Writer's Blog: Naming Conventions

Sometimes, when I'm having trouble writing, I like to warm up by writing about writing. What follows is one such unpolished thought exercise! I hope it interests some of you!

Writer's Blog: What’s in a Name?

Honestly, I really like coming up with names.

I get why a lot of writers don't—there’s this initial hesitation. We try to use names we’re familiar with, and when we can't, we often just make up sounds. When I was young, I named my MMO characters by keymashing and making sense of it. Addhs became Adehaes, fngtrd became Fengitrid, and so on. Then I had my “creative phase”, where I tried to think of sounds that came off like names. It consisted of a lot of staring at the keyboard testing sounds out. Gariven. Tirren. Perrec. Some of them worked, and some of them didn’t. Sometimes I took real names and modified them slightly—Devynn, Maarc, Stevaen.

Then I realized that basically anything can be a name if I say it’s a name.

One of my favorite authors is Frances Hardinge, a YA writer with a really remarkable knack for wordplay and lavender prose. Her characters have names like Eponymous, Goshawk, Havoc, Copperback, and Partridge.

These are just words. Birds! Nouns! Snake species! Pretentious literary adjectives! And it turns out, that’s perfectly fine. A lot of real-world first names are just words, too. Some are even recognizable! Hope, Olive, Ruby, Violet, Jack, Tanner, Melody are all just ordinary words.

And even the names that didn’t originate from words tend to become linked to real-words, in part because of how we like to give objects human names (“dick” and “john” come to mind) and in part because most languages and language trees feature common sounds and elements. “Bella” may come from the Germanic “belle”, and “bell” may come from the Romantic “bellus”, but there’s probably a reason English adopted both words and created an association.

The more I write, the more comfortable I find myself getting with this relaxed approach. I’ve developed a tiny bit more of an understanding of names, first and last, as well as of the kinds of sounds people would turn into names. One name in Hardinge’s work is “Mabwick”—and while nobody I know of has ever been named Mabwick, the “ick” at the end of a word (and even “-wick”, honestly) is so ubiquitous in English, it doesn’t feel strange at all to me to see it in a fantasy name. I get the impression that this is G.R.R. Martin’s and Tolkien’s approach, too, since I’m not sure I’ve ever met a “Samwise” or “Samwell”.

All of this is to say, in, as always, far more words than I really needed, coming up with fantasy names is a matter of getting comfortable with how names are formed. The most important thing is that they sound pleasant and carry the proper association. This has made coming up with nonsense-word names easier, too!

My little secret, though? Bird names and flower names. These are perfect for three reasons:

First, bird names and flower names are effectively universal. Even in a fantasy world, characters will still refer to a rose as a rose, and so calling a character Rose will never feel anachronistic (whereas calling a character “Thomas” often can).

Second, these names tend to be pretty. Plants and birds often have simple, satisfying names like “Daisy”, “Vetch”, “Jay”, “Bunting”, "Thorn", “Sparrow”, “Fern”, “Camas”, “Oriole”. Like I said, any nice-sounding word can be a name, and this can be an excellent resource to lean on. At the same time, it’s easy to find obscure plants and birds that still feel “exotic” for your story.

And third, these names tend to have connotations. This is key. Tolkien didn’t name Grima “greeemah” because he wanted you to think Grima Wormtongue was a lovely person. He didn’t name Theoden “THAY-oh-din” because he wanted you to think King Theoden was a quiet-spoken nobody. “Grima” comes out as a sneer. “Theoden” booms and resonates. When I think of a daisy, I think of something mildly pretty, unassuming, pleasant, everyday. When I think of vetch, I think of a pernicious weed, something pretty and colorful and yet twisting and invasive, impossible to kill.

It is my opinion that major characters’ names should mean something to you, if to no one else. It doesn’t have to be flowers and birds. It can be rocks, weather patterns, trees, fish, snakes, colors. Or it can be sounds that, put together, happen make you think of some emotion, like “Aragorn” and “Pippin”.

My Own Names

Of course, I haven’t really followed any of these rules too closely in my smut. In my smut, I was in a hurry, and different rules applied. “Larya” and “Alrek” are nonsense sounds that sounded like names. They have no meaning. I just needed names, and I wasn’t putting too much thought into it. As for the rest...

• Some of my human characters follow these rules, and some don’t. Honestly, it depends! “Nico” and “Gretel” are just real-world names, but “Limini” is a play on “liminal”. However, there are some consistent patterns. One consistent pattern for Lacratians: Names that in our world end in “y” usually end in “i” instead. Additionally, a lot of names feature “iari” and “arya”-type sounds, and "y" as a consonant features fairly often. The "Alrek"/"Yilra" element—"lr"—is also common.
• Meanwhile, Mountain Folk names tend to be influenced by Iclandic names, and humans from the Northern Continent, Northern Isles or Wild Continent tend to be influenced by, respectively, North African, Latin American, and East Asian naming styles, as a very vague and general rule of thumb.
• As for my fey? Generally, fey are named in forms of wordplay about their fey aspect. Beastfey and dryads tend to get named by the Latin forms—Hillsii and Crypta were both stolen from dioecious orchids, I believe, while you might notice that every catgirl I’ve named so far (Nipper, Menta, Minty, Lim, Valina) is adapted from some variation of catmint, Tatarian honeysuckle, or valerian. Thriae tend to have Greek-sounding names, owing to their mythological origins and, frankly, cruel Athenian attitudes, and holstaurs and fleece sprites usually get puns based on, respectively, milk and wool. I very rarely name a fey something unrelated to what they are. Suuishu is literally a pun on “swish”.
• Meanwhile, demons tend to follow the old keysmash style, to an extent—their full names are long and arduous, but they always have a shortened common name, like “Anne” or “Scarlet”, representing how they like to go unnoticed and get familiar with their prey.
• Dragon names always have Biblical origins, like Esther, or Lilith. This hasn’t come up much, as most dragons are very dead.
• Goblin maid names follow distinct linguistic patterns I try to stick to: goblin maids feature a lot of ‘j’, ‘k’ and ‘l’ names (Jallzi, Jinxa, Kalja).
• Doppelganger names are usually lazy puns, like "Mier" and "Shyft".
• Finally, elves follow a firm naming convention that is a terrible pain in the ass: Their names are split so the first part of their name stands for their family and the last syllable of their name is their “common name”. Cellesixe is Sixe, of the Celestial Family. Illetrys is Trys, of the Ilestial family. Baalleyarne is Yarne, of the Baalestial Family. Isamine is Mine or Min, of the Isalestial Family. Notice that family names pretty much always incorporate a “lestial” at the end.

The Latin names for fey are the most noticeable, and honestly, sometimes they’re a stretch (I personally would recommend against Latin names unless you really want to be cute). Elven names, too, end up sounding a little weird more often than not. But I try to be consistent.

These are the naming rules for my world, and I try to stick to them. So now you know!

Still wish I hadn’t gone with “Snatch” for the nickname. That one’s going to haunt me to the end.