I was born James Michael Corey.
Perfectly fine name. Strong name, even. The kind of name that sounds like it should already be embossed on a hardback spine or painted on the side of a law office door.
The problem is that, online, names do not live in a vacuum. They live in search results. They live in memory. They live beside whoever got there first, got bigger faster, or became so associated with a phrase that everybody else has to decide whether to fight for it or move around it.
That was the problem with James Corey.
Not because anyone did anything wrong. Just because the lane was already crowded in a very specific way. Search the name and you are going to find a giant science-fiction shadow there. Understandably. Deservedly. But still there.
So I started testing versions of myself.
JayCorey. JMCorey. JamesCorey.me. JMichaelCorey. A handful of domains bought in that optimistic way people buy domains when they are trying to make a decision feel more real. A few of them were sensible. A few of them were strategic. A few of them felt like paperwork.
Then there was Jaymes Corey.
Close enough to the name I was given that I still recognized myself in it. Different enough that I could step into a room online and not immediately be mistaken for somebody else.
And, quietly, it contained something true. Friends tend to warm into “Jay” eventually anyway. The longer version had a public formality. The shorter version was waiting inside it.
That mattered more than I expected.
A Name Is Not Just a Label
People talk about naming like it is a branding exercise. Pick something memorable. Check the domain. Secure the handles. Avoid confusion. Good advice. Useful advice.
But when the brand is a person, the name has to do something harder. It has to hold up under use.
You have to introduce yourself with it. Sign your work with it. Hear it from strangers. See it in headlines. Put it on the footer of a site and decide, without flinching, that yes, this is mine.
Some names are efficient but not alive. Some are clever but awkward in the mouth. Some are technically available and spiritually vacant.
That is why I could never fully settle into initials. JM Corey is tidy. It is compact. It solves a search problem. But it does not feel like someone you sit across from at a table. It feels like a firm. A byline stripped for space. A doorplate.
J. Michael Corey had its own appeal, especially for writing. More formal. More literary. More traditional. But it felt like dressing up for a room I had not decided I wanted to live in.
Jaymes Corey felt like a person.
That difference is not small.
Distinct Is Not the Same as Distracting
There is always a chorus somewhere ready to tell you anything slightly unusual is a mistake.
Do not spell it that way. People will think it is weird. Why create friction? Why not just use the normal version?
Sometimes they are right. Sometimes unusual really does make life harder for no payoff.
But sometimes the thing they call friction is actually memory.
Nobody hears Jaymes and fails to understand what name was said. In conversation, it lands as James. Online, it leaves a fingerprint. That is a useful trade.
Distinct is not the same as confusing.
Distinct says, “I know exactly why this is shaped the way it is.” Confusing says, “I made you work to understand me and gave you nothing back.”
One creates recall. The other creates drag.
I am comfortable living with a little recall.
The Internet Rewards the People Who Occupy Their Own Ground
There is a reason writers, speakers, founders, artists, and inventors obsess over names. Your name is the thread people follow between things.
An essay. A talk. A project. A domain. A podcast interview. A book one day, maybe.
If the thread is frayed or borrowed, the work leaks attention. If it is coherent, the work compounds.
That is the part people miss when they tell you branding does not matter. Of course the work matters more. But the work still needs a place to collect. A sign on the door. A way for someone to find the same person again after the first spark.
I do not want a name that is louder than the work.
I want a name the work can gather around.
That is a different job.
You Are Allowed to Choose the Shape of Your Public Self
This might be the thing I care about most.
We inherit names. We inherit assumptions. We inherit the default answer to questions nobody asked us directly.
But public identity is not always assigned. Sometimes it is composed.
Not fabricated. Composed.
You can choose the name that tells the truth best in the room where your work will live. You can make a practical decision without betraying your origin story. You can stay yourself and still choose the version of yourself that can move cleanly through the world you are building in.
That is not vanity.
That is stewardship.
The Lane Gets Real When You Start Walking in It
At some point, the naming conversation has to end or it becomes another way to avoid the work.
You cannot spreadsheet your way into certainty. You cannot buy enough domains to silence the part of you that is afraid to choose. You pick the strongest live option, then you make it true through repetition.
You publish under it. You speak under it. You build under it. You let time gather proof around it.
The name becomes yours because you keep using it in public with care.
That is where I am now.
Jaymes Corey.
Not a costume. Not a gimmick. Not a loophole.
A lane.
And like every lane worth taking, it gets clearer the farther I walk.