A few bloggers I adore have recently started posting their own bookish secrets or confessions. We all have them, there’s no denying that. Naturally not everyone has those same loves/hates/quirks and I’ve decided to make a short (??) series highlighting some of mine.
In this inaugural I Have a Secret… post, I want to talk about something near & dear to my heart:
I know, I know, this totally makes me sound like a jerk. I get that. It wasn’t always this way, though. When I was younger, I HATED my name. Leah. Le-ah. Four letters, two syllables. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?
Unfortunately, people had such a hard time with my name it got a little ridiculous. I’d always get Lee or Leia (and the resulting Star Wars jokes – not funny, by the way!) instead. I couldn’t understand why so many people had a difficult time and it wasn’t as though my name was virtually unheard of! True, I never had to use my last initial the way the handful of Joshes and Britneys in my class did, but surely people had heard of my name before.
Because no one could get my name right growing up, I felt a special kinship toward other Leahs in books I came across. I felt a sort of sympathy for them as well as a particular bond.
Things have a funny way of changing however, and over time, I got older and my disdain for my name turned into love. I love being the only Leah and these days I don’t cringe at mispronunciations. In fact, I’ll happily repeat it – along with the spelling (though by now, the ladies at Starbucks have it down pat) – three, four times.
As my feelings for my name changed, so did my feelings toward other Leahs. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve never refused to read a book because of a character’s name, but these days, I’m just not inclined to rush out and read about another Leah. I suppose you could say I’ve become somewhat territorial and possessive; that’s my name, that’s who I am.
Am I only in this? What are your book secrets?