That's My Name, Don't Wear It Out

I've been thinking about a book I have coming out soon, The Reluctant Nude. At the final stage of proofing, my [brilliant and attractive] editor from Samhain sent me a PDF of the "finished" e-book. Just like the real deal you'd upload to your e-reader, it featured an excerpt from another romance to entice you at the end. Oddly enough, though, the hero in the excerpt had the same name as my wackadoo French hero from The Reluctant Nude—Max. I mean, how often do we really meet Maxes in our lives, ones who weren't born in the last five to ten years? Granted mine is a Maxence, but still. This happens a lot in romance.

Cornelius?

Contemporary romance character names are a pet peeve of mine. Don't worry, this isn't another rant-post about soap opera monickers like Rock and Stone and Lucian. What I want is for character names merely to be period realistic—period in this case meaning the seventies, when most heroes in current books would have been born. I have a sneaking suspicion that authors are choosing names from current baby name books. Have you really ever met a man in his thirties named Cayden or Brayden or Jaden or Jace? I promise I'm not picking on any author specifically—I've seen all of those multiple times. The worst is Aiden (Aidan, Aden). I'm sure someone will contradict me, but aside from Aidan Quinn, are there really all that many American men born before 1998 with that name? I blame Sex and the City.

Aside: while I was in art school in the late nineties and early oughts, I worked at a kids' furniture store, where I spent my days inhaling enamel paint fumes and decorating toy boxes and such with designs. We personalized just about everything with the kids' names, and since I worked there for four years, I got a first-hand education in the then-current baby naming trends and patterns. Hands-down, Aiden was the most overused boys' name. No wonder I get so irked by it now. Also popular: Jackson, Madeline, Cole, Sophie, and yes, Max. And all the Caydens and Braydens and Jadens. Properly posh names. Names people simply weren't given in the decades our heroes were born. Names aren't static—they're as fickle as fashion. Hugh is now a popular boys' name in the States, thanks largely to Hugh Jackman, I suspect. You may know a few babies named Hugh, but really, did you go to an American high school with any? (Actually I did, but he was the III.)

When I'm naming a character (bear in mind I write contemporary) the first thing I do is head to this website, which lists the 1,000 most popular American baby names by decade. Please note, Aiden's not even in the top thousand in the 1970s. Ditto Cayden, Jayden, and Jace. "Braden" comes 917th, right between "Dereck" and "Lon". There are other sites out there that even offer a year-specific list. Some readers are history buffs and can't stand when the place settings or the petticoats are wrong. Well that's me with names. I know, I know—it's fiction, authors can use whatever name they want, it's their right. Well it's my right to roll my eyes.

Doris?

When creating my own characters, I usually limit myself to the top 200 from that aforementioned site and try to pick the one that resonates best. It means my heroes typically end up with names like Michael and Russ and Brian, instead of Colter or Avery or Chase, but I sort of like that. All of this goes for heroines as well. No heroines born in the late seventies christened Madison or Kaylee, please. I mean, you wouldn't likely name her Gertrude, since it's period inappropriate, right? That instinct should go for the too-trendy as well as the too-old-timey. I think only one of my female leads has an odd name, and that's Fallon from The Reluctant Nude. I stole her name from a twenty-something character on The Archers BBC radio soap opera, because dammit, it just fit her.

I guess what I'd like to say in closing is this: authors, your characters are already special. Don't name them as you would your baby, from fear of saddling them with a boring, forgettable name, and making them boring, forgettable characters. You don't dress them in fluorescent clothes to make them stand out, do you? Let them stand out in their words and actions. Think about who their mother was, and what she would name them, in what year. I honestly won't read another romance starring a hero named Aiden…unless perhaps it's historical (I'm a history know-nothing, so I'm not fussy about naming accuracy) or possibly set in the UK. For those exceptions, I might quit my huffing and come along for the ride. Otherwise, trust me. Save the posh baby names for your hero and heroine's firstborn.

Voyeurism in the Digital Age, update

Update! The police just came to take a report. The officer was stern but nice (and heavily cologned) and I showed him what was happening outside our kitchen window. Part of me now hopes the camera is continuously recording, so the pervo has some lovely footage of a uniformed policeman staring at him and scribbling on a pad. The cop took my details and left to try to figure out who owns the house and who lives in that unit, so he can confront the weirdo and inform the landlord (perhaps they're one and the same!) and "get to the bottom of it." My voice was all shaky while I was explaining the situation, but I'm glad I didn't come off as a hysterical mess. I hope he tracks the camera owner down and puts the fear of God into him or her…though if he doesn't, my husband seems determined to do the job himself. Thank goodness for ballsier people than me. Well, except the kind who perform home-surveillance on their neighbors.

All that said, as soon as that camera's gone I'm getting myself right up in those windows…to measure them for blinds.

Voyeurism in the Digital Age

I'm afraid this is not a cheeky post, as such a title might suggest when it's coming from a romance and erotica writer.

This is a post in mid-creep-out…and I woke up in such a good mood.

There's a camera, probably a video camera, pointed into my kitchen from the house right next to us. My condo and the creepo's unit are both on the third floors, and my husband called me into the kitchen to point out the incredibly obvious camera propped in their window, angled right into ours from perhaps twenty feet away. It's so obvious, in fact, that I suspect it can't have been there for more than a day or two without us noticing. My husband immediately took a zillion pictures of it, and I called the police after a few minutes' unfocused fretting. They're coming by today to take a report. I think my husband wanted to go the vigilante justice route—march over and confront them—but I wanted the cops to see the creeptasticalz before the neighbors know we know…though if it is video camera, they now have plenty of footage of my husband documenting their set-up and us standing in the window, pointing and discussing what's to be done about it.

Sleazy scandal-wise, it's like, minorly scandalous. We don't have wild monkey sex in the kitchen and the most embarrassing thing that happens in there is me dancing like an asshole to Kylie Minogue while I'm cooking dinner. However, our bathroom is beyond the kitchen, and I do pass through naked once a day going back to the bedroom from the shower. This may sound stupid of me, but our neighbor's window is a skylight, so a person standing in their room really only has a view of the sky…unless of course they prop a camera up there at a certain angle. So, someone may possibly have three seconds' dim footage of me nakers, strolling by with my pajamas clutched to my chest.

I feel like I'm supposed to feel violated and panicked, but I'll be completely honest—I'm just annoyed. I'm annoyed perhaps most greatly that some douche ruined my husband's morning. He had a shitty day yesterday and this is the last thing he needed. And if taping my pasty butt is indeed the point of the camera, I'm sorry, but I just refuse to feel victimized over that. I don't care if some weirdo has a couple seconds' evidence of my boring old average nakedness passing by a window. I don't even particularly care if it's on some shoddy fifth-rate voyeur pr0n site. Everybody gets naked… That said, I will start wearing a towel in the mornings from now on, or at least buy some blinds for the kitchen windows.

Still, non-crisis or not, this did wreck my day, or at least my morning. My head cold is finally clearing and I'm supposed to be plugging away on a proposal, focused. And I'm not focused. I'm irritated and disappointed that this happened. I live in such a nice little city, but of course, even the smallest town has plenty of room for creeps.

I'm waiting for the police to come and check things out and take a report. The dispatcher lady was very nice when I called, which made me feel better. I had no idea what, if any, procedure there was for this situation, and it was validating to be taken seriously…and a relief to absolve my husband of his perceived duty to charge over there and thump some skulls.

Another thing that annoys me is that now, thanks to some creepy jackass, I'm probably going to get re-annoyed every time I walk by their house for the foreseeable future, which is just about every day. Is it possible to logic one's self out of that gut reaction? I guess I'll find out.

I guess I also want to clarify, this isn't a goes-to-show-you cautionary tale post. I'm not saying that everybody should stop walking around nakers in their homes because the world's inherently pervy and unsafe. Walk around nakers if you want—this probably won't happen to you. Or if it does (or if it has already) you very likely won't know, anyhow. Live in ignorant bliss, as I was doing quite happily until 7:30 this morning. Do check your neighbors' windows on occasion, though. Live in well-informed ignorant bliss.

Well, that's it. My husband had to head out to work, and it was nice to vent this to somebody now that I've had an hour to process. I'll check in later and let you all know what happens, once the cops come and do whatever it is they do in this situation. In this day and age, let's be honest—it can't be an uncommon occurrence. I'm sure they've dealt with it before. Anyhow, thanks for reading. I hope all your mornings are going more smoothly than mine is, so far. Such a sucky feeling, when the world decides to remind you that sometimes it's not such a lovely place.