For about the last decade, I’ve been in the throes of an identity crisis.
There’s ME in the real world. The guy with the Social Security number, who goes to the grocery store and the bar, who pays taxes and spends about three quarters of his waking life facepalming at the government’s latest idiocies.
There’s ME in the writing world, where I’ve been more conspicuous by absence than presence for the best part of the last three years. We’ll get back to this.
There’s ME in the vanilla world, making friends with people of all colors, orientations and genders.
There’s ME in the kink world, running a polyamorous D/s House and equally quick with a quip or a crop.
But the single biggest factor in my identity crisis has been my name.
For several years I’ve toyed with the notion of having it legally changed, primarily because I like J.S. a lot better than my birth name. This has had the not-altogether-bad side effect of making me more sensitive to names and forms of address, especially amongst transgender acquaintances of mine. The funny part, though, is that for the longest time, I had no idea what “J.S.” stood for! This led to some hilarity when people asked, “What does J.S. mean?” I’d always smile and say, “Me,” with a cocky little smile and a tilt of my eyebrow, because it sounded a lot better and looked a lot more confident than the small frown, shrug and muttered “Iunno” I was actually giving inside.
About a year ago, I remembered a video game I used to play some years ago called Darkwatch. The main character’s name was Jericho Cross. When the memory drifted across the foreground of my mental landscape, it wedged itself deep into my gray matter and stuck there like a sliver of adamantium.
Choosing a name is no trivial matter. It’s like selecting a tattoo. Sure, you can walk in and pick any random design off a sheet of flash, have it on your right ass cheek next to the Hello Kitty tattoo from that drunken weekend in Vegas an hour later and be on your merry way…but every time you drop trow in company afterward, you’re going to have to explain it. Why not make sure it has a good story associated with it, or at least some meaning?
The more I thought about “Jericho,” the better I liked it.
The idea of the rogue cowboy has always appealed to me. Think a cross between Gary Cooper in High Noon, John Wayne in Rooster Cogburn and Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven. Guys who sometimes do things that look bad from the outside for reasons which are above reproach. Guys who go their own way, make their own rules and live by them come Hell or high water. Guys who say what needs saying regardless of who it pisses off or how many enemies it earns them.
(Those of you who know me from way back will be rolling your eyes right about now, going, “No shit. Nothing new here.”)
So, Jericho it is. And Jericho it will remain.
This new website is a celebration of an undeniably older, arguably wiser and indisputably more integrated me. In some ways I’m still the same person my readers, fans and friends have always known. In others, my spots have changed drastically. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that, rather than changing, I dispensed with the need or desire to hide them.
I am who and what I am, and I’ll be damned if I’ll apologize for it.
My name is Jericho Scott Wayne.
But to you, it’s still just J.S., thanks.