is not my exclusive property, but over the course of six decades one gets used to being the only Jincy.   The name is apparently Southern in origin, and was at one time a nickname for both Virginia and Jane, which nickname never caught fire, and so faded from use.   I am the Last of My Kind, solitary and windswept, or so I thought, until tripping across

http://biography.jrank.org/pages/337/Regan-Dian-Curtis-1950.html

Dian Curtis Regan, a prolific author of children’s books, was born a few years after I was, growing up in the shadow of the North American Aerospace Defense Command in Colorado.   She writes:

I would be remiss not to mention my “familiar,” the walrus. It all started with a story I wrote several decades ago about an outspoken walrus named Jincy. A few friends read the story and gave me stuffed walruses. After that, I started planting the word “walrus” in every book. Readers began writing to tell me where they’d spotted the word. Through the years, walruses have appeared beneath my Christmas tree, inside birthday gifts, collected as souvenirs on trips, and as gifts from schools. Sadly, I have yet to receive a walrus with red hair.

To date, I have over one hundred walruses in my office. Ironically, Jincy’s story has never been published, yet she and her exquisitely polished tusks have obviously brought me very good luck.

This is what happens when you fool around with Google for no damn good reason. It turns out that in an alternative universe, I am unpublished, with exquisitely polished tusks.   In this one, I prefer to remain solitary and windswept, but now I have these tusks, which I can’t stop imagining,  and the good fortune they bring, it seems, is not my own.

Are there any more of us, fictional or non?   What have we done or left undone?   Apparently there’s a herd.   Where  are you all?   Bring on the Jincys!