When I was a kid, nobody called
me Sandy. I was Sandra, the shy girl in glasses, to everybody.
Now my husband, best friends, and a lot of other mystery writers
call me Sandy. Whether you address me as Sandra or Sandy is an indicator of something,
but I’m not sure what. I do know that I feel friendlier to people who call me by
the nickname. If you don’t know me well, don’t like me, or simply want to keep
some distance between us, call me Sandra.
I feel lucky that I’ve never been burdened with a silly or
embarrassing nickname, but at the same time I think the lack of one says
something unflattering about me. People who collect a bunch of cute and funny
nicknames throughout their lives tend to be the popular, gregarious sort, the
type everybody wants to befriend. So while I might roll my eyes at hearing
grownups addressed as Bunny or whatever, I feel a tinge of envy too.
I think about nicknames a lot because, as a writer, I
regularly have the power to name a whole gaggle of people for a new book. The
majority of real people seem to have nicknames—or diminutives of their given
names—but giving a character more than one label is verboten, because readers
become confused if a guy is John on one page and Bubba on another and Jack on
yet another. If I’m going to use a diminutive or nickname, that’s it. I may
mention the character’s “real” name in passing, but I have to stick with the
chosen moniker for the sake of readers.
Nicknames can tell us more about a person, or a character,
than what’s on a birth certificate, so I’m drawn to them and would love to use
more. Humans all over the planet have a penchant for nicknames, whether they’re
given in affection, for convenience, or to show contempt and produce
embarrassment. We start as kids on the playground, hurling insulting nicknames
at each other or whispering them behind our poor victims’ backs, always
believing we’re being terribly original and cutting. Bullies perfect the art of
dreaming up humiliating nicknames to make life miserable for kids who are the
slightest bit different from the local ideal. Teachers, whether they’re sexy
young women or sour old men, are not exempt, although they will seldom be
addressed face to face with the sobriquets their students have bestowed on them.
Just as we can’t resist giving nasty nicknames to people we
detest or fear, we shower sweet names on our loved ones. Babies are addressed
as Precious and Sweetums and Cupcake and Cutie Pie and Little Man and Princess,
ad nauseum. Although we might give our pets nicknames in lieu of formal names
to begin with, we always pile on more, and the things owners call their beloved
cats and dogs in private probably shouldn’t be repeated out of respect for the
animals’ dignity. (Our cats Emma and Gabriel have perfectly nice names, but I
usually call them Sweetie or Sugar.)
Do you have a nickname? Do different people have different
nicknames for you? What do their choices say about your relationships with
them?
What do you call your pets when no one is around to hear?
