Me, only make believe

The other day, I got to the bottom of my gigantor mail pile and found what I think might be the latest issue of the RWA monthly magazine. I say "think," only because the yellow forwarding sticker from the Post Office is covering the vital information...and I haven't seen any newer ones around.

One of the articles I skimmed last night was all about pseudonyms and how all the cool writers are doing it these days.

Wanna know a secret? In real life, my name isn't Harper. I know. It's shocking. I wish it were Harper, but really, it's a very simple, very ordinary name. My "real" side even has it's own blog where I ramble and talk about my family and my very plain, very ordinary (and beautiful!) life.

But Harper...

Harper came about after reading a little about the Law of Attraction and the power of intentions. I decided to create my alter ego before I even had a real reason to (read it: book deal-- I still don't really have a reason to give myself a super secret identity!).

Harper is half Harper Lee. I love Scout Finch more than I have ever loved another literary character in my entire reading life. I thought like Scout when I was younger. I fought like Scout. I cursed like Scout. I wanted to be Scout. And Bennett? Well, if Scout Finch had grown up and somehow landed in the Regency Era, she most certainly would have somehow been my other favorite character, Elizabeth Bennett. So, no real mystery there...Harper Bennett.

But it's a bit more than that. Harper really only exists online at the moment, but it's a fantastic break for the tightly wound, married mother of two that I am during the day.

Harper pays her bills on time. Hell, Harper doesn't have bills. She was conceived during a time when watched a lot of Mad Men, and in my imagination, if I had been a character from the ultra swag 60s, I would be an ultra smooth, ultra sophisticated little minx named Harper. Harper doesn't wear ponytails or rush out the door with no makeup on when she's late for work.

She's not still carting around the extra 20 pounds of baby weight, regardless of the fact that the baby is actually 16 months old now.

Harper emerges from the bathroom in a puff of steam with everything perfectly coiffed, ready to write for hours and hours sipping champagne. Maybe even smoking one of those long, pointy cigarettes. I don't know. I know smoking kills, but I sure think those old-fashioned long-stemmed cigs were pretty cool looking.

Harper gives me the freedom to NOT be me for a little bit. We're struggling with money and time and stress, and we can't afford vacations. So I can be someone else for a little bit when I pull up my chair and I write Harper's stories. Her stories are easier than mine. They emerge effortlessly and they just keep going. When I write, I choke out a sentence at a time and get distracted by that damned facebook nonesense. Not Harper.

It was awkward at first. I felt a little silly, a little phony, but I just sorta ran with it. And honestly, two WIPs in, I think it worked. It was that missing piece I needed to align my intentions and my dreams with my enthusiasm.

So celebrate the fake name. Embrace the nom de plume...it just might make all the difference in the world...it sure did for me!