The story of a pen name – The Mr. Hyde to my Dr. Jekyll

I quit writing my first romance novel before I even got started on it.

It’s not because I had writer’s block. My head was buzzing with ideas. It’s not because I didn’t actually know how to write either. I wasn’t concerned with that anymore. After all, I wasn’t writing the next great American novel. My fiction was going to be simple, direct, and vulgar. It’s relatively easy to come up with writing that fits that criteria.

The reason is more personal than that: I knew my writing would be too revealing. I’m not talking about the graphic or steamy parts. Or better said, I’m not talking just about those parts.

Before I try to explain, let me ask you this. What did you think when you heard Eliot Spitzer was involved in a prostitution ring? Fighting prostitution by day, spending more than $80,000 on high end hookers by night. Hypocrite, right?

What about Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky? Leader of the free world by day (it pains me to write that actually – for reasons I’ll explain some other time), your regular cheating husband by night.

What about Mahatma Gandhi and his drinking problem? What??? He didn’t have a drinking problem? Sorry, that’s just my sick sense of humor. Plus, I wanted to see if you were still paying attention.

If you were paying attention, you can probably see where I’m going with this. I’m not a good person. Better said, I’m not just a good person.

Most people who know me think I’m nice, kind, caring. Sweet and innocent. I’m not kidding. Just ask around. You have my permission.

Yet, there are a couple of people who would call me dirty-minded, unashamed, disrespectful of traditional values and morals. Uninhibited in the worst sense of the word. I don’t want you to contact these two people though. Just take my word for it when I say they know what they are talking about.

Neither one of those two sides of me is faked.

I’m not social in any way, but I do care a lot about the people I come in contact with. I have respect and compassion even for the people I don’t like … most of them, anyway. (I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for my post about Mother Theresa and Ted Bundy to understand that). I don’t gossip, unless it’s with my husband, which doesn’t count because of the husband-wife privilege. I don’t like listening to dirty jokes or talking to anyone about bedroom habits and such. I am very protective of my private life. I’m a well-mannered and nice person, am I not? And not a bit humble either.

Yes, I am all that but, I’m also the person that can read the most explicit, graphic porn out there. I can make the dirtiest jokes and enjoy sharing them with the ones that know about my bad girl side. I can be selfish and bend rules to suit my dark needs. Because yes, I have a very dark side that’s definitely outside what is socially, morally, and even psychologically (to me) acceptable or normal.

Usually, I have no problem separating these two sides. In public, I’m all Dr. Jekyll. Not because I’m trying to fool people, but because that’s who I am and that’s what feels natural to me. In the right kind of private setting, I am Mr. Hyde without the violent behavior and such. Inflicting pain is not my thing. I won’t tell you what is though … not yet anyway.

Writing is different. When I decided to write a novel I wanted it to be the kind of novel I would like to read. The kind that has smarts and strong emotional connections, but also steamy passion and even “dark territory” behavior. The black and the white, the good and the bad, the proper and the crass.

In writing I can’t separate Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I mean, how do you keep Mr. Hyde in the closet when that closet is explicitly described two paragraphs later? You don’t. You can’t. Not if you write exactly what goes on in your mind. That’s why I put down my pencil before I even wrote “Chapter 1”. I wasn’t ready for that kind of revelation.

I’m not ready for it now either. I don’t know if I ever will be. It’s OK for me to know about my different sides. I’ve learned to accept my split personality disorder. I, me, and myself are getting along just fine. What I’m not ready is for other people to know about it. That’s scary.

So why did I change my mind and start writing after all? That’s a longer story but it comes down to one decision: being authentic.

I have no doubt I won’t be able to hide behind the name of Ada Ireland for too long. I don’t know yet if it will be my choice “to come out of the closet”or someone else will figure it out before I’m ready for the “big reveal.” Until then, I’ll write what I enjoy and try to prepare myself mentally for the consequences of my decision.

I’m going to end this post with a joke. I had to translate it, so hopefully the punch line didn’t get messed up too much.

A very nice looking woman goes to a matrimonial agency.
“I’m looking for a man who is steady, doesn’t watch sports, and doesn’t lust after other women”, she tells the matrimonial agent.
“Sure, ma’am. We have just the right one,” says the agent pointing out the window. “Right there, in the park across the street.”
“Oh, you mean the nice looking gentleman on that bench, with the bouquet of roses in his lap?” the lady asks, a big smile on her face.
“No, ma’am. The gentleman standing next to him. The one carved out of marble.”

I am not carved out of marble and this blog is definitely not for those who like pretty, innocent statues.