Back in college, when I was flirting with the idea of being a writer and genuinely making an ass of myself in numerous composition classes, I daydreamed about my pen name. (Now, I just daydream about plot points and character exposition, but I wasn’t writing an all-consuming series then.)
I probably should have been focusing on more important things—like how to be a better writer—but (if meditation has taught me nothing else) the mind goes where it will. Back then, I aspired to a loving marriage, a successful career, and financial freedom. All these things shaped my daydreams.
Then, the 2008 housing crash decimated our economy just before my graduation from Oakland University. There were no jobs, even in the fields of writing and editing. So, there went the springboard-into-a-successful-career idea. And I had just broken up with my college boyfriend, so there went the plan for wedded bliss. I wasn’t finding work, and I wasn’t changing my last name, so I stayed in school.
I knew going in that a degree in English was generally viewed as useless. But as a wide-eyed college freshman—fists on my hips, turned toward the wind, hair flaring out like a cape—I decided to use my education to overcome the stigmas! So, four years later, when I couldn’t do that right away…
I doubled down and got another English degree.
After graduation (the last one), I came up with an idea for the Realm Riders Series. If you’ve seen my timeline of its evolution, you know that a lot of life and a lot of years transpired between the birth of the series and today. And while my name still hasn’t changed, and my career has taken a different path than expected, those life experiences taught me invaluable lessons about our world and the people in it. Since my jobless wake-up call of 2009, I weeded out many unrealistic goals and dreams. But my aspirations of becoming a writer remained. My hands were still on my hips. I was squinting into the wind. But… I was also wearing glasses, an oversized sweater, and the freshman fifteen that finally caught up with me after college.
Once I had a good portion of the story written, I knew I had some decisions to make. Finally, I needed a pseudonym.
- Not because my status as “hopeless romantic” had been reduced to a passing appreciation for chick flicks and fairy tales—
- Not because I wanted a name that would stick with me, regardless of how many failed marriages littered my past—
- Not because of the middle-school monikers that developed from my surname (all of which made up for their lack of wit with their excessive obviousness)—
—but because I was going to do something with my work.
I needed a pen name to build a separate me who could live her truth as an author, free of the burdens of daily life, which normal-me would handle for her. Cuz I’m that kind of gal.
Additionally, normal-me didn’t care much for her given name.
My surname—to put it simply—is not fodder for the genre of fantasy. It might work for careers in football or engineering, but it lacks the ethereal quality one wants on the cover of her novel. (Sorry, Dad.)
And my middle name never rang true for me either. I’ve met some delightful and not-so-delightful Ashleys in my time, but I don’t feel like an Ashley, even on a secondary, middle-name basis.
I grew to like my forename over time…. You know, once I got past my hang-up that people only ever use it to get my attention or inform me that I’m in trouble (“LUUUUCYYYYY!”). And sure, countless others can’t remember my name is Heather because it “doesn’t suit my face”—whatever that means (no complexes here!). But it’s the name to which my ears have quirked up for three (plus) decades. I can barely break habits I’ve nurtured for less than a third of that time. I knew then, as I know now: Heather would have to stay.
So, I searched for a new surname. It needed to feel like a part of me. It had to make my given name(s) truly mine. And it required at least a hint of fantasy-genre flare.
Ashle.
- Same middle name I was born with (well, most of it).
- New, potentially unpronounceable spelling that is rampant in my genre (even if it runs contrary to the articles that advise against names no one can figure out).
- A retelling.
Ashle spun my given name into something new without divorcing me from my old identity. Hands on hips, facing the wind, and buttoning up my sweater (because I’m no longer a coatless child who refuses to recognize cold as a legitimate temperature). Heather Ashle. Still feels like me—but more mine.
Retellings don’t always have to be dramatic. Sometimes, they just need to put a fresh spin on an old classic to breathe new life into a tale.
Amazing what dropping a sometimes-vowel from your name can do, eh?
-H.A.
Are you already writing under a pseudonym or considering one? Why did you choose it?
