|The Artful Dodger, cruelly rejected by Mrs. Dickens, would live again.|
'Indeed?' He looked amused. 'You have rechristened her?'
'Well, of course we have, Uncle. Miss Pomfrey isn't her, is it? Miss Pomfrey would be tall and thin, with a sharp nose and a wart and tell us not to get dirty. Mintie's nice; she's not pretty, but she smiles...'
Nanny By Chance
We've talked about names before. I like to think that La Neels had all these names she loved and not enough children/pets to spread them around--or maybe, like me, her husband vetoed her all her most inspirational names (Don't you agree that the world is diminished by lacking a Maximilian Santiago van Voorhees? I do.)
So, my question is, what name (for a pet or child, perhaps) were you ever thwarted from using and are planning to secret into a novel?
Question Two: (Oh yes, Bettys...I'm going off the grid.) In Nanny By Chance, Araminta talks out loud to herself a LOT. Sometimes it gets her in trouble and someone overhears and sometimes it's just her talking smack to her reflection.
I am a big fan of talking out loud to myself. I'm always finishing conversations I'm in the middle of or conversations I'm worried about. (ie., cornering my kids' teachers about whatever...) About a month ago I was running errands with my croup-y baby. I had been in self-imposed quarantine (for the public good) for about three weeks as 5 of the 6 members of the household came down one at a time (why not all in one go?!) with a barfing flu. They were finally all puke-free but it was wretched. So, the Littlest van Voorhees is in the cart and he's coughing up a storm and it's loud and, worse, I know I'm bending the rules of polite public behavior (but I needed (needed, Bettys) to leave the house) but I wasn't going to be out for long. That's when a woman came up to me to diagnose my child, sum up the entirety of my character and called me selfish.
It was awesome. I drove home crying.
I'm not about to assume she is a horrible person in real life. She's probably fine. Maybe she had a medically fragile child at one point for whom croup was life-threatening instead of mildly irritating. Maybe she'd been sick for three weeks and had finally come into public to be confronted by Typhoid Mary and her Croup-y Spawn. Maybe I was to her what she was to me, the last straw in a very bad month. I don't know. (shrug)
I do know that I wasn't over it (the crying and the anger and the hurt) until I had stopped running through retorts (kind and unkind) while brushing my teeth in front of the mirror or driving the car or sitting still. (Two days if you're wondering.)
Question: Do you talk out loud to yourself? And when?