B.R. Quinn

Brynn stared at her blank parchment, her quill poised but idle. Hours had passed, and yet, no words had come to her. It felt absurd, but what stalled her quill was she couldn’t begin writing until she had a pen name—something she could sign her stories with. However, the idea of choosing something meaningful had paralyzed her. It felt like the most ridiculous form of writer’s block.

With a heavy sigh, Brynn glanced at her owl familiar, Geronimo, perched on the windowsill, watching her in silent companionship.

“What do you think, Nimo?” she mused aloud. “What if I named myself after you?”

Geronimo hooted softly in response, his golden eyes unblinking as he stared back at her.

“I could go with Geronimo or Nimo,” Brynn continued, mulling it over. “It’s unique. I don’t think that many people have that kind of a name. But if someone else has it… well, that could be awkward. And anyone who knows me might guess right away. I want to stay hidden, at least until I know if people actually like my fables.”

She toyed with the idea of anonymity. Pen names weren’t foolproof, but they provided a buffer. If her work failed, at least her proper name—the one she needed for her day job—wouldn’t be tied to any flops.

Geronimo hopped from the windowsill onto her desk, ruffling his feathers as Brynn reached out to stroke his head. The gentle touch of her hand on his feathers gave her a small comfort she couldn’t quite explain.

“Nimo Byrd?” Brynn tested, wrinkling her nose. “Not terrible, right?”

In response, Geronimo stepped back and shifted, feathers rippling as he transformed from his usual barn owl form into a majestic Great Horned Owl. Brynn couldn’t help but laugh. He always did this in her academic days, shapeshifting into a more sophisticated-looking owl to keep Brynn from feeling insecure about her image.

“So, ‘Nimo Byrd’ is too childish, eh?” she teased.

The deep hoot and solemn nod from Geronimo confirmed her suspicion.

“I’ll keep thinking, then.”

As twilight settled outside, Geronimo returned to the windowsill, staring out at the dimming sky. Brynn knew his magical nature needed the balance of the mundane and the arcane—a source of magic and organic nutrients—to keep his familiar form. Still, Geronimo’s lingering presence reassured her—he wasn’t leaving until she figured this out.

Most mages didn’t maintain a steady bond with their familiars, treating them more like tools than companions. But Brynn had always felt different. She allowed a small, constant stream of energy to flow between them, forming a bond that went beyond words. In moments like these, she often received flickers of understanding from Geronimo. She could sense his hunger right now but also feel his dedication to helping her choose a pen name. She needed to find a suitable name soon so that Geronimo could fulfill his hunger.

She absently twisted the ring on her finger, the one Roran had given her when they married. It wasn’t an extravagant ring; it didn’t need to be. Its elegance lay in its simplicity, a delicate weave of metal adorned with small diamonds, symbolizing eternity and their intertwined lives.

“What about initials?” she wondered aloud. “Some of the greatest writers used their initials to stand out.”

Geronimo hooted softly, his approval clear.

“But which ones?” Brynn mused. “I could use my first and middle initials, so it would be B.C. Or my first and last—B.B. But… neither sounds quite right, does it?”

Geronimo shifted again, this time into a blue jay, and began to sing a lilting, melodic tune. Brynn smiled as his song filled the room, and she couldn’t help but take it as his way of suggesting something more harmonious.

Brynn smiled as Geronimo finished his beautiful melody. “I suppose you’re right, Nimo. B.C. and B.B. don’t really roll off the tongue well, do they?”

The door creaked open before she could think further, and Roran stepped inside. His presence always brought a calming warmth, even though he still carried the grime of the day’s labor.

“Hello, my love,” he said softly, crossing the room to her. “How’s the writing coming along?”

“I’ve hit my first roadblock,” Brynn admitted, a touch of embarrassment coloring her voice. “I can’t come up with a pen name. And without it, I can’t sign anything, and—”

“My love,” Roran hushed her, guiding her to the bed so they could sit together. “Tell me, what’s causing this roadblock?”

Brynn twisted her ring again, feeling a twinge of anxiety. “I know I can’t hide behind a name forever, but… I want a bit of protection, just in case this whole writing thing doesn’t work out. But at the same time, I want the name to mean something. I’ve spent the entire day trying to figure it out.”

Roran nodded, his understanding quiet and patient. “What kind of meaning are you hoping for?”

“Well, I thought about using Geronimo’s name—‘Nimo’—since he’s such a big part of my life. But it feels a bit… silly. And I want something that fits the kind of fables I want to write—stories for both children and adults.”

Roran hummed thoughtfully, rubbing her shoulder. “That’s a good start. But maybe something more… subtle?”

“Exactly,” Brynn agreed. “I also thought of using initials, like B.C. or B.B., but those don’t sound quite right.”

“Hmm.” Roran leaned back, considering. “What if you still use the ‘B’ but find another letter that resonates with you?”

Geronimo fluttered down from the window, transforming into a small wren, and perched himself on Roran’s shoulder. He chirped happily, as if to underscore the point.

“You see?” Roran chuckled. “Even Nimo’s trying to help. What would a tiny wren stand for? A ’W’?”

Brynn’s eyes lit up. “Not a ‘W’, but an ‘R.’ An R for Roran, of course.”

Geronimo trilled his approval, hopping onto her hand as she extended it toward him.

“Why wouldn’t he have turned himself into a Robin, then, or another bird that starts with the letter ‘R’?” Roran asked. Geronimo hooted indignantly at Roran, which made Brynn laugh.

“Ah, well, familiars can hear thoughts and instructions well enough, but most can’t read. Wren sounds like an ‘R’ in the beginning, plus it is the last part of your name.”

“Interesting,” Roran mused, stroking Geronimo’s head to smooth over the misunderstanding.

“B.R.,” she said, testing it aloud. “It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Roran smiled warmly, pulling her close. “I think it’s perfect. Now, what about the last name?”

Brynn groaned playfully. “That’s the hard part! I want it to sound elegant but not too common or noble. And now, something that fits with B.R.”

Roran scratched his chin. “Well, you could always use the name of an object so that you aren’t using someone else’s actual last name. Something that has the ring of a last name without actually being a last name. Or at least not a common one. I mean, your last name could be something like ‘River’ or ‘Breeze’—“ Roran paused. “Or Pancake,” he shrugged, smiling.

Brynn laughed. “I don’t think Pancake will get me good recognition. But I do like the general idea. Even if I choose the object, I still want the name to be meaningful, though.”

At that, Geronimo leaped into the air and, shifting into a hawk, soared around the room towards Brynn’s writing desk, making the parchment flutter around.

“I don’t think that ‘Parchment’ or ‘Paper’ is the way to go either, Nimo,” Roran joked as Geronimo flew back towards them, dropping a hawk-feathered quill into their laps.

Brynn laughed. “Oh, Rory—Nimo has my thoughts in him somewhere, too, you know. And I wouldn’t have picked parchment, though I use parchment all the time.” Geronimo landed carefully on the perch at the side of the bed, looking into Brynn’s eyes. She wish he had a form of speech she could recognize, but this was good enough. She understood his intent.

“Hmmm… you and Nimo are the most important to me, and Nimo can turn into a hawk, of which I can use a feather as a quill to write.” Brynn held the quill up, contemplating it. “B.R. Feather sounds a bit flowery… but B.R. Quill has a nice ring to it. What do you say, you guys?”

Genomino changed back into his typical barn owl appearance, giving a cheerful hoot as he soared around the room.

“I think Nimo likes the name,” Roran grinned. “And I like it, too. It’s unique and special, just like you.” Roran booped Brynn on the nose and she giggled.

Brynn smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. “B.R. Quill,” she repeated softly. “Yes, I think this will do.”

Geronimo hooted his approval, then took flight out the window to find supper. Roran kissed Brynn on the forehead and then retreated to take a bath.

Brynn rose from her spot on the bed and walked to her writing table. She wrote “B.R. Quinn” at the top in beautiful cursive. Yes—this was the name she would use. And tomorrow, she will finally be able to start her writing career.