I hate naming things. Kids, characters, anything.
I drove people, mostly my husband, nuts when I had to come up with names for our four kids. They had to be a certain number of syllables, had to be from certain groups of names I had already chosen, had to flow with the sound of our last name, blah, blah, blah.
I'm happy with how it all turned out, but I find that my hate on of naming continues. I hate to name characters and love the use of pronouns.
He/She works for me. I've been told it can get hella confusing for readers though. So I'll ask you. How do you come up with names for your characters? Or titles for that matter? Cuz I suck at titles.
And having thusly ranted and left you questions to consider, I'll leave you with a small snippet of something.
She’s been here a solar week, stalking her prey, before she finally decides on the killing ground. She knows the when, the how, and now the where.
She also knows the why; she just doesn’t care.
She’s trailed him four times now, marked his route. He’s always in early and out late; straight shot, no stops. And he always uses the level risers to enter and exit the skyway that connects the spaceport with the high-rise tower that houses his small, low-level government minister’s office.
At this point of convergence in time and space, she times it perfectly.
She knows the lower levels are empty, and smiles up at the wizened little man hurrying down as she climbs.
The landing is narrow where they meet, and she nods as he angles slightly to give her room enough to pass. She steps and pivots as her right hand pulls up her pistol and fires into the back of the little man’s head.
The suppressor is more than worth its cost. There isn’t a sound except the snick of the trigger as the man’s thin hair puffs out in a splash of pale pink and crimson.
She fires a second shot as the body begins to fall and follows it down; fires three more times into the head as legs and arms splay on the ground.
Stepping over and away from the body, she heads back down the level risers and out into the quiet of a dark, empty street.
In less than an hour the planet’s twin suns will rise and she will be gone.