline flowed through her as she realized she was in one of the two libraries the Marquess of Kingsbury kept well maintained. Elated that her memory had served her correctly, she wandered around the room, her hand trailing over the many bookshelves. If she could remember the layout of each townhouse on her list as well as she did this one, getting in and out of the houses would be one less worry.

Her hand on the doorknob, she took one last look at the window. Once she left this room, escaping without detection became even more dangerous. The handle turned beneath her hand. Stifling a startled cry, she backed away from the door. Hide! her terrified mind screamed. She raced toward the window.

As freedom loomed in front of her, a hand clamped around her arm and dragged her back.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Her body went limp with relief as Montayas’ deep tones filled the room. Yanking her arm free

with a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she moved closer to the window. “I’m trying to protect my father’s reputation just as you are here trying to ruin it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play the fool with me. I know you’re searching for the Pequena. How can you threaten to

expose my father as a thief when your property isn’t even in his family’s possession?”

Montayas glanced toward the door. “Be quiet.”

“You’ll not silence me. I want the answers I should have demanded when you first voiced your

ludicrous accusations.”

He clamped his hand over her mouth.  “Someone’s coming,” he whispered, pulling her into

the shadows of the heavy brocade curtains. He glanced out the window and then back at the door.

Voices. Teresa heard them now. Still indistinct but louder.

Montayas gave her a warning look then removed his hand from her lips and positioned her in front of the window.

She struggled against his grasp. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

With one quick shove, he pushed her through the opening.

Barely suppressing a scream, Teresa fell through the air and landed on her knees with a soft

thud. The short fall stole her breath. Thankfully, the thick grass of the formal garden had acted as a cushion.

Seconds later, the count joined her on the lawn. He grabbed her hand and ran toward a small copse of trees. In the leafy shadows, he turned to face her. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Me?” she shrieked. “I didn’t just push you out a window.”