Usually, when I’m brainstorming story ideas or menus for dinner parties, I do my best thinking on walks, in the shower, or right before I fall asleep at night. But lately the pressure of finding a brand name has infiltrated all of those precious moments. Picking a name should be fun, right? Well, it is, it is. But it was much more fun before someone else had already taken every single bloody name we could come up with. Ok, yes, I’m pretty picky, too. But this is an important decision. A brand name needs to represent the Sarah behind the wine; it has to portray the right image and the right price point; it must be effortlessly witty, lovely, and perfect–just like the winemaker.
All is not lost, though; I have learned and grown from the experience: Now when Oren gives me name suggestions, I no longer snap at him and instantly shoot down his ideas. Of course, he’s so sick of name brainstorming at this point that all I can get out of him are things like Werewolf Wines and Boar’s Blood. He’s officially entered Harry Potter territory. I’m trying to keep myself out of a bad French romance novel (La Rue Baie de la Bise Rubis Winery).
I have a feeling that it’s one of those things that will just hit me out of the blue when I’m not thinking about it. Like love. Or the avian flu. Unfortunately, I’m always thinking about it.
Oh Zebra, wherefore art thou a registered trademark?