There’s no easy way to put this – so I’ll just blurt it out. Even though I blog as Murphy, Murphy is not my real name. Oh, I’ll continue to blog as Murphy, but now that I’m ready to take on my writing career full-time? I figure it’s time I grew up and embraced the name I’ve spent my whole life running away from: Margeanne. I agree. What kind of name is that? For those of you still mentally tripping over it – it’s pronounced: MarJan. I know, right? Bizarre.
My own parents had a hard time explaining where they came up with this monstrosity. All through my younger years, I was told that I was named after my mother. But hey, eventually I caught on. And by the time I was twelve, it occurred to me that my mom’s name was Marjorie, so you know, I had to ask. Once again, those tricky little people sold me down the river. Apparently, I was named after a great aunt (whom I’d never met and who, suspiciously, was no longer with us). Convenient, huh?
Consequently, it wasn’t until I sat with mom and dad, discussing the prospective names I’d lined up for my first born child, that I learned the awful truth. On that afternoon a long, long time ago, when they’d officially named me, they were drunk. True. Some idiot friend of my dad’s brought the happy couple a bottle of bubble, and one empty decanter later, with the two of them facing a disapproving records nurse holding a clipboard, my name was forever Frankensteined. Instead of Marge-Anne (notice the hyphen and normalness of that moniker) I was now oleo’s distant cousin. Hmm…where was I going with all this?
Oh yeah, so this is how strange life is. Things are finally in place for me to write and my first decision? I’m going to claim a name for myself. Now, I knew I needed something catchy because I planned to design a website, start a blog, and set up appropriate email accounts for the career of my heart and the one I’ve always planned on. And there I was, disappointed at every turn because all the names I wanted were already taken. I’m literally sitting at my desk, racking my brains, thinking…thinking, when it hits me. I don’t need to make up an exotic name for myself. I already have one. (Okay, exotic might be stretch, how about grotesquely unique?)
Only one problem. I can’t remember how to spell it half the time. *insert finger snap here* Besides, who wants to sign that nine letter ‘good for scrabble’ name for the duration of their career? Not me. So, I made an executive decision. From now on, I may blog as Murphy, but around here? I’m simply M. It’s clean, neat, and easy to pronounce.
Good bye Murphy – so long Frankenmoniker – Hell-lew M.
Here’s a thought. Given my blogging and all this name changing stuff, I can’t refer to my honey as ‘honey’ around here. Well, actually I could, but I like the term ‘The Boy’ better because it’s in keeping with my theme, you know? Hey, I’m sure he’d be thrilled if I told him. *insert casual shrug and a hair flick, here* So I won’t. It will be our little secret. Much like all the other stuff I write about him. (heheheh) Hey, I need something entertaining to write about while I’m waiting for ‘The Call”, right?
Besides, the things I incorporate in my writing come directly from my real life experiences, and he’s a big part of that (um, mostly against his will), but it still counts. The way I see it? On any given day, there’s always potential for useful material. And what can I say? I like taking the normal day-to-day happenings around me and spinning them into something fun. After all, I’m an incurable optimist who loves to get, give, or create surprises. This is one of the things I love about my characters. Sometimes they’re predictable, but more often than not? They’re not. Who likes normal anyway? I mean, what is normal, and more importantly, who got to decide? That’s what I want to know…