What’s In A Name?

When I was small, one of my favorite “make-believe’s” was being a newspaper reporter.  Someone had given me an old Remington manual typewriter with keys so hard to push that it took a Herculean effort from my stubby little fingers.  Nevertheless, I soldiered on, typing away at a battered office desk tucked under the attic eaves.   I can’t remember a single “story,” but I know they were always important, and I was always on “deadline.”

As I grew, the dream grew with me.  In sixth grade, I started my own class newspaper, which my friends and I typed laboriously on the old fashioned mimeograph sheets (the kind with the blue backing which left those same stubby fingers smudged in cobalt ink).  In middle school, I went on to become the editor of the school newspaper, and began to use the written word to fight for causes I believed in -like getting our bus driver to stop looking the other way when kids smoked in the back of the bus.

When I got to high school, my keyboard of choice changed.  I began playing piano in earnest, accompanying, performing, competing, all of which left little time for writing.  But the yearning to see my name and my thoughts in print – my byline– never left.

Fast, fast forward to 2006, and the miracle of the internet which allows everyone to create their own little journalistic corner of cyberspace.  Finally, a place to write, to pound away at the keyboard to my heart’s content.  A place to stretch those long dormant writing muscles and express all the thoughts I had about life in general and my own in particular.

What better name for a place like that than Becca’s Byline?

How about you? How did you name your blog?  Ruth is collecting those stories…share yours  with her and the rest of us, won’t you?

5 thoughts on “What’s In A Name?

  1. I kind of suspected. Ha! I can see you sitting at your desk, typing away, and it’s no surprise at all that you were editor of your middle school newspaper. I do believe I’ve come to know you, Becca. Nice.

  2. PERFECT.

    Our fingers are the conduits for our minds, and our art. I liked reading about your history using yours. I learned to type in high school on a manual typewriter without markings on the keys. I am forever grateful for the requirement to make my fingers memorize where the letters, numbers and symbols are. Boy do I get messed up in Paris when I use their keyboards!

    Thank you for telling your story. It’s nice to meet you!

  3. Becca,

    As soon as I started reading this, it all made sense. Here I’ve been reading the words “Becca’s Byline” for all these months, and just never made the connection.

    It’s a wonderful story, and a wonderful reminder of those days of “real” typewriters, and mimeograph machines, and that horrid purple ink. Remember the smell? And carbon paper – I can’t remember the last time I saw a piece of carbon paper!

    Interesting that you traded one sort of keys for another. If you play as well as you write, your music must be beautiful!

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