A lot, right? I’ve changed mine twice, but I’ll get to that in a bit.

When it comes to our first name, it might also be the first word we hear in our mother or father’s voice. It might be the first word we recognize and respond to and even write in our native language. Over our lifetimes, we come to identify with it so strongly and personally even though we didn’t have any hand in picking it. If it’s hard to pronounce or spell (as my name, being THE most popular girl name of my birth year, certainly is not), you might even feel more solidarity with your name because it’s challenging, complicated, interesting, unique… qualities we all like to embody at some point in our lives. Our maybe you’re a namesake… in honor of someone or in homage to a place. Maybe your mother has liked the name since she was nine years old, and there’s certainly something to be said for that, too.

My first ever name plate from my first ever publishing job. Yep, I kept it. To the right, is adorable pen pal and fellow editor, Laura Lee. Check out her wonderful blog at: www.atadbookish.com

The act of naming in and of itself has a long history and deep meaning that I’m sure academics in various lecture halls or workshop rooms around the world are discussing in much more detail as we speak. For instance, when we read a story, and a character is un-named, that can still carry just as much meaning as iconic names like Pip or Estella. Because what does it say about the identity of the character (and the writer, English Lit. Masters) to deny a name?

What about nicknames? I recently taught my beginners “nickname,” as each member of the class prefers to go by his/her nickname rather than full first name. I do, too, when I’m around friends and close family. When I publish, I use my full name exclusively. In this and other ways, I think the nickname is a fairly common gatekeeper between our personal and professional lives.

When it comes to our last name, surname, or “family” name, as I’ve also taught it, we’re used to having just the one in the United States–or at least we have been. Nowadays, women are choosing to keep their maiden names, take and/or hyphenate two last names, or do what I’ve done, move the maiden name to the middle and take the new name as the last. (Anyone who’s made the latter two choices knows it’s no easy feat nowadays given the dozens of online platforms, bank accounts, loans, etc., that require updating.) Guys, you have it so easy!

I mean, I’ve just got to share a name with this guy! Photo Credit: Jack Hutcheson, www.jackhutch.com

Bestowing and taking family names certainly differs depending on where in the world you are. Here in Chile, for instance, you never have to change because you get two last names! One is from your mother, and one is from your father and that is that. When you get married, you keep them both (it’s actually considered rude not to). Then you give the name through the mother’s line and the name through the father’s line to the children you may bring into the world. So, technically, everyone in a three-person nuclear family could have different sets of last names. (Chile’s also keen on giving a first and a middle or “second” name, so that brings the grand total to four!) I like the individuality and the homage to family implicit in the way Chile does it.

As I’ve mentioned in the past, while I legally took my husband’s last name because I also like the traditional idea of sharing a family name, I keep my maiden name front and center because it’s my published byline and I like consistency. In this searchable world we live in, I want everything I’ve written to come up under the same name.

But I’m also invested.

You see, it’s not really my maiden name. I already changed my name when I turned 18, electing to take my mother’s maiden name in lieu of my own. You may imagine all sorts of reasons why I would want to do something like that, and I’ll leave you to it. Regardless, the name change was as wide an embrace I could imagine around my mom’s side of the family, our Italian heritage, and the name I fantasized, even then, seeing under an article heading and one day (fingers crossed) along the spine of a book.

Baxter, Dunn, Puchner, Collins, Moore, Nixon… Those are some solid last names for some amazing authors and poets.

So, you don’t just kick a name like that to the curb. It may have only been my legal last name for twelve years, but those years happen to also line up exactly with the number of years I’ve had my name in print. From here on out, it may be my middle name, but it will still appear.

I love my new name, too. It also happens to be Italian (lucky me), and when strung all together, my full name sounds straight from the script of a European soap opera, but it also sounds familiar, like family… and now like two families.

When my husband and I are fortunate enough to name another human being, the Chilean forms will ask for four names and U.S. forms will require three. To me, this kid is already sounding pretty interesting. And he or she already has a story to tell about a name.