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Let me tell you a story:

When my parents learned they were going to have to grow up quick because I was on the way, there was the usual hue and cry over what to name the baby. My maternal grandparents voted for Elizabeth, as that was what Grandmother had wanted to name my mother. But she had been overruled, or overrun, by my Grandfather. My mother, bless her, is named after my Grandfather’s favorite “movie star” of the day.

Betty Boop.

My paternal grandparents had their own ideas, which, of course, had nothing in common with Mom’s or the other side of the family. But then my father stepped in and settled it by declaring he wanted to name me after a doll his mother kept on her dresser. Granted, it was a lovely doll as I remember it when I finally asked to see it. But I still wonder about my Air Force Pilot father naming me after a favorite doll.

The doll’s name was Teresa. My mom was “Eh” about it, but decided that as long as my middle name was Ann, after her best friend Betty Ann (who was also pregnant), it was doable.

Fast forward to January 1962. My Father was out of town on maneuvers. Mom was already set to go the military hospital in San Angelo, Texas. Mom, who was not quite 18 at the time, went into labor on Sunday morning of the 14th. The doctors? Did not work weekends unless it was an emergency of the life or death variety, and the OB-GYN was off on Mondays and they worked, I swear 8-6. When Mom came in, she was doped up and given something to stop labor. When the drugs wore off, they just gave her another shot. Because she was doped up, and more then a little frightened, she didn’t realize what they were doing until Monday night. When she did, she stopped telling them when the drugs wore off. According to Mom, the head nurse was not amused when she realized Mom was now about ready to pop, and she had to call in a doctor at two in the morning.

I believe Mom’s reaction was probably the only time in her life she has ever gone off on someone and called them everything applicable and a few things that weren’t. She made a Staff Sergeant blush.

I was born on the 16th, at 2:43 in the morning. Tuesday’s child is full of grace. When Mom woke up, they were asking for a name. Father was still not there and Mom didn’t know how to spell it. So she just told the nurse and hoped for the best. As we now know, that wasn’t what she got. As an aside, a few months later when her best friend Betty Ann (also named after Betty Boop)had her daughter, she named her Teresa Carolyn. Not being doped to the gills, she was able to get the spelling she wanted.

But the important thing is this:

My name is Theresa.

Theresa: Greek – One who harvests.

Please note the spelling.

My name is not: Teresa (even though that was what it was supposed to be), Terese, Teresia, Terezia, Terezija, Theresia, Therese, Teressa, Theressa, Terasa, Taresa, or any of the bizarre spellings that have come of people trying to be “creative” and “unique”over the years.

My name is certainly not: Terry, Teri, Risa, or Resa. In fact, the only acceptable variation of my name I have been able to live with over the years has been one used by my Greek friends.

Thera: Greek – Harvester. A diminutive of Theresa. Also from the Greek island of Thera.

I was told when the name refers to the island, that it means wild and untamed. Which amused me greatly as a teenager. The island is also known as Santorini, which is believed by some to be the source of the Atlantis legends. If you know me even a little, you will understand why I was delighted to learn that little piece of trivia.

My parents named me Theresa. If they had wanted me to be called Teri or Resa, they would have named me that. I like my name. Schoolmates and teachers learned that early on because I wouldn’t answer to anything else. I survived public school without a peer applied nickname, though my great-aunt, who is a bit of an odd duck herself, insists to this day on calling me Tizzy.

But somewhere along the way after I found myself in various internet communities, I seemed to have picked up the nickname of Resa. I cringe every time I read it. Because I don’t like confrontation, and I liked the person who first started it, I didn’t say anything when it started. I figured he would be the only one doing it and that I could live with Al calling me Resa. But then he called me that on a group mailing list where it was picked up by someone else. Then that person’s husband started calling me that and it spread out from there. All it took was one person to carry it from Group A to Group B, and so on. Like some insidious disease it spread through the communities I am a part of. People I don’t recall ever even interacting with before refer to me as Resa from the start.

Perhaps I’m being petty, but I find that a bit rude. Carolyn has never referred to herself as Carol to my knowledge, and I wouldn’t presume to start doing so without asking if she minded being called that. For all I know she may have a deep and utter loathing for the name Carol and would fall into a homicidal rage if anyone dared to presume.

But because I didn’t say anything back when Al first called me Resa, I am now stuck with it. For those that have never called me that; thank you and please keep it that way. My mother would appreciate it, and after two days of labor, I think she’s earned the right to insist.

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From the discussion on Shadows of Amber forum on What Kind of Amber Characters Do You Play

My characters are, with only one past exception, always on the side of Amber. They do what they think is right for Amber.

But now, I’m going to make a confession.

I used to play mostly very straightforward characters. More often then not, it was ‘what you see, is what you get’.

But I was surrounded by characters who had so many layers, and so many plots in their heads, that they were sure my character was up to something, no matter what she said or did. I was hailed as brilliant when no one was ever able to figure out what my characters were really up to by the time the game ended. As I didn’t participate heavily in the end game wrap up threads, people were still unwilling to accept that I wasn’t up to anything.

So, the next time there was an end game wrap thread after a game was killed off by the GM, and everyone was coming clean with their plots and plans and hidden stuff, I made up the biggest lie off the top of my head that was so ridiulous, so outlandish, I expected people to laugh along with me.

Only, they didn’t. The believed me and congratulated me on my cleverness once they stopped staring stupidly at their monitors and raising a hue and cry to the GM. The GM and I were both rather taken aback, as neither of us had considered trying to pull off what I was claiming. But it was a cunning idea so we agreed that if he ever ran another game, we would see what we could do with it.

Over time, enough people started accepting that my characters were all just as they appeared to be that there weren’t many characters eyeballing mine suspiciously anymore.

And then, just to see if I still remembered how to build a Ventrue or a Silver Fang, I built an Amber character that even I thought was brilliant in her complexity. No one suspected a thing. “Oh, that’s Theresa. If she says Tempest is straightforward and likes everyone, then she is.”

And, lo, Tempest had people telling her everything, and coming to her for help when the fires of suspicion crept too close. I cackled insanely and Tempest told them everything would be alright. She went behind their backs and got them free from the current suspicion while moving attention to someone Tempest felt needed to be taken down a notch. When Tempest was left standing with the victors among the ruins, people wrote it off as her just being a blameless, paragon of virtue.

The GM and I laughed so hard, and neither of us ever admitted to the cast that Tempest was a devoted follower of a certain long dead Italian, and truely hated every single one of her cousins.

I still, ocassionally build the straightforward, shoot from the hip character that is no more then what she claims to be. They’re easy to play and there’s less to remember to play them. Every once in awhile, I will dust off Portia and bring her back into the active character realms, and that seems to reassure people. “If Portia is still her favorite character, then we can be sure of her other characters”.

On the other hand, I have dusted off Aura more then once and while she has been left alone on the surface, she is not always what she seems. The sweet, fun loving hedonist could never have pulled off the planning of the mass bug out from Amber that she is responsible for in Exodus.

I have rediscovered my inner Silver Fang, my closet Ventrue, and I find I have missed them.

Having a few open book characters in play elsewhere allows me to devote the time and mind power needed to pull off a many layered character. One with nine dozen irons in the fire, who has told so many different stories, whose public persona is crafted with so many layers of lies and half truths, that she sometimes can’t remember what the truth is either.

Granted, sometimes I find them a challange to play. I find myself anxious for The Reveal. Sometimes I have given too much away too early to too many. It’s a behaviour that’s a hold over from my LARPing days, when my circle of friends and in game allies would get together at my house and we would reveal all and bounce ideas off each other over pizza and margaritas in order to better situate ourselves in the world of the game.

So, you can never be too sure anymore. Portia is pretty much what she has always been. Her honesty has always been one of the things that made her so fun to play. But can you be as sure about dear, beautiful Daphne? For the blunt and neutral Petra? For the flightly actress that is Rochelle? What about Circe? Morrigan in her original form? For Cara, singer on the run? Or even Layla?

No, I am glad to say you no longer can be as sure with the same degree of certainty you once could.

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Her fingers wound through the dark, damp hair that framed his face. Her eyes drank in the sight of him and the naked desire and emotion on his face, in his eyes. She engraved them in her memory, these moments, to sustain her when they couldn’t be together.

“We only truly live when together,” Petra whispered.