Tuesday, July 26, 2011
That's Not My Name
I was amused recently to discover that my name had been spelled wrongly yet again in an anthology. The story 'All in a Flap' was apparently written by someone called Reece Hughes. When I read it, I was astonished to discover that it coincided word for word with one of my own stories!
Over the years my name has been spelled in a variety of ways. This photo demonstrates some of the variants that have appeared in print. Only one of them is correct. Can you guess which one?
Personally I don't regard my name as especially difficult to spell. After all, it's only four letters long. R-H-Y-S. It's a traditional Welsh name. I have been told that the lack of vowels might be confusing to anyone unfamiliar with the Welsh language but in fact the letter 'y' is a vowel in Welsh. As for pronunciation: my name rhymes with "fleece", but if you can roll the 'r' a little, that's even better.
The anthology in question is called Wacth -- sorry I mean Watch -- and it has been edited by Ian Faunkler -- sorry I mean Ian Faulkner -- and it's based on the theme of 'observation'. This photo shows it on the beach in front of Swansea Observatory, the most suitable location in the city I could find for the book... The daftest place in the world to site an astronomical telescope is Wales. Thanks to the perennial clouds, we have never seen the stars. We've only heard rumours. Points of light in the sky, apparently. I don't believe it.
Having had the appropriate spelling of my name debated in front of me, as I sat there, telling the debaters the proper spelling... I sympathize.
Y can be a vowel in the Queen's English, too. If it makes you happy... if you have rhythm... if your name is Rhys... if you are tiny... if you eat or drink ry if you remember the actress Blythe Danner....
I'm glad it's not on Mr Huge. If it was on Mr Huge it would be much harder to get. I would need a ladder or a long pole with a net on the end...
Not sure you would want it, even if you had a pole. I had a look at it last week and there's some sort of mould on it. And it smells of pickled vengeance.
I do have a pole now. His name is Stanislaw. It won't do me much good, though! He doesn't smell of pickled vengeance but canned jealousy.
If Stanislaw wears a bonnet of spun prurience and a suitably lecherous pair of waders he should be fine.Post a Comment
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