Welcome back to B is for Book Coach. I’m B, midwife of big ideas and book development partner for writers and non-writers alike. And for the next few minutes, you are my author.
Don’t worry. That doesn’t commit you to anything more than what you’re doing right in this moment. Because the best authors are simply people who show up as themselves, for themselves and for their readers.
Today, we’re making space for names.
I use this space to create direct support for authors bringing their books to life. If you’d like to *pitch* in even if it’s not time to *dive* in, it expands the spaces that I can create for someone else. Thank you, as always, for trusting me with your work and supporting me in mine.
I have a unique name.
Baristas rarely hear it right. It’s never been on a novelty keychain. And no one ever spells it right. At least not on the first try.
When I was little, I decided to introduce myself alongside common spelling errors: “My name is Brannan, all As and Ns, no Ds or Os.”
This exact problem held me back with my business branding for far too long. I thought I had to use a domain name that people could definitely spell (forgetting that we’ve pretty much moved on from the days of typing in a URL).
After way too many kitschy branding attempts, a client and good friend of mine convinced me to stop being anything other than myself.
Even then, I felt like I had to start with an explanation. In the same vein as “all As and Ns, no Ds or Os,” my very first self-branded copy was this:
Hey, there!
I'm Brannan.
You can call me B.
You're also likely to call me Brannon, Branan, Brennan, Brandon, Brandy, Brenda, Britney, Brianna...
You can call me anything, as long as you call me when you're stuck.
It’s true that I’ve been called all of those things (and more)—and it’s just as true that I’m not particularly bothered by it.
In kindergarten, kids would try to tease me by telling me I had a "boyyyyy’s name,” and it never stuck. I remember being so confused.
It’s my name, and I’m not a boy, so…no?
Before my name was mine, it was a family surname.
In fact, if I ever see my name out in the wild, it’s someone else’s surname.
I’ve seen various spellings there, too, as tends to be the case with names of Irish origin. The translation from what it was there to what was easiest to spell or pronounce here wasn’t exactly smooth.
And given the many variations I’ve seen in my great-grandparents’ official records, I’m not the first in my family line to shrug off a mere misspelling.
My name is mine. Someone else’s misunderstanding doesn’t change that.
What does get me, however, is when misunderstanding turns into re-naming.
I have one nickname that very close friends and family use, and one that exactly one person is allowed to use (my grandmother), and this one—B.
That’s it.
If someone relatively new to me shortens or changes my name, I bristle.
For a long time, I didn’t really know why.
I mean, a bunch of teenagers trying to call you Raisin Bran is pretty obviously annoying. I’m not interested in being your high fiber breakfast, thanks.
But outside of that, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that bothered me.
Getting my name entirely wrong was one thing.
Giving me another one was…different.
It was probably Women Who Run with the Wolves that gave me language for what I was feeling.
So many fairy tales and cultural stories center around the power of a name—how a person is named, who names them, and how that name is used or hidden.
Rumpelstiltskin comes to mind right away, which is an archetypal story called “The name of the supernatural helper.” In these, the protagonist gains power over the helper if they’re able to name them.
Then there are stories and fairy tales where the protagonist’s name must be protected from the villain...
And we can’t forget actual tales about faeries, in which a name is so important that if a fairy has yours, they can influence or even control you.
When I went to dig up the specific quote I wanted to share from Women Who Run with the Wolves, I found it already bookmarked and underlined.
She says,
“Naming a force, creature, person, or thing has several connotations. In cultures where names are chosen carefully for their magical or auspicious meanings, to know a person’s true name means to know the life path and the soul attributes of that person.
“And the reason the true name is often kept secret is to protect the owner of the name so that he or she might grow into the power of the name, to shelter it so that no one will either denigrate it or distract from it, and so that one’s spiritual authority can develop into its full proportions.”
Just last week, during a policy meeting of all places, I heard it said this way:
“What we can name, we can transform.”
When someone misunderstands my name, I can at least trust that they are trying to learn it. From me.
When I allow someone close to me to use a family nickname, it’s because I know that name is safe with them. That I am safe with them.
Even the nickname “B” came from people close to me and is a name that I have chosen to stand behind.
But when someone else chooses a name for me outright, I am wary of the control, the power, the transformation that interaction might represent.
It was never about the name itself, but the individual, spiritual authority I am standing in to say what is me and what is not-me.
By naming myself or protecting the name I was given, I retain control over myself.
I’m not a passive participant in how I’m presented and perceived.
Whether that’s as silly as high-fiber breakfast cereal or as deep as gender presentation or as professionally impactful as how seriously I am or am not taken, it’s mine to decide.
My transformation is under my authority.
My life path is my own.
Others can know it, but they cannot control it.
This is why naming is so central to the work I do with authors.
Not necessarily on a title level, though that step can hold a whole lot of power as well.
I mean the way we step outside of any assumed roles, genres, personas, or obligations that have been named by someone else.
We work instead to develop your own understanding of the book you’re actually writing. Not the one someone else might expect of you.
Here’s how that looks in practice:
When you take the Clarity Spectrum quiz, you’re not telling me what kind of industry-labeled genre you think you’re writing. You’re naming your intentions as an author and your hopes for the reader, and you’re gaining access to a new name for your book type that matches those intentions.
When we step into a Clear Direction Analysis, I’m not telling you what kind of externally determined quality level your writing matches or how many flaws are left to correct. We’re naming who you are as the author, who your reader is in relationship to your book, and what your book is as a shared experience. Then the rest of the process can match those intentions.
When we allow a book to emerge in its own time, even when the rest of the industry is moving at the speed of false urgency, we’re not holding back because something isn’t yet good enough. Certainly not because you are not yet good enough. We’re simply sheltering it until you’ve had time to grow into its power, anchored in your intentions.
And when that authority is present, when that power is yours, when that intention is solid? You can say what you want, when you want, where you want, without shrinking when someone misunderstands. Without acquiescing when they try to condense you into something more palatable.
The thing is, if you’re showing up fully to your book—as yourself, for yourself, and for your reader—your book is unique. And that is something to celebrate.
Rather than wishing it fit more easily into a genre (the kitschy novelty keychain wall of our industry), let’s spend time growing into it as it was meant to be.
Let’s align it to the life path you’re already on.
Let’s name it for its soul attributes, and let’s develop your authority to stand behind it, so that no one can denigrate it or distract from it.
After all, this work is yours.
And you are a force.
When we’ve named your book—your work, your mission—to that degree, we can transform both the outcome and the experience of creating it.
Hey, thanks for creating this space with me today.
Whether or not you’re ready to dive into writing just yet, remember that the best authors show up fully, just as they are. That’s all it takes—and you're already doing it.
Be sure to subscribe on Substack or wherever you listen to podcasts to catch every coaching moment to come. And when more of your book is ready to emerge, the space we made today will be here waiting for you.
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