What Is in a (Pen) Name?

Choosing My Pen Name Pushed Me to Decide Who I Was and Who I Will Be

When I decided to become a writer, the question of who I would present to the world absolutely confounded me. I knew that I wanted a pen name, but choosing a name proved far more difficult than I anticipated.

I already have a name; it is well lived-in and is the one given to me by my mother. My first name is a variation of hers, and my last name is connected to her lineage that traces back to South Carolina. I answer when this name is called (or so I would hope), and it is the one I give to people when I introduce myself to them. As a child I felt pretty indifferent about it, but over the years through adolescence and adulthood, it has grown on me just how Black my name is when said in full (I have both parents’ Black-ass middle names too). It has a rhythm of a drum beat signaling the start of a dance or movement. But if my given name was the start of something that carried my lineage, what would be my chosen pen name?

I started out wanting a name that was nonbinary and significant to me. The first name I came up with was Morgan Gray. It was a combination of my father’s surname and, for lack of a better idea, something that sounded good when said after it (Gray is also held by many prolific porn stars). I chose Morgan because none of my father’s twelve children (from various women) bear his last name as far as I know. As a kid and teenager, he would occasionally ask me if I considered changing my last name to his. I thought to myself that maybe he could get that honor through my pen name. After using that name for pieces that never really saw the light of day, I began to question my choice in surname.

Firstly, “Gray” meant nothing to me.

Of all the names in the world, I could come up with something more significant than that. So I thought I’d go with Morgan Messenger. “Messenger” was an aspirational surname I came up with after noticing that many surnames came from the profession a person had. I do not have the delusion of grandeur that I am in any way a capital “M” messenger. I just wanted to signify my desire to impart something of value and understanding through my writing. I tried that name out for a bit, but it wasn’t fitting well enough for me.

I then began to question the first name too. I decided that I wanted to keep my name shared with my mother. A name can signify one’s ancestry, and I wanted to be intentional in which ancestors I chose. In my search for a more fitting name, I asked my mother questions about the people in her life growing up. What came up were the names of two matriarchs: my maternal great-great grandmother, Queen Esther, and my paternal great grandmother, Geraldine. Without telling too much of a story that’s not mine, they both had a significant impact on my mother’s life when she needed it most.

I played around with those names for a bit, trying to do some combination or variation on those names.

This was quite the process.

I eventually settled on what I have now: Marquis Geraldine Queen. The name given to me by my mother, along with the names of those who provided for her. After three years, I finally settled upon something that felt and sounded right to me. A name I could answer to if called. A name calling upon the most powerful matriarchs whose names I held. The power to create. The power to guide. The power to inspire.

Despite the high-minded intention that brought me to my pen name, my artistic renaming actually began from a place of insecurity.

For the vast majority of my life, if I shared anything, it was after a translation into something I thought others would understand or receive best. I hoped to be legible; something that made narrative sense to the story projected onto my body. It was not a desire to lie or to manipulate anyone. I wanted to be safe from harm, rejection, and ridicule. When I decide to be a writer, I wanted to create in a space separate from the ones that I moved through in my day-to-day. While I’m sure the T-1000 already knows where to find me, there was something even more frightening about revealing myself to people I couldn’t see, know, or worse: used to know.

On and off the page, I have to open myself for others to see: the contradictions, thoughts, and feelings in ways that makes sense for me. There was no way I could be authentic in my writing if I wrote from a place of fear or misunderstood. There was no way I can fully realize myself if I worried more about other people’s idea of me. It turns out that the pen name I’ve chosen isn’t a mask or alter ego, but a reflection of who I am and who I aspire to be.

If you’re thinking about your own pen name or looking to rename yourself, do it for your own sake. In this name will be your chosen past, present, and future.