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| Take it off, baby. All of it.
It’s the Faustian deal we all strike when we first get the kooky idea in our heads to put pen to paper. “Bare your soul,” the muse entices, “and in exchange I’ll grant you…um, maybe even five cents a word one day (but for now will twenty five bucks and copies work?)”. Get out the ball gags, folks, because we’re obviously all masochists. Unless there’s a loophole (and I think I’ve found one). In the post-google world, do I really want screamfuckhorror.com to attribute my magnum opus “Afternoon Delight with The Poop Maggots”, to my legal name? Of course, the world is big enough that I could always beg off. “’Poop maggots?’ heavens no, not in my oeuvre! That must be some other Nicole Cushing. I’m Nicole Cushing, author of The Nightmare Viola, soon to be adapted into a feature film by Merchant-Ivory’s horror division”. But how often is that likely to get by people. Especially with the increasing cultural focus on poop fiction. Enter anonymity, as old a literary device as the unsigned cave drawings of Lascaux.. Of course, simply identifying one’s self as “Anonymous” is impractical, so you’d better get a nom de plume. There are plenty of more studied articles online that can tell you about how a pen name will effect your writing career. I’ve heard that if you’re successful and write under a pen name, completeist fans and collectors will be annoyed at you for erecting an obstacle in their way. I’ve heard that if you’re not successful, writing under a pen name can help you at least partially ditch an identity that wasn’t exactly reeling them in like Johnny Bravo. I’ve heard friends talk about writing porn under a pen name to help pay the bills with their own reps untainted. I’ve heard friends talk about how they feel hemmed in by writing under their legal name, because they’re worried what their parents will think. I’m a newer writer, and can’t vouch for any of the above points. However, having written under two names (and gotten only the teensiest bit of notoriety for it), I can testify to the chaos they can sometimes induce, and how trippy it can be for a writer’s identity. If you’re a pen name purist and go to a Con where people don’t know your “secret identity,” it can be kind of fun. At the very least it can inject an element of cloak and dagger into an otherwise humdrum life. Aforementioned considerations aside, though, I generally recommend against pen names. For example, what if you end up abandoning your first choice of pen name and decide to start over with another pen name? At worst, you can look pretty silly; like that moody kid in 9th grade who kept changing her hair color, sexual orientation, favorite pagan Goddess, and dietary restrictions each week. It’s just too confusing for you and your readers. Moreover, I say, proudly take ownership of your poop (and other scatological and/or pornographic material). Next Thanksgiving, as the candied sweet potatoes are making their way around the table, I plan to look over to Mom and announce how they remind me of the erotic turds that nearly won me eighth runner up in the annual Gross Out contest. And I shall do so proudly, with a shit-eating grin on my face. Besides, the artsy stuff never sells anyway. Merchant-Ivory just called. The Nightmare Viola is being “re-tooled”. New title? The Shit Fiddle. |
| Be Proud of Your Poop: The Case Against Pseudonyms in Small Press Horror By Nicole Cushing |