What's in a name?

I'm a traditional gal, raised in the South, for better or worse, and taught that when a woman weds, she takes her husband's name. And I have every intention of doing so. I do. Really. I've always believed it is the proper way to signal the beginning of your new 'family.' I've even silently derided the droves of women who don't change their names or hyphenate as being selfish or too progressive or, gasp, feminists. But now my time has come to sign that piece of paper that will forever change who I am, who I've been for 30 years. It's a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.

It doesn't bother me to change it legally -- I like the idea of bills, magazines and invitations coming with my new Mrs. name emblazoned on them. At least it will feel like something has changed. The challenge comes when I think about my professional name. Not that I've been published or had some great success -- just one IMDB credit on my darling husband's film -- but it's the name that I've always identified with my writing.

The internal debate started the other night at an alumni mixer for industry types. Most everyone knew my name, but nametags were de rigueur. I picked up the Sharpie, took nametag in hand, wrote my first name boldly and then...couldn't think for the life of me what to put. All of a sudden changing my name seemed like a horrible idea. The worst possible thing I could do to the fledgling writer within. How could I possibly abandon the name that had served me so well? How would all those punks who teased the shy, bookish 16 year-old know it was me that wrote that amazing film they just Tivo'd? How would my success as revenge plot play out now? How would all my parents' friends and friends of friends who've been looking out for me on that silver screen for years be able to pick me out of that long crawl without the old family name? All of a sudden, it's an overwhelming decision.

I left my last name blank on that nametag. One thing I'm really good at: putting off decisions for another day.