So, I’ve been messing around with this idea of bardic names lately. It’s not something I took seriously at first, honestly.
Heard about it here and there, mostly in online groups, people talking about their ‘bardic name’. Sounded a bit LARP-y, you know? Like picking a wizard name for a game. My first thought was, okay, just grab a cool-sounding word, maybe something nature-y or old-fashioned. Tried that. Picked something like ‘Willowscribe’. Said it out loud a few times. Felt… nothing. Just felt silly, like wearing someone else’s shoes.
It wasn’t clicking. I looked at some of those online name generators too. Clicked a button, got things like ‘Moonwhisper Songweaver’ or ‘Stoneheart Talebinder’. Total rubbish. It felt completely disconnected from anything real, anything me. It was like getting a corporate mission statement written by a committee – bland and meaningless.
Digging a Bit Deeper
Then I got talking to an older fellow I met at a folk music session. Real old-timer, played the fiddle like nobody’s business. Mentioned my little naming problem. He just chuckled. Said it’s not about picking a name, it’s about finding it, or maybe it finding you. Said it often comes from your stories, your craft, maybe even a big moment in your life.
That got me thinking differently. It wasn’t a label you just slap on. It was supposed to mean something, reflect something true. So, I ditched the generators and the random cool words. I started thinking about, well, me. What do I actually do?
- I tell stories, sure, but mostly about everyday stuff, finding the funny side of things.
- I play guitar, not brilliantly, but with heart. Mostly simple tunes.
- I spend a lot of time just walking and watching people, noticing little details.
The Slow Burn Approach
So I stopped trying so hard to find a name. Instead, I just kept doing my thing. Paid more attention during my walks. Jotted down observations, little phrases that popped into my head while playing music. I wasn’t hunting for a name anymore, more like… leaving the door open.
One afternoon, I was trying to fix a wobbly chair, getting properly frustrated. Muttered something under my breath about being better with words than wood. And it just sort of… landed. Not a grand, epic name. Something simpler, tied to what I actually am, flaws and all. It felt quiet, not flashy. It felt right.
Didn’t announce it or anything. It’s more of a personal reminder, I guess. A way to center myself back to what I actually do and why. The whole process was more important than the final word. It made me look at myself, my own stories, instead of trying to grab some pre-made fantasy thing. It’s more about the journey of figuring out your own little place, your own little song in the world. That’s the real practice.
