WRITING UNDER A PSEUDONYM

 

For reasons I can only describe as ignorance of consequences, lack of vision, lack of understanding how publishing works, and a touch of ego, I never considered a pseudonym when I first sought publication.

It seemed a needless complication, because one’s legal name is straightforward and pseudonyms suggest expectation of an illustrious publishing career. In addition, a pseudonym says you are hiding, which means you have something to hide.

 

I now wish I knew more back then. Pseudonyms are more than a form of protection, (because most who write never get the harsh bright lights of mass recognition anyway) they are distinct public personas and thus “brands” of sorts, and many find this very helpful creatively.

 

A pseudonym is employed when writers write in divergent and incompatible genres. Think kidlit and erotica, or kidlit and politics, or kidlit and most genres not kidlit.

 

A few years ago, I met a much-published writer who wrote in three distinctive genres. She used one pseudonym for her mysteries, another for her erotica, and her legal name for literary novels. She is by no means a household name in any of her three author identities. But she did admit her strongest income stream was from her erotica writing. No surprise there.

 

She said the different names helped her stay creative and focused. I understand, and no longer find this practice a wee creepy, like I used to.

 

Add to this consideration the matter of privacy, barely possible at the age where the Interwebs give your home address to anyone who will pay a few dollars, (and even free) as another name has a layer of security, albeit a thin one.

 

I never considered it, and even my social media presence (such as it is) is all-public. Easy, as I’m not famous. But if you are just starting out and foresee seeking mass recognition, think about it and see if a pseudonym will make you creatively better focused and feeling more secure. If you choose to go that way, have fun with the choice of pseudonym because having fun on this journey is what will keep you going.

PEN NAMES

...a.k.a nom de plume

“...What is your name?”

The child hesitated for a moment.

“Will you please call me Cordelia?” she said eagerly.

“Call you Cordelia! Is that you name?”

“No-o-o, it’s not exactly my name. But I would love to be called Cordelia. It’s such a perfectly elegant name.”

From ANNE OF GREEN GABLES by L. M. Montgomery ©1908

Ever since I read these lines, way back in the wee days of self-conscious awakening of middle childhood, I knew I had a bosom buddy in Anne Shirley who so desperately wanted to be called Cordelia.

I’d already named myself many times. I have a prescription my mother saved from when I was two, and told the doctor my name was Skippy. What two-year-old would want to be called Mirka if she could be Skippy?

For authors, the pen name (or pseudonym) is an old and venerable tradition. The French idiom for it, nom de plume,  literally means "name of feather," which harks back to the quill pen, a writing implement used since 600 AD. The nom de plume used to be a way to hide identity if the writing was too racy, too politically sensitive, or just plain not the sort of writing one wanted to be known for.

Nowadays, most of the above reasons don’t hold for long. It’s too easy for an interested party to trace the true identity of a writer, and we don’t worry about casual interest. Only the truly interested could pose a potential problem down the line.

Most authors who opt for a nom de plume do so for reasons of branding. They may want to publish under different names for different genres of writing, or re-invent themselves after a less than brilliantly successful debut. Or, like Anne-with-an-E, they may find their legal name uninspiring.

"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it," explained Anne, "only I like Cordelia better. I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia—at least, I always have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne please call me Anne spelled with an E."

 

"What difference does it make how it's spelled?" asked Marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.

"Oh, it makes SUCH a difference. It LOOKS so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced can't you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so much more distinguished. If you'll only call me Anne spelled with an E I shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia." 

I have come a full circle from my days as Skippy. I have made peace with my legal name, and branding is something I still can’t wrap my head around.  I seek authenticity in what I read and what I write.

But every now and then, I wonder.

Dalilah Corazon?

Jo Bunkerville?

D. D. Durk?

Ah, the possibilities.

Who would you be?

 

 

A good article about the challenges of choosing a pen name is linked here.

Recognition & Success

Or—

Where is the reality in recognition and success?

In 1915 Charlie Chaplin entered a Charlie Chaplin lookalike contest in San Francisco. Not only did he not win, he failed to even make the finals.

©2013 From the Norton Book of Facts to Blow Your Socks Off

There have been experiments of writers submitting classics or Pulitzer winning manuscripts of others to editors, to see if they will be recognized, requested as originals, or rejected. They were rejected with personal comments that indicated they had merit, but were “not quite ready.”

J. K. Rowling’s own experiment with making it both critically and commercially without her established name nearly failed miserably. Her editor, who knew the real identity of one “Robert Galbraith,” was happy to take The Cuckoo’s Calling. But the public was less impressed, and the sales were lower than others for the genre. It was rescued by a leak of the real identity of her authorship, and rose to the rare stratosphere of mega bestsellers.

This is what I gather from our infatuation with brands: the next time anyone suggests that worldly success or failure is an indication of intrinsic worth, I can safely and assuredly ignore their assertion. But there may be many more lessons in there that I am missing.

 What do you make of it?

Onwards, to do good work.

Typhoid Mary? No, Café Mary!

Piqued your curiosity with that ^ title?

Disclaimer: this post has nothing to do with Typhoid. I barely know what Typhoid is, beyond reading about that dreadful outbreak over a hundred years ago, and its silent carrier, Mary Mallon.

Discloser: Café Mary is me. This is the name I use whenever a person at a café/food counter says, “What name shall I put on this order?” For me it is always MARY.

If you’re still reading, you may be saying, “But why? Mirka is a perfectly nice name, and it is unique.”

There, precisely, lies the crux of the matter.

My café-restaurant name made its first appearance fifteen years ago, in Old Town Sacramento, California, in a tavern that looked like a throwback to the days of the Wild West.

With a dear friend and her daughter, DH and our two kids, we traveled by train from the bay area. After a lovely round of touring the Gold Rush Museum, Train Museum, and many (many) shops, we were famished. We settled on what looked like a saloon. While the kids and DH waited at a table, my friend and I made our lunch orders at the counter. Then a guy with a cowboy hat and jeans that were two sizes too small on him asked for our names.

“Stephanie,” said my friend for her order.

“I’ll get it right to you, Stephanie,” said the hunk.

“Mirka,” said I.

“”Huh? What kinda name is that?” said the hunk, whose name could have been Bo, or Chad.

I was about to do what I have to do everywhere, and spell it for him. He didn’t seem like he had the time to hear the explanation about Slavic diminutives, and how my birth name was Miriam but at the Children's House of my parents’ kibbutz there were two Miriams and my father chose Mirka so I will have some distinction, etc.

“M-I-R…” I started.

“”Nah,” said Mr. Tight Jeans. “ Don’t give me that. Give me an American name.”

I was thinking how Mirka is a Slavic diminutive of Mary. “Mary?” I said.

“I’ll get it right to you, Mary,” he said.

By the time our burgers and fries arrived at the table, I had no problem going under any name. But my kids couldn't understand why the server kept calling their mom by what, to them, was an odd name.

And so it became my café name. To this day, I think of it as my other identity for these sorts of occasions.

[A wonderful article in the New York Times reminded me, once again, how names have resonance and connotative identities. You can read it here- 

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/16/fashion/under-the-spell-of-a-name.html?hp&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=mini-moth&region=top-stories-below&WT.nav=top-stories-below ]

For writers, names are part of the story, and not a trivial part, either. To me, it is also part of how I write my life.

How Do You Like Your Ghosts?

Or-

The Truth About Ghost Writing

 

Years ago, before I even considered writing for publication, an acquaintance made me an offer. I would write a book about a subject I knew quite a bit about, and she would publish it under her name. She knew only a little about the subject, but thought a book would be good for her career. I would be paid, but my name would not appear, and I would sign an agreement to never disclose this connection. I felt funny about the whole thing and turned her down.

At that time I had no idea how common this sort of arrangement is.

Years later, before I was published but after I told friends I was writing, I got a similar offer. By then I had not only learned about ghost-writing, but knew someone who had done it. The ghost-maven advised me that this route is fraught with problems I cannot even begin to imagine. Because I knew only a little about the second book’s subject and was not drawn to it, it was easy to turn down.

After I was published I had two such offers, both from acquaintances who felt they didn’t have the time to write their books, but had the money to pay for their books to be written in their names. In each case I knew little about the subject, and cared even less. These, too, were easy to turn down.

Sounds like I’m a quick turner-down, ey?

I have an aversion to secrecy, so while I am discrete, I don’t want to invite a mega-dose of covertness into my life. I cherish ghost stories, not ghost writing.

 

A few years ago I watched an illuminating interview on the subject. A well-known writer, Michael Korda, who by then had come out as the ghost writer to a few people- (presumably they allowed this revelation) said that almost all books written by people who are not professional writers were in fact not written by them. This blew my mind.

By now I have come to accept it. Most anything can be bought. Why not this service as well? Only live performances can’t be faked, er…, pardon my Milli-Vanilli memory lapse.

Things ain’t what they seem, and never were.

I don’t know how you feel about it. Surprised? Scandalized? Shoulders-shrugged?

At this point, I’m not sure how I feel, either. The world is what it is. Just saying.

 

Andy’s Green Underpants

Yet another of the shattering factoids I've run into was that Andy Warhol always wore green underpants.

Who knew?

Who cares?

Obviously Andy did, or he wouldn't have done  it.

This made me think. What undisclosed facts do I store when I create fictional characters?

Some who write have extensive notes on every character, most of which do not make it explicitly to the page. I have never done this.

But there is one bit I do, most of the time. My characters have middle names. These middle names are not usually for the reader. They’re for me. They serve as a sort of secret layer. They tell of the family, or a quirky parent. Except for characters from Israel, where middle names are still uncommon, all my characters have middle names as well as last names.

I started with a factoid, and will leave you with another. Richard Gere’s middle name is Tiffany. See what I mean by evocative? 

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

We adopted three cats from a local shelter, and the quest for their names was in full swing. The shelter gave them perfectly good names, but we had to re-name them. It was as if they needed to be “re-born” at their new home, and heaven help them forget who they were before, and, please, may they remember who they are now.

You can tell from my tone that I would have left their shelter-names in place, though two were kittens who will likely accept their new identities. The older cat had a name before she was found, but no one knows what it was. So everyone gets a new start at the Breens.

The discussion for who should be called what was rather revealing of the humans who dwell here. Considering that the older female wound up as Clara Schumann and one of the youngsters is now Sokolov, named after the great pianist Grigory Sokolov, you get a pretty good idea about this musical home. The felines, by the way, show little attraction to the piano when it is played, which it is, for hours, every day. But one can always hope.

The third cat got away from the classical scene with the name Monk. Our favorite television show’s detective is nothing like his name’s sake. Kitten Monk is the most social and gregarious of the bunch.

I read that William E. Boeing, who founded United Airlines, named his pet Pekingese General Motors. I don’t do revenge-naming, but I applaud a good one. Our little Monk almost seems like a sarcastic naming, but it was shortened from his shelter name, Monkey, which was a far better fit for this guy.

I’m only glad my brood does not get to name my fictional characters. I follow the Old Testament and name for qualities or themes. The Hebrew Bible has the resonance of a fable because every single name is symbolically meaningful in the original. It’s lost in translation, where, for example, the name “Ruth” no longer sounds like “companion/friend,” an allusion to her being the first convert who expressed loyalty to her adoptive family. How many would name their girls Leah if they heard the meaning, “weary/tired?” The biblical matriarch was just that. With eleven kids and being almost blind, who can blame her?

I focus, and find my way to characters’ names. Names can be trendy, and accrue connotations over the years. I think and feel my way to a name, and know when I've got it. When the name is right, the character begins to speak.

Monk, Sokolov and Clara Schumann are too busy chasing a string to be talking much.

Is the Cuckoo Calling, or Was It the Kookiness of Us?

Apparently the book scans sale numbers for The Cuckoo’s Calling were all of five hundred sales in the U.S.A. despite very strong reviews. The international numbers were 1,500 total. It would not have even gone to paperback from this major publisher. A smaller publisher would have viewed the 1,500 number less critically, but this is one of the now Big Five.

 J. K. Rowling protested that she was in no way behind this revelation, exposing this Robert Galbraith debut as her own, admittedly a debut for her in the genre of detective novels. I have good reason to think her publisher, however, most likely was behind the revelation. She may not need the money, (though her ego is another factor) but Little Brown & Company would not, ever, pass an opportunity for mega-sales when it is just right there for the taking.

 I doubt that without the pen-name-then-revelation strategy the sales (now) or the reviews (then) would have been as good as they are. So it is very possible this was a plan from the get-go. Someone will no doubt write a book (or two or three) about this when some who colluded will talk about it. 

I find that in the kid-lit community, those who adore her Harry Potter books and idolize Rowling, believe her official pronouncements of innocence, and of seeking liberation from her brand name, while the rest find it depressing that it is so advantageous to be a brand-name when it comes to sales, even of a well-reviewed book.

 To end on an upbeat note, I’ll start with the bad news we garner from this affair:

 First, The thinking of a writer as a brand. (“They can only write XYZ)

Second, the holding a debut to a different standard when reviewing. (As if the debut author has not been writing for ions before they got a book accepted for publication; they are not new to writing, only publishing.)

Finally, the mega-sales, (it’s No #1 or close to now)  all because of the writer’s name and the story-behind-the-story.

Three times questionable thinking…. When will we ever learn? Never. 

But I find a bright spot in this sort of exposé.  I am chuckling, and dreaming up possibilities.  A talented author got to write what she wanted to write, and the world has one more good detective story. This is a two times cause for celebration.