Names are interesting things. We don’t choose our own names, for the most part… we’re stuck with what our parents chose.
I’m utterly ambivalent towards my name; I don’t know what that says about how I see myself!
I used to get teased at school: Vicky the Viking (there was a cartoon in the 1980s), Sticky Vicky… and now it often gets shortened to Vic, which I HATE AND LOATHE, because Vic is a greasy middle-aged dude in a string vest.
Victoria is for when I’m in trouble. And Vicky is just a bit… insipid.
(If you’re reading this and your name is Vicky or Victoria, this is no reflection on you and your name. This is about me, so don’t @ me.)
It’d be cool to have a splendid middle name to use instead, but… my middle name is:
Which is about as basic as you can get. There’s a little added glitter with the extra Y, I’ll grant you, but… meh.
Which is why I’m deeply envious of Joe’s middle name, which is Duthac.
I know right? Literally nobody else has that name except St Duthac and he died about a thousand years ago. Big ups for Catholic naming conventions, you end up with the weird ones.
I’m trying to persuade Joe that we should both choose a new surname to share, and that we should combine our surnames to become—wait for it—
I mean this is a plan with NO drawbacks, why would anyone not want a name like Quaser, and if you could write to him in support of this idea that’d be great kthxbye.
Now over to you: what does the prompt “middle names” get you thinking about?
Set a timer for 5 minutes and write—and then, when you realise how much fun that has been, book yourself a spot at the upcoming Write Night. Check it out right here!
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Notes in the Margin
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