Damon is a pseudonym.
I didn’t use it to be mysterious and distant. Well, I am
quiet and a little shy. But the main reason is that I share the
same name as a well-known entertainer, which I’m always hearing
about (hey, you’re the guy on . . . . I can’t believe
I’m
talking to ______ I’ll bet you get a lot of jokes about having
the same name as _______).
I don’t want people to see that name on the book and think
it’s by
the entertainer because they’d be very disappointed. I also want The
Perfect Song to stand on its own. I’ve invested a quarter of a century – on
and off – in it. To me, Mendel, Poul and Beasely are living, breathing
beings who go through a lifetime adventure. Appreciate them on their own terms.
As for the name, Damon. . . . Somewhere, in another lifetime, or in another
dimension, I was or was close to Damon. I am still searching for him. I don’t
know if I chose the name or it chose me. It makes no difference because there
is no difference. I can say I wrote this novel, but I know it was given to
me. I chose to accept it by writing it, getting to know the characters over
the years, living inside them, experiencing their joys, frustrations, fears,
and most importantly, their dreams. Same with the name Damon. I chose it or
it was given to me. Same thing.
Mendel
Mendel’s name is still a mystery to me. Was I unconsciously thinking
of Gregor Mendel, the genetics pioneer? Or the great German composer and musician
Felix Mendelssohn?
I don’t think of Mendel being German. I see him as a hybrid, a mix of
everything from Scottish, German, English, Irish, French, Spanish, with a drop
of Native American.
Poul
Poul also just came to me in a daydream. Quick, aggressive, straightforward,
everything that Poul is not!
Beasely
J.W. Beasely is the only character with a full name. I wanted a corporate
sounding name, a name which makes it obvious that this is a man
used to taking charge, a man used to giving orders and getting
his way. Poul shortens it to “Beaze” but that’s
Poul. No respect.
Mara
Mara took awhile to come to me. I didn’t force it. I wanted
a name that provoked mystery, pride, beauty. Her name came during
an evening of automatic writing which I tried for several months
back in the 80s.
Harry
Harry the Beachcomber just strode on stage and was there, fully developed.
I didn’t ask for him at all. When Mendel made it to the California
beach, Harry was simply there, alive, kicking and waiting for the
composer. He already had his name. As a writer, I was along for
the ride, following Harry and writing down his words and exploits.
