What’s in a Name?

 

Confession. My real name is not Emme. It starts with an “M,” but nobody has ever called me that. So why start a blog under a fake name? I have a few reasons:

 

  1. I have no idea the direction this blog will take. My writing tends to err on the side of inappropriate to downright raunchy, so I thought it best to not let this blog anywhere near my real name in the event someone Google searches me. Who is searching? Probably nobody. But still.
  2. I do some freelance copywriting. On occasion. Well, once. . .anyway, I’ll leave the real M***** to deal with those gigs. Emme L. Beckett? Nah, she’s the fun one, the wild card. She’s here to bitch about motherhood, adulting and once she figures out whether or not her husband will be reading this blog, she’ll probably make a few pokes at marriage.
  3. Years ago, a writing teacher said that if a-hole people can make a pre-judgement about you just by seeing your name, and not your work, then perhaps consider using a pen name. I thought, “Well, isn’t that letting the racist/anti-semitic a-holes win?” Yet, here I am with whispers from that teacher in my ear. My married last name is flamingly Jewish and my first name is always misspelled, so I’m taking that teacher’s advice.
  4. Emme L. Beckett. You know what the Emme means (see above). My middle name is Lynn. What’s the Beckett? Oh, Beckett was just a name that I was obsessed with when I was pregnant with my second son. How cool would that name be? Oh, hey Beck. Becks, do your homework. What the heck, Beck?!? My husband gave the name is big fat VETO and I guess I never fully recovered. He liked Dylan. Freaking Dylan! Everyone has a kid named Dylan. He also gave the name Simon a VETO, so I coped with that disappointment by naming our kitten Simon a few years later. Poor Simon, RIP, got run over by a car a day after his first birthday. Let’s hope Beckett has better fortune.

A-name-is-just-a-name-right-3

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