The Name Game

Being eight months pregnant with my second child I’m currently name-obsessed. You’d think it’d be easier second time round but, once again, I find myself putting aside my much loved chick-lit bedtime reads for an altogether weightier tome. No, not War and Peace (been there, tried it, gave up) but a nifty little non-fiction number entitled 40,0001 Baby Names (Yes, apparently there ARE that many. And yes, most of them ARE bonkers).

I spend my evenings scouring the pages of this epic beast of a book, writing endless lists of flowery forenames which then get rejected by my husband who gives myriad reasons our child will be beaten up in the playground if I lumber them with a name that would sound odd anywhere other than LA, or the Jamie Oliver household. (Petal Blossom Rainbow, or, um, Buddy Bear anyone?)

But my bump isn’t the only second baby I’m struggling to name. I’m also starting my second novel and I feel fraught with the pressure of giving these fictional people namesthey’ll have for the rest of their (shelf) lives. Just like my unborn child I’m worried my chosen name won’t suit them, that other people will hate it, or that it’s way too common. Because names brand you, don’t they? They’re part of your identity and give you a personality before you have a chance to develop your own.

I first experienced serious name panic when I was writing my first novel Miracle on Regent Street. One of my romantic heroes spent the entire duration of the book being called Nate. A sexy, strong leading man kind of a name, I thought. Turns out so do lots of other authors, as my editor kindly pointed out when she read the first draft. Luckily we quickly happened upon his new name ‘Joel’ and it instantly fitted him like a bespoke suit. Name crisis over.

Then there was Felix, the loveable old security guard. Now he was always a Felix to me. The name perfectly fitted his cheeky, sparkly-eyed personality, was timeless enough to fit a pensioner and instantly said ‘friendly, sweet and funny’. But then I watched Mannequin, a film I haven’t seen for about a million years and there was a horrible, nasty, control-freak security guard in it, also called Felix. So I changed my character’s name. But his new moniker never felt right. I battled on to the end of the first draft until I admitted he would always be Felix to me. So I changed it back, and hoped that nobody would make the Mannequin connection (Um, oops. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned it here, then).

With all that in mind, I’ve decided that this time, I need some help. I mean, coming up with names for a child and lots of characters whilst heavily pregnant and therefore highly hormonal is a dangerous business. So (drumroll please)I’m giving you the chance to name a female character in my next book The First Last Kiss. Yes you! She’ll be the best friend of my main female character, a little bit of a loose cannon who is always up for a laugh.

There’s just one caveat, no one suggest Petal Blossom Rainbow, ok?

The Name Game competition

Books and the City are delighted to be able to offer YOU the chance to name a female character in Ali Harris’s next book The First Last Kiss.  The character is a bit of a loose cannon, always up for a laugh, and is the best friend of the main lead female character in the book.

Just post your character name idea in the Comment box below.  Ali will be picking the winner herself, so don’t forget to log back on to see if you have won!

The Essence of a Romantic Meal by Milly Johnson

For me, there are few things more romantic than a partner cooking for you.  Food and sex have always been entwined and a partner who takes care to lovingly prepare a feast for you, well, you just suspect they’re going to be equally as good in the bedroom department. Mind you, the first romantic meal I ever made was garlic mushrooms, lasagne and then (cringe) Viennetta – although it did have fan-shaped wafers in it. Amazingly my boyfriend at the time was impressed, especially as it had taken me all day to write out the menu in italics. And if that teaches you one thing, let it be this: there are more elements to a romantic meal than just the food.  If you need further proof, well, this is being written by a recent winner of Come Dine With Me (surely you must know that – I’ve told everyone on the planet!). I was up against some serious chefs on that programme, and though my menu wasn’t as adventurous as some, combined with a ‘hearts and flowers’ theme, my overall package won the day. And here is why...
 

I didn’t go to town with oysters and monkey glands with a sprinkle of powdered rhino horn.  Personally, even the thought of eating a snotty oyster makes me retch – très romantic! I made heart-shaped potato scones, then on top placed a tower of black pudding (way to a Northern man’s heart) and a slice of goat’s cheese – all grilled until the cheese melted, served it with rocket leaves, pomegranate ‘rubies’ and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar and honey mix. My main course was basically chicken in a white wine, gruyere and oyster mushroom sauce, served with ‘sweetheart potatoes’ – a dish – ahem – that I created... Dauphinoise potatoes with a layer of sliced sweet potato in the middle, served in heart-shaped dishes, accompanied by tiny puff pastry hearts, baby sweetcorn, tenderstem broccoli and that king of aphrodisiac veg – the phallic asparagus spears. Dessert was layers of heart-shaped shortcake biscuits sandwiched with mascarpone cheese mixed with cream, raspberries, and a dribble of raspberry coulis with one little bright mint leaf as garnish.  The setting was a room filled with heavily scented roses, red linen, and glittery heart decorations everywhere.  It was a jolly evening because my guests felt special, relaxed, cared for. It warms a dining room by degrees when your efforts shine through.
 

The ‘sum’ of a successful romantic meal is not set in stone. Food lovingly prepared that somehow goes wrong + drop-dead-gorgeous date + special offer Cava, can be much greater than the sum of fabulous food + intelligent conversation with nice-enough date + Cristal champagne. Personally I think the effort behind the food is the key – the more a date sweats about wanting to make an impression, the more I’ll love him whatever he delivers to the table.
 

A builder friend of mine was absolutely strapped for cash and not known for his culinary skills, but he was determined to feed his new girlfriend with some home-cooked grub. So he grabbed a bag of spuds and some mince from the supermarket shelves and made shepherds pie for the woman he fancied.  They’ve just celebrated their silver wedding. 
I rest my case.