Today, I am naming a line of household garment care appliances. Finding and combining words about trust and value and the desire to be the kind of woman to whom pressed drapes and tablecloths are a given. I’m a little out of my element. The only iron I have ever owned is the one I own now, and it was left behind by a previous tenant in a house I rented in 1998. A discolored, renegade college iron. Even then, it was somebody’s mom’s old cast-off. I’m not getting very far. I am skilled at assassinating the creative process. Sabotage.
Why do I do this? I babystep into the word-world, do some research, find some images that get me to that place where people press (shit, OWN) tablecloths. The lines get wavy and I get into that person’s head, start to understand how “Classic” differs from “Essential,” how that feels, what combinations of words resonate, fit, complement. And just when I start to see the words and feel them and they have color and weight and texture to me, and they start to interact and kick up some good homekeeping-vibe momentum, I kick out a word. And another word. And they kind of work, no, wait, rearranged they COULD work, and I step back and take a look and say, “that might just be okay.” And then I say, “That is a damn fine start.” And what I should say next would be something like, “now what if…” but instead, my brain says, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” and I do this ultra-quick zoom-out thing, and if you were sitting here I’d make the noise that I think goes with it, and make some wild gestures, but you’re not here, so imagine the face you would make if you were asleep and you woke up and realized you were driving down the interstate, because that’s the face my brain makes. I HAVE to check email! I HAVE to check facebook! I HAVE to call the pediatrician, HAVE to make a note to call the countertop guy! And we should have a pumpkin party for Birdy’s fourth! And I need to look up the Swine Flu! It’s like trying to fall asleep and waking up suddenly every time you start dreaming. It is not a good way to work. And it’s not getting any irons named.
Looks like we’re going with “the Flattenah.”