The gender-industrial complex, Part II (Pediatric patients overview)

Warning: Any hateful, threatening, abusive comments will be deleted and the commenters blacklisted. Go to YouTube, Reddit, and Tumblr if you can’t deal with honest concerns about the very troublesome direction of contemporary transactivist politics. Seriously, these things weren’t happening as recently as 10 years ago. Normal, reasonable voices have been drowned out by a bunch of kneejerk, keyboard warrior zealots.

I do believe there’s a legitimate, TINY minority of people who truly suffer from such severe gender identity disorder (now officially termed gender dysphoria), for whom medical and surgical transition is useful and therapeutic if years of psychiatric counseling don’t take away these feelings. Such people used to be less than 1% of the population, but now we’re seeing news story after news story about younger and younger kids who are allegedly trans. I’ve even heard 3% of all teens in San Francisco high schools now identify as trans.

There is ZERO evidence of transsexual children in history. Just to give a few examples, diabetes and cancer were known about and described as far back as Ancient Egypt, hemophilia was first identified and described in the 10th century during the Golden Age of Islam, and the first well-documented case of a probable autistic child was in the 18th century. There’s extensive, obvious evidence of left-handers and gay people throughout history, even if we see far more visibility in the modern era. Aspies and autistics are also better-diagnosed, instead of locked away in loonybins or viewed as eccentric.


So where’s the evidence of a plethora of transsexuals prior to the modern era? Don’t you think any doctor or psychologist would’ve loved to attach his (or her) name to a new disorder and write all about it? They would’ve observed such behavior centuries ago and used pseudoscientific explanations like frigid mothers, humoral imbalance, or evil spirits. Where are all the reports in old medical manuscripts, old literature, or vintage diaries of little boys screaming when they started wearing breeches or girls insisting they go by male names?

What we DO have evidence of are long histories of third genders in many cultures. For example, the Hijira of India, Two Spirits of various indigenous cultures in North America, Sworn Virgins of the Balkans, the Waria of Indonesia, and the Fa’afafine of Samoa. There’s also a long history of cross-dressing. The first sex change operations and cross-sex hormones were actually used as attempted “conversion therapy” for gay men, justified by a pseudoscientific misunderstanding of gender expression and sexual orientation. Iran now pressures gay people into getting sex changes for those very reasons.


This really concerns me because I’ve always been rather gender-nonconforming. My physical presentation has always been obviously feminine (albeit never girly-girl), but so many of my interests, thoughts, and behaviors have always been more stereotypically guy-like. I’m positive my parents would’ve been pressured to take me to some gender therapist had I been born 5–10 years ago, or that I might’ve erroneously decided I had to be trans based on binge-watching YouTube videos, reading Tumblr blogs, and asking questions on Reddit.

I’ve never felt female or male. I just feel like myself, someone who happens to have more stereotypically masculine than feminine attributes according to what modern Western culture has decided is male vs. female. Why should I identify myself as agender, genderqueer, genderfluid, or a man trapped in a woman’s body just because I never had a Barbie, wouldn’t be caught dead in a frilly Little Bo Peep dress, rarely wear makeup besides nailpolish, only wear block and wedge heels instead of stilettos, love the Three Stooges, enjoy taking stuff apart and fixing it, love creepy-crawlies instead of running away screaming, amn’t afraid of getting dirty, and have long felt most attracted to feminine men?


Studies show about 80% of gender-nonconforming children eventually grow out of it. Many turn out to be gay or bisexual, though some are heterosexual, as I am (albeit more on the demisexual side of the spectrum). I didn’t start to like shopping for clothes till I was about 26, and it was a few years more before I started adding a handful of pink things to my wardrobe! It just means real people aren’t a collection of stereotypes.

The gender-industrial complex, Part I (Overview of why I’m writing this series)

Warning: Any hateful, threatening, abusive comments will be deleted and the commenters blacklisted. This ain’t one of your hangouts on YouTube, Reddit, and Tumblr, where zero skepticism or questioning is allowed. I do, however, welcome respectful comments from voices usually ignored in the current media climate.

Like many people of my political leanings, I started out wanting to be an open-minded ally, the same way I’ve always supported other oppressed, minority groups. However, I reached a point where I just became really skeptical and began questioning a lot of the popular media’s narrative. I think what got to me was the huge jump in allegedly transsexual children, as well as being accused of “transphobia” for the least little thing, like making an innocent comment about how some woman looks like a man. I discovered the gender critical blogosphere, and have just been blown away by what I’ve discovered, such as:

The whole SJW culture driving much of this phenomenon.

These puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones being given to younger and younger children have never been studied for longterm side-effects.

Since the T attached itself to the LGB community, they’ve taken over so many organizations, clubs, and news outlets, to the point where there’s a growing movement, and a petition, to drop the T.

Munchausen’s by proxy among a lot of these mothers of alleged transkids.


Almost no questioning or skepticism from the media every time yet another story is published or broadcast.

A large majority of autogynephiles among MTFs.

The whole problematic concept of gender, which is just a social construct, not an innate identity.

Co-opting the stories of intersexed people.

Completely misinterpreting the tragic story of David Reimer to fit their own agenda. David was born a normal male, suffered a freak accident as a baby, and was unsuccessfully raised as a girl till age 14, but never felt himself to be female. He wasn’t a natal female who always felt male!

Constantly shifting goalposts and terminology. I remember when “sex change operation” was the normal phrase, and it’s eventually moved up to “gender-confirmation surgery.”


Up to 71 gender options on Facebook, when humans are a sexually dimorphic species. With the rare exceptions of intersexed people, you’re either male or female.

Denying biological reality and attacking anyone who dares say a penis isn’t a female organ.

Transing younger and younger kids just for not conforming to rigid stereotypes and going through what used to be seen as a normal, temporary phase of wanting to be the opposite sex. Studies show at least 80% of them grow out of such behavior, and frequently just end up gay.

Gender-nonconforming teens and twentysomethings, usually gay, with zero history of dysphoria or suspecting they’re trans, suddenly announcing their transition after binge-watching YouTube videos, reading Tumblr blogs, and asking questions on Reddit. Before long, they’re talking about how they hate their bodies and were never their natal sex.


Doctors giving out these drugs just on someone’s say-so instead of after years of psychiatric counseling. It’s now illegal in many states to do anything but immediately affirm a claim to be trans and start prescribing drugs.

Made-up pronouns like bunself, faeself, zir, and ze.

Rewriting and denying their own history, like saying “I was never a girl” or “I was really born a boy,” in spite of having lived their entire lives and being socialized as their natal sex.

Attacking anyone who doesn’t march in lockstep with their ideology, even eating their own if they take a different view. Anyone who so much as questions anything is called a bigot, a TERF, a transphobe, a transmisogynist, “cis scum,” “truscum,” etc.


Defending keeping their sex a secret from a partner, instead of being honest as soon as possible. They’d so accuse Jerry Springer of “transphobia” for how he always calls people out for not disclosing their true sex before being intimate or starting a relationship.

Going behind parents’ backs to give minors drugs, packers, and binders.

Allowing kids as young as 14 to have irreversible surgeries.

Psychiatrists, doctors, and gender therapists leaving their positions because they refused to diagnose gender dysphoria at the very first meeting and then giving out the drugs.

Zero evidence in history of transkids!


Bringing back sex-based stereotypes I thought we’d left behind decades ago, instead of realizing normal people are made of both masculine and feminine attributes.

Constantly throwing out a debunked 41% suicide attempt rate as scare tactic leverage.

The almost complete disappearance of younger butch lesbians and effeminate gay men, replaced by supposed transsexuals. This is 21st century “conversion therapy.”

Making up the ridiculous word “cisgender” to describe 99.9999% of the population. This word is also problematic for assuming you’re either trans or neatly fit into the gender binary and all its sex-based stereotypes.


Calling people “transphobic” for not wanting to date or be intimate with someone whose genitals don’t match your orientation. As a heterosexual woman, I don’t want to date a biological woman, just as a lesbian or straight guy doesn’t want a biological man.

I had so much to rant about on this subject, it ended up a 12-part series!

WeWriWa—Engagement photos


Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes right after last week’s, as the engagement photography session proceeds. Arkadiya no longer objects to posing in a short-sleeved down which shows the burn scars on her arms.

The photographer originally suggested Arkadiya stand instead of sit so as not to exaggerate the height difference, but that won’t do for His Majesty.


One of the engagement photos of Aleksey’s paternal grandmother, Princess Dagmar of Denmark (known as Minnie), and her first fiancé, Tsesarevich Nikolay Aleksandrovich (Nixa). Sadly, Nixa died of meningitis at age 21, and Minnie ended up marrying his younger brother Sasha.

He motioned to the divan. “Please, sit beside me.  I don’t care if the height difference looks exaggerated.  God made me very tall, and made you somewhat shorter.”

Arkadiya had a seat to his left, assuming a serious expression for the camera.  She’d studied the engagement photographs of the last few Imperial couples, and they all looked appropriately formal and serious.  What she wasn’t expecting was for the Emperor to suddenly put his arm around her and pull her in right up against him, nor to reach over and take her left hand in his right hand.  Her heart beat a little faster at being so close to him.  He had a very masculine scent, and his physique felt better-developed than Arkadiya would’ve expected from someone with a hereditary disease.  Perhaps he had a stronger constitution than his hemophiliac cousins, or he’d found the secret of being physically active without unnecessarily risking his life.


Aleksey and his double-second-cousins Princess Ileana and Prince Nicolae of Romania in 1914. Many people speculate Aleksey and Ileana may have married in real life.

Aleksey had grown to somewhere between 5’5 and 5’8 by the end of his life, though it seems most likely he was on the tallest side of that spectrum, given photographic evidence of how tall he was getting in the first year of captivity. He possibly was even taller than his 5’7 father, and shaping up to be over six feet tall like most of the men on his father’s side of the family.

The tintype daredevil


Lea of Silentology is hosting the second annual Buster Keaton blogathon, in honor of one of the greatest comedians of the silent era. Buster’s films start appearing pretty early in my list of silents seen (now at 1,113!), though I didn’t list everything exactly chronologically until about #125 (The Wind). At any rate, their early inclusion on the list indicates I was introduced to Buster in late 2004 or early 2005, and I’ve loved him ever since.

I decided to cover The Cameraman, Buster’s first MGM film, which many people consider his last truly great film. I initially considered doing Spite Marriage, his final silent, since I’ve always liked it and it deserves more love, but I just like The Cameraman more. It has more warmth, heart, soul, and ruach (spirit).


Released 22 September 1928, The Cameraman was Buster’s first film under a studio system. Though it was quite difficult to give up creative control and independence, he’d already surrendered complete creative control after The General (which I personally consider overrated) didn’t do so well with critics. United Artists assigned him a production manager, which he put up with for two more features, College and Steamboat Bill, Jr. (my personal favorite of his films).

Buster joined MGM and agreed to work under the studio system in 1928, not realizing he’d have to give up even more creative control. On the one hand, we can’t get mad at MGM for making their films in a certain way. All studios had their own style of filmmaking. However, the overall studio system just wasn’t a good match for someone like Buster, just as I’d never be happy with traditional publishing unless I were guaranteed a majority of creative control. I’d never, e.g., pretend to be excited over yet another headless, hairless bare chest book cover or agree to chop out an important supporting character, just as Buster didn’t want stunt doubles or dialogue-heavy scripts.


The film starts by talking about the brave, daredevil photographers, modern heroes who defy death to bring us amazing photographs. But then there’s another type of photographer, the humble tintyper, among whose ranks our hero is. One of the things I love about Buster is how he always played ordinary little guys taking on bigger and stronger adversaries through his own wits, this underdog we naturally root for. We kind of know he’ll always triumph, but we want to see exactly how he’ll do it this time.

While Buster’s taking a gentleman’s picture for ten cents, a ticker tape parade comes to his part of the street, and presently a lot of other photographers crowd around him. Buster ends up pressed against Sally (Marceline Day), and when the crowd dissipates, he asks if he might take her picture. Sally agrees, though before he can give it to her, her jerk boyfriend Harold shows up and they drive away.


Buster tracks her down to MGM offices and finds out she works in the newsreel department. He offers to give Sally the picture for free, as a gift, and presently asks if he might get a job there. The arrogant Harold informs him he’ll have to get a real camera, so off he goes to buy an upgraded motion picture camera for $140. Being the 1920s, he of course just has to buy it from a Jewish pawnbroker. At least this stock stereotype is relatively harmless and wasn’t intended to be offensive. Hollywood still has a long way to go at creating realistic, well-rounded Jewish characters and storylines, but you take what you can get considering.

Back at MGM, news breaks of a fire by the Grand Central Warehouse, and Sally urges Buster to film it too. The newsreel department will buy any footage, so long as it’s interesting, and it could be his chance to break in. Buster, however, has no idea where the fire is, and just goes around taking pictures of anything he can get. His misfortunes increase when his footage is screened and it’s revealed he can’t work a movie camera worth beans. Almost everything is either double-exposed or overexposed.


Sally tells him not to be discouraged, and Buster takes courage to ask her out. She says she’s already got a date, but asks for his number just in case, since she might call. Buster eagerly anticipates her call all day, and when she finally calls, she says her date’s off. Buster doesn’t even wait for her to continue speaking, but rushes off to her apartment while she’s still on the phone. On his way there, he’s spied by some cop whom he accidentally bonked on the head with his camera earlier, a cop who continues dogging him for the rest of the film. Keep in mind, this is pre-Miranda Rights!

They end up at the public baths, after being unable to sit together on a double-decker bus. Buster has to share a changing room with a decidedly unfriendly fellow and ends up with the other guy’s bathing suit. Buster’s a lithe, little guy (only 5’6), while this other fellow’s on the heavier side. As might be expected, Buster eventually loses his bathing suit. Cleverly, he saves himself by nabbing part of a woman’s very old-fashioned bathing gown. Afterward, jerky Harold shows up and gives Sally a ride home, but spurns Buster, even though it presently starts raining.

As a sinistral chauvinist, I loved seeing Marceline Day throwing with her left hand!


On Monday, Buster is told he’s out of a job, but Sally helps him by tipping him off about a potentially interesting holiday celebration in Chinatown. On his way there, Buster knocks down an organ-grinder’s monkey and is forced to buy it. Shortly afterwards, the monkey comes to himself and won’t leave Buster’s side, even when he’s in the middle of shooting a Tong War.

Buster is relieved when the cops come to break up the Tong War, but one of them is the cop who’s been riding his tail over the last few days. The cop tries to get Buster committed, but he escapes and brings his footage to MGM. Sadly, there’s only one short strip of film in the camera, and Buster is mocked and humiliated. To save Sally from having to leave her job, Buster promises to quit hanging around MGM.

1928: Buster Keaton in The Cameraman

Harold and Sally go on a date by the Westport Yacht Club Regatta on Tuesday, where Buster and his monkey have also gone. While there, Buster realizes the monkey changed the film box by Chinatown. Then, while Buster is filming the regatta, Harold and Sally get in a terrible accident, and Buster saves Sally after Harold ditches her. While Buster is getting medicine, Harold returns and lets Sally think he saved her. Needless to say, Buster is heartbroken when he sees them walking off the beach together. All the while, the monkey is still filming.


Buster drops his movie camera and all its footage off by MGM and returns to tintyping, but there’s a surprise in store for everyone when the footage is screened.

This is such a sweet, dear, cute, charming film, with so many great scenes and moments, and a lovely capsule of what everyday life was like in 1928. You can’t go wrong with this one.


P.S.:  I’d be remiss if I didn’t invite my readers to consider signing up for the A to Z Challenge, which runs every April. All you do is blog alphabetically every day of April except Sundays, with or without a theme. If you have a classic film-themed blog, you could do actors, directors, producers, costume designers, films, filming locations, anything you can think of. It’s a really great way to network and meet other people, both in the overall blogging community and with the same blogging topics. I can’t wait to reveal my themes for both of my blogs in March!

A primer on Welsh names

Though my most passionate onomastic love is for Slavic names, followed by Semitic, Germanic, and Finno–Ugric names, I’ve gotten really into Welsh names over the last 15 years or so. I’ve used Welsh names (forename, surname, or both) for several minor characters, as well as creating an unplanned character of primarily Welsh ancestry for the fourth volume about my Russian characters. Rhonwen Trow befriends Irina Koneva during their first semester of ninth grade in Hastings, Minnesota, two outcasts coming together. Since I already was moved to base Irina’s experience as a fish out of water at this school on my own experience during my junior year, I decided to make her a friend based on a girl who also reached out to me when almost everyone else was too busy getting it on with their best friends since kindergarten to care about the stranger in their midst.

Several of my Atlantic City characters, both current and planned, also have Welsh names, like Dylan, Arwen, Bronwen, Gwendolyn, Owen, and Rhiannon.


Prior to the 15th century, the Welsh people named themselves patronymically. Other onomastic sources included profession, nicknames, and non-hereditary personal names. Like the Icelandic patronymical system, Welsh names changed from generation to generation, with the word apab, or ferch serving as a middle name of sorts. For example, Delwyn’s son Rhys would be Rhys ab Delwyn, and his daughter Mared would be Mared ferch Delwyn. It wasn’t uncommon to find names in the Spanish style, tracing back up to seven generations.

The most common surname in Wales is still Jones, with other popular names including Davies, Williams, Evans, Thomas, Roberts, and Lewis. These modern names also have patronymical origins, with -s added to a forename. Some new names also have origins in the old ap/ab system, such as Powell (ap Hywell) and Bowen (ab Owen).

Since there are so relative few surnames to go around, many people have adopted double names, using a prefix of a parish, house, or mother’s surname. Following the Protestant Reformation, the pool of names decreased even further.


Welsh uses the Roman alphabet, with 29 letters. Eight of these letters are diagraphs (double letters)—CH (the guttural sound of loch and Chanukah), DD (TH), FF (F), NG (as in “thing,”), LL (kind of like HL), PH (F), RH (trilled R), and TH (no difference from English). F is pronounced like V. There are also plenty of diphthongs, of which yw, uw, wy, and iw aren’t found in English.

A circumflex is used to denote long vowels (â, ê, î, ô, û, ŵ, ŷ), though not all long vowels have a circumflex. Accent grave (à, è, ì, ò, ù) is used sometimes, generally in foreign loanwords, to denote vowels which are short when a long vowel is more expected. Accent aigu (á, é, í, ó, ú) is sometimes used to denote a stressed final syllable, though not always. An umlaut may be used to indicate two vowels are pronounced separately. In casual writing, accents grave and aigu are often omitted.

Some common names and their nickname forms:


Afon (River)
Aled (Offspring)
Alun (Allen)
Alwyn (The name of a river)
Andras, Andreas
Aneirin, Aneurin (Nye) (Noble)
Awstin (Augustine)
Berwyn (White head)
Bevan (Son of Evan)
Bleddyn (Little wolf)
Bran (Raven)
Bryn, Brin (Hill)
Brynmor (Great hill)
Cadell (Little battle)
Cadfan (Battle peak)
Cadoc (Battle)
Cadwalader (Leader of the battle)
Cadwgan, Cadogan (Glory in battle)
Caerwyn (White fortress)
Caradog, Caradoc (Love)
Caron (To love)
Carwyn (Blessèd love)
Cefin (Kevin)
Celyn (Holly)
Ceri (To love)
Cledwyn (Fair and rough)
Colwyn (The name of a river)
Culhwch (Hiding place of the pig)
Cystennin (Constantine)
Dafydd, Dewey, Dewi (Taffy) (David)
Dai (To shine)
Deiniol (Daniel)
Delwyn (Pretty and white)
Dilwyn (Genuine and white)
Disgleirio (Glitter/shine)
Drystan, Tristan, Trystan
Dylan (Great tide)
Einion (Anvil)
Eirian (Bright/beautiful)
Ellis (Kind)
Emlyn (“Around the valley” or a form of Emil)
Emrys (Ambrose)
Emyr (King)
Enfys (Rainbow)
Ercwlff (Hercules)
Eurig (Gold)
Evan, Ifan, Iefan, Ioan, Iwan, Siôn (Ianto) (John)
Folant (Valentine)
Geraint (Old man)
Gerallt (Gerald)
Gethin (Dark-skinned/swarthy)
Glaw (Rain)
Glyn, Glynn (Valley)
Glyndwr, Glendower (Valley water)
Goronwy, Gronw
Gruffudd, Gruffud, Gruffydd, Griffith (Guto)
Grwn (Ridge)
Gwallter (Walter)
Gwilym, Gwillym, Gwilim (Gwil) (William)
Gwyn, Gwynn (White/fair/blessèd)
Gwynedd (The name of an ancient kingdom and region)
Gwynfor, Wynfor (Large and fair)
Gwythyr (Victor)
Haul (Sun)
Heddwyn (Blessèd peace)
Hefin (Summer)
Heilyn (Winebearer)
Heulog (Sunny)
Huw (Hugh)
Hywel, Howell (Eminent)
Iago (Jakob)
Idris (Ardent lord)
Idwal (Lord of the wall)
Iestyn (Justin)
Ilar (Hilary)
Illtyd (Multitude of land)
Iorwerth, Yorath (Iolyn, Iolo) (Handsome lord)
Islwyn (Below the grove)
Ithel (Generous lord)
Ivor (Bow warrior)
Llywelyn, Llewellyn, Llewelyn, Leolin (Llew)
Mabon (Son)
Macsen, Maxen (Maximus)
Madoc, Madog (Little fortunate one)
Maldwyn (Baldwin)
Maredudd, Meredydd, Meredith (Great lord or Sea lord)
Meical (Michael)
Meirion, Merrion (Marian)
Mervin (Marrow famous)
Meurig, Meuric (Maurice)
Morgan (Sea circle)
Mostyn (Moss town)
Neifion (Neptune)
Ofydd (Ovid)
Owen (“Youth” or a form of Eugene)
Paderau (Rosary or Beads)
Padrig (Patrick)
Parry (Son of Harri)
Pedr (Peter)
Price, Pryce (Son of Rhys)
Pryderi (Care)
Rhys, Reece, Rees (Enthusiasm)
Rheinallt (Reynold)
Rhisiart (Richard)
Rhodri (Wheel king/King’s wheel)
Rhydderch (Reddish-brown)
Roderick (Famous power)
Sawyl (Samuel)
Siarl (Charles)
Sieffre (Jeffrey)
Siôr, Siors, Siorus (George)
Talfryn (High hill)
Taliesin (Shining brow)
Tegid (Fair or Mute/Silent)
Tomos (Tomi, Twm)
Trahaearn, Traherne (Very much like iron)
Trefor (Trev) (Trevor)
Tudor, Tudur (Ruler of the people)
Urien (Privileged birth)
Vaughn, Vaughan (Little)
Wyn, Wynn, Wynne (Blessèd/White/Fair)
Yale (Fertile upland)


Aderyn (Bird)
Aeron, Aerona
Afanen (Raspberry)
Afon (River)
Alis (Alice)
Angharad (More love)
Anwen (Very beautiful)
Arianrhod, Aranrhod (Silver wheel or Round wheel)
Betrys (Beatrice)
Blodeuwedd (Face of flowers)
Blodeuyn (Flower)
Blodwen (White flowers)
Branwen (Beautiful raven)
Briallen (Primrose)
Bronwen (White breast)
Caron (To love)
Carys, Cerys (Love)
Catrin (Cadi)
Ceinwen (Lovely and white)
Ceridwen, Cerridwen (Ceri)
Crystin (Christine)
Delyth (Pretty)
Deryn (Bird)
Dilwen (Genuine and white)
Dilys, Dylis (Genuine)
Disgleirio (Glitter/shine)
Efa (Eva)
Eilwen (White brow)
Eira (Snow)
Eirian (Bright/beautiful)
Eirlys (Snowdrop)
Eirwen (White snow)
Elain (Fawn)
Elen, Elin (Helen)
Eluned, Eiluned, Luned (Image/Idol)
Enfys (Rainbow)
Enid (Soul or Life)
Esyllt (Isolda)
Eurwen (Gold and White/fair/blessèd)
Ffion (Foxglove)
Ffraid (Bridget)
Gladys, Gwladys (Country) (Claudia)
Glaw (Rain)
Glenda (Pure and good)
Glenys, Glynis (Pure/clean/holy)
Gwawr (Dawn)
Gwenda (Fair and good)
Gwendolen, Gwendoline, Gwendolyn (White ring)
Gwenllian (Blessèd flaxseed)
Gwyneth, Gweneth, Gwenith, Gwenyth, Gwynedd
Gwenfrewi, Winifred, Winnifred (Blessèd peace/reconciliation)
Gwynedd (The name of an ancient kingdom and region)
Gwyneira (White snow)
Haf, Hefina (Summer)
Heulog (Sunny)
Heulwen (Sunshine)
Hyledd, Heledd
Lleucu (Lucia)
Llewella, Lewella
Llinos (Greenfinch)
Mabyn (Youth)
Mair (Mary)
Mairwen (Blessèd Mary)
Mared, Marged, Mererid (Megan) (Margaret)
Mari (Maria)
Meinir (Maiden)
Meinwen (Slender and white)
Meiriona (Marian)
Morgan (Sea circle)
Morwenna, Morwen (Maiden)
Myfanwy (Myf) (My woman)
Nerys (Lady)
Nia (Niamh) (Bright)
Non (Nun)
Olwen (White footprint)
Paderau (Rosary or Beads)
Rhian, Rhianu (Maiden)
Rhiannon, Rhianon, Riannon (Great queen)
Rhonwen (Fair hair or Fair spear)
Rhosyn (Rose)
Seren (Star)
Siân (Siana, Siani) (Jeanne)
Sioned (Janet)
Siwan (Joan)
Tegan (Fair)
Tegwen (Fair and blessed)
Tesni (Warmth from the Sun)
Tiwlip (Tulip)
Wynne (Blessèd/White/Fair)