What's in a Name?

 by Thomas Kies

How important is it to get the right name for your characters?

Think about some memorable literary characters: Ebenezer Scrooge, Huckleberry Finn, Voldemort, Forrest Gump, Long John Silver, Atticus Finch, Hannibal Lecter, Nurse Ratched, Boo Radley, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde.  

All of them are unforgettable characters.  Is it simply because the writer blessed them with the perfect moniker?  No, the writer also made them fascinating and interesting to read.

But let’s face it.  The names fit. 

The protagonist of my series of mysteries is named Geneva Chase.  She’s tall, somewhere around forty, an investigative reporter, a struggling alcoholic, and she makes bad life decisions.  But she’s whip smart, fearless, and an intransigent smartass.  When I was looking for a name for her, I immediately chose her first name, Geneva.  I’m from the Finger Lakes region of New York State and Geneva is a lovely town on the north tip of Seneca Lake. 

Her last name was more difficult.  I wanted something short and preferred something that denoted action.  Geneva Run, Geneva Dash, Geneva Leap, Geneva Jump….nope, nope, nope. 

Some character names take on their own life.  When Ian Fleming wanted a name for his protagonist, an English spy, he searched for the most boring name he could come up with.  Spies aren’t supposed to be memorable.  Fleming was an avid birdwatcher and one of books on his shelf was written by an ornithologist by the name of James Bond.  Fleming thought that was perfect.  He wanted his character to be masculine, but more of a blunt instrument.  He wanted the action around him to stand out.

Fat chance.  The name James Bond is synonymous with action, excitement, romance, and exotic locations. 

Speaking of names, Bond’s nemesis is Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Say it out loud.  It feels and sounds evil. Fleming was excellent at naming villains as well. Dr. No, Auric Goldfinger, Emilio Largo, Rosa Klebb. 

And let’s not forget Fleming’s flair for naming female characters.  Honeychile Ryder, Tiffany Case, Vesper Lynd, Miss Moneypenny, and of course, Pussy Galore, 

Charles Dickens was especially adept at character names.  Oliver Twist, Uriah Heep, Madam Defarge, Miss Havisham, Tiny Tim, Fagin. 

In mysteries and thrillers, names do even more heavy lifting. Names that a easy to recall--Harry Bosch, Alex Cross, Lisbeth Salander, Sherlock Holmes. Jack Reacher, Joe Pickett, Kinsey Millhone, Kay Scarpetta, Sam Spade. Nero Wolfe.  

So, when you’re naming a character in your novel, what should you think about?  It’s going to be that first impression you’re giving to your reader, so it’s actually pretty important. 

Genre: Names signal the kind of story you’re telling. A hard-boiled crime novel feels different with a protagonist named Jack Reacher than one named Bridgerton. Also, if you’re writing a fantasy, names like Tyrion and Daenerys sound better than a character called Bernie.

How does it sound when you read it? Say it out loud. Does it flow in dialogue? Does it have punch, softness, or menace where needed? Short, sharp names often suit fast-paced fiction; longer or lyrical names can slow things down in a deliberate way.  They might work better in a romance novel than a thriller. 

A name should make sense for a character’s background, age, and setting. A 70-year-old man from coastal North Carolina probably isn’t named Chad Love, and a medieval nun isn’t named Tiffany. Even the smallest inconsistency can pull readers out of the story.

Avoid names that look or sound too similar, especially for major characters (no Matt, Mark, and Mike in the same chapter). Readers shouldn’t have to stop and decode who’s who. Clear differentiation keeps the story moving.

So, a name isn’t the only thing that makes a character memorable for a reader, but it certainly goes a long way. 

Love a Good MacGuffin!!!

by Thomas Kies

  

In his last blog, Mario Acevedo mentioned a story device called a MacGuffin.

What exactly is a MacGuffin? The term originated with Alfred Hitchcock who said, "In crook stories it is almost always the necklace and in spy stories it is most always the papers".

If you read books, watch movies, or play video games, you most certainly have encountered a MacGuffin. It’s a plot device that motivates the characters and is the engine that drives the story forward.  But in reality, the MacGuffin has little or no real value or meaning.

Some famous examples of MacGuffins are:

● The briefcase in Pulp Fiction (what WAS in there, anyway?)

● The letters of transit in Casablanca

● The Death Star plans in Star Wars

● The Holy Grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade—or the Ark of the Covenant, or the stones in the Temple of Doom, or the Crystal Skull (awful movie).  Or…whatever else is in the new flick. 

● The Maltese Falcon in The Maltese Falcon (Loved the book, loved the movie!!)

MacGuffins can be objects, people, places, or concepts. They can be tangible or intangible, concrete or abstract, realistic or something from a fever-dream. They can be sought after by the good guys, the bad guys, or, even better, both. They can be revealed, hidden, lost, found, stolen, destroyed, or forgotten.

MacGuffins are great story props and often where the real tale begins.

The MacGuffin is there to create conflict and tension.  And all stories are moved by conflict and tension.

It helps drive the story forward. It gives the characters a reason to pursue their goals, face obstacles, and overcome challenges. It also provides a source of mystery and intrigue for the audience, who may wonder what the MacGuffin is, why it is important, and what will happen to it.

However, a MacGuffin is not the same as a theme or a message. A MacGuffin does not have to be symbolic or meaningful in itself. It does not have to reflect the deeper issues or values of the story.  As a matter of fact, maybe it shouldn’t. 

 It does not have to be explained or resolved by the end of the story. In fact, sometimes the best MacGuffins are the ones that remain ambiguous or irrelevant. Once again, think of Pulp Fiction and whatever was in that briefcase.  Everyone wanted it, but we never find out what it was.

A good MacGuffin is one that enhances the story without dominating it. It is one that sparks curiosity without demanding attention. It is one that drives action without dictating outcome. It is one that matters to the characters but not to the audience.

Humphrey Bogart, playing Sam Spade, describes the Maltese Falcon as the “thing that dreams are made of.”  The Maltese Falcon, of course, turns out to be a fake.  The ultimate MacGuffin.