I didn’t actually intend to publish under a pen name.
It’s a decision every author of fiction gets to make as they consider publication. Do you use your name, a version of your name, a made-up name, multiple names for different genres…? Choosing an identity or several identities has almost become the norm — so-and-so writing as so-and-so, when neither is the name they actually go by. The use of initials and middle initials allows for even more possibilities.
When I first self-published on Kindle Direct Publishing, I used my legal last name, the name I’d had since I was 25. It wasn’t my birth name, but one that I’d taken when I married my first husband. I began writing novels of suspense nine years later, as my marriage was falling apart. In June of 2012, when I submitted my first book for publishing on Kindle, I’d been officially divorced for five months.
I did include a name change on my divorce paperwork. I didn’t intend to keep the name of the husband who had let me down in so many ways, who I’d grown apart from and grown out of loving. But it wasn’t a happy or easy time. I’d finally moved out of the home we’d lived in together for more than a decade, packing up all of the belongings he’d left me to deal with, sorting through the remnants of our married life. My mom’s mom, who lived nearby and who I was very close to, had passed away in March. And I was living with a toxic and damaging boyfriend, a man I’d met the previous year when I was at my most vulnerable and an ideal target for his manipulation. I moved to a smaller place partly out of a desperate hope that he’d move out, unable to think of another way to remove him, but too enmeshed to evict him and risk the relationship ending. It didn’t work. Maintaining any semblance of boundaries took up much of my energy and attention.
I’m not particularly proud of myself when I look back on those years from 2011 to 2013, even though I was accomplishing something that filled me with deep pride and satisfaction: becoming a self-published author. My writing was a safe, sane place for me to hide in the chaos of my home, in the internal conflict of knowing I was in a terrible relationship yet unable to get out. It looks simple from the outside. It even looks simple to me in hindsight. But it wasn’t simple. It was horrible.
I’m not particularly proud of myself when I look back on those years from 2011 to 2013, even though I was accomplishing something that filled me with deep pride and satisfaction: becoming a self-published author.
In that time, I self-published eight books, seven of them written in 2010 and 2011, and wrote two more. I continued to go by the name Emily Senecal, because it was my default, because I didn’t have the capacity or the desire to go through the complicated process of changing back to my original name. It simply wasn’t a priority. I didn’t think through what it would mean to publish under that name, or question the long-term consequences of that choice. I just did it, the way I just did so many things during those years.
I was not only overwhelmed by the relationship I was in, I was overwhelmed with unexpressed anger, regret, resentment and loss from the marriage that had ended. I went to therapy, but wasn’t able to connect with the therapist, maybe wasn’t ready to face the truth of my situation. It only got worse, and by July of 2013 it came to a crisis point. The oldest of my cats had died of cancer, and it broke something in me, ultimately allowed me to break out of the toxic patterns I’d been living in and push the relationship to end. The next morning, I found that I wasn’t sad it was over, I was numb and giddy and free. I’d cried too much during the relationship to cry afterward. I took the next year to focus on myself, writing more novels, reading self-help books. I invested in myself, in my relationships, in travel and friends and learning what I really wanted and truly valued. I restored the damage that had been done to me, and that I’d done to myself.
I didn’t think through what it would mean to publish under that name, or question the long-term consequences of that choice. I just did it, the way I just did so many things during those years.
I still used my ex-husband’s name. I continued to publish under it, continued to prioritize aspects of my life besides changing it. I had my divorce documents neatly organized and knew I could start the process anytime, but other things seemed to matter more. Happier things, exciting things. I went to Greece for three weeks with my mom. I started online dating, then stopped online dating. I met a man in a bar one Sunday in January and married him two and a half years — and three more published novels — later.
When we married, I legally changed my last name to his, releasing the last vestige of my first marriage. It felt right, to have my previous name become a fictional one, a pseudonym, as a new era in my life began. I didn’t consider not continuing to publish under it. My ex’s last name didn’t only represent him, or the unhappiness he’d caused. By that time it didn’t represent him at all.
It did represent his family, who had welcomed me as a daughter and sister, and continued to offer me respect, love and friendship after our divorce and even after I remarried. It happened to be the surname of the kind and laconic longtime manager of my favorite local used bookstore, where I spent many long and happy hours browsing the shelves, finding new authors to inspire and entertain me. It was the last name of a random stranger on the East Coast, who reached out through my website to say she realized I wasn’t a relation but she’d read my books anyway and really enjoyed them. And it was me, my external identity for half of my 20s and all of my 30s. Me as an author. Me as a brand, however small and niche that brand might be.
If I had it all to do over, choosing a different pen name is only one of many things I’d probably do differently. I could have given more time to it, considered what it would mean in a year or five or ten, especially if I’d gone ahead and changed my legal name as I’d originally intended. I think, had I been in a different place in my life, I might have picked a name, used initials and a family surname, something like that. But the truth is, I don’t think it really matters what name or names an author chooses, as long as you decide that it’s yours, and make it mean something to you.
It was the last name of a random stranger on the East Coast, who reached out through my website to say she realized I wasn’t a relation but she’d read my books anyway and really enjoyed them. And it was me, my external identity for half of my 20s and all of my 30s. Me as an author. Me as a brand, however small and niche that brand might be.
Ultimately the name that I chose to first publish under was never about the guy who let me down so many times, and who abandoned me at the last. The pen name that I continue to use is one that I made mine. I had it for many years, it was my name as I went through all of the things that happened at the end of my marriage. All of the things I went through during my marriage, and in the tumultuous years that followed.
Senecal was my name when I grew into the person that I was ready to become: a strong and independent woman who knew what she wanted and believed in her boundaries. It was the name I had when I met, fell in love with and married my partner. When I chose a different way of life, first alone and then with him.
But the truth is, I don’t think it really matters what name or names an author chooses, as long as you decide that it’s yours, and make it mean something to you.
It’s the name that I now use only for the brand of my books, calling back to that vulnerable, hopeful version of myself who first wrote these stories, who first published them, who went through so much and grew so much in a decade and a half. It’s a name that doesn’t represent shame or failed relationships or a disappointing person in my past, but success and triumph and growth, healing from my mistakes, making wiser choices, and investing in myself for a better, brighter present and future.
That’s a brand I think anyone would be proud of.
~ Emily
