A Tale of a Pen Name

When I was about nine years old and already planning to be a famous writer, I knew I'd need a pen name. I'm not sure why I thought I needed one. Probably because at the time we were playing with the Jem dolls. Remember Jem? She was the 80s Hannah Montana: She was the blond-haired Jerica by day, and the pink-haired rock star Jem by night. Both Jerica and Jem had a true love: dark and handsome Rio, who couldn't decide between the two of them. Obviously, it was cool to have an alter identity. (Apparently it was also cool to have such serious insecurity issues that you would stick with a guy who was cheating on you WITH YOURSELF.)

So, looking ahead to my glittering literary career, I considered possible pen names. I rejected any form of my own name as Boring. I wanted something elegant, mysterious, and uncommon. My decision?

Sophie.

Twenty-two years later, the literary career is still waiting with bated breath. My chosen pen name, however, has gone from uncommon to practically threadbare. Apparently there were lots of elementary-aged girls standing in the lunch line thinking of names that were elegant, mysterious, and uncommon, with the result that lunch lines now are full of Isabelles, Olivias, and, of course, Sophies.

What could I choose for my exotic pen name now? Maybe something retro, like Betty. Or there was always that bandmember of Jem's, the blue-haired one, that I liked. She never caught Rio's eye back then, but maybe there's still a chance for Aja.