Coming up with character names can be a lot of fun, but sometimes I’m juggling so many different characters from so many different stories that I just can’t come up with anything appropriate on my own!
I recently wrote a short story that will be part of the Year of Stories in June. It’s about a sort of Industrial Age necromancer, a suburban Dr. Frankenstein, if you will. I see him as an antihero that I can get some decent mileage out of. I want him to have a good, solid name, and I think you are just the person to give it to him.
Sound like fun? Head over to the Store and snap up the character naming rights before someone else does! As an added bonus, you’ll also get the chance to name the character’s little pet dog. The cost for these naming rights is $10.
I’m eating a peanut-butter-and-nutella sandwich right now, and that’s a big deal.
“Why is that a big deal?” I hear you ask.
It’s a big deal because I had to use a knife to spread the topping on my bread, and that’s a big deal, too.
“Why is that a big deal, too?” I hear you ask.
It’s a big deal, too, because on Sunday a knife got loose and bit me in the finger. And I had to wear a band-aid. And I’d be wearing another one right now if I could figure out where my wife put them…
Q: Will I ever get over this irrational but crippling fear of knives? A: Yes.
Last week Larissa and I used some of our wedding-gift money to buy a new kitchen knife set from House of Knives. We got a good deal, and a block with extra slots, so if we need a couple of different knives in the future we can add them in easily. I think Larissa likes having new knives around. She used one to cut herself some banana bread this morning before leaving for work, even.
But me? I think they’re terrifying.
I mean, they aren’t so bad as long as you keep them on a leash or behind a fence. They’re even kind of cute, sometimes. But give them an inch, and they’ll bite your nose off. I know someone that happened to! (Full disclosure: no I don’t.)
So the story is that on Saturday I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies. It was the first time I’ve ever made cookies on my own. Most of them turned out pretty good (though it didn’t end up being our favourite recipe), but one tray ended up with burned bottoms. Larissa had the idea to use one of our brand new kitchen knives–the one with the serrated edge–to cut the burned parts off, and then we could crumble the rest up and use it as an ice cream topping. Brilliant idea, I know!
I got to work, and four or five cookies in I must’ve gotten distracted or something, because the little sucker pulled loose and went right for my hand. It had a death grip, but eventually I beat it about the head for long enough that it let go and slinked off to a corner whimpering. I hope I gave it a concussion! Vicious beast…
Now I know what you’re thinking… Surely I spread my peanut butter and my nutella with a dinner knife, which is a much tamer breed than the one that attacked me. And of course you’re right. But it’s a psychological thing, I guess. The resemblance triggers flashbacks to the blood, and the sink, and the band-aid! It’s horrible.
