I often get asked why, when my birth name really isn't that repulsive, I choose to go by nom de plume even within my everyday life.
The reasons are many but probably distinctly less interesting than you might imagine:
It is not pretension.
Nor a sinister endeavour to obtain internet celebrity by being kitsch or avant-garde.
I have no desire to escape my genetic history, utterly fucked up as it may be.
And I most certainly didn't create Annie to pick up men, if anything she's actually an utterly intimidating (and mildly repugnant) young lady.
The reasons are many but probably distinctly less interesting than you might imagine:
It is not pretension.
Nor a sinister endeavour to obtain internet celebrity by being kitsch or avant-garde.
I have no desire to escape my genetic history, utterly fucked up as it may be.
And I most certainly didn't create Annie to pick up men, if anything she's actually an utterly intimidating (and mildly repugnant) young lady.
First and foremost, as today's rage-inspiring message from my creative writing instructor Alan Gillis proved, despite a more than sufficient grasp of the English language you'd be surprised to hear quite how many people have issues with spelling (or pronouncing at a glance) the name Elise.
From even my earliest visits to the hospital I have bitter memories of being called in as Elsie, which has always held disturbing connotations for me with fragile old ladies.
[It was a name shared by an elderly neighbour who died (and wasn't found for a considerable amount of time) whilst I was growing up.]
One could understand if my moniker was particularly exotic or contained more than two bloody syllables but as it stands the bastardisation of something so simple remains a source of almost constant irritation to me.
A second point, and one much more applicable to the life of a candid Internet blogger, my full title leaves a rather noticeable trail when run through a search engine; often dredging up photographs and articles I would much rather be condemned to the bowels of digital history than be ever present as I age.
[I believe I also discussed the compulsive catalyst behind my constant altering of pseudonym in an earlier blog so rather than flogging a dead horse I suggest you go back and read my posts from October if you wish to explore that particular potentiality.]
Finally, and likely the most brutally honest response I can give is as follows: I don't like a large number of people.
The adoption of a false persona is much akin to handing out your phone number having switched the final three digits...it makes you an easily forgettable enigma or, in some instances, unforgettable but unquestionably unattainable.
Those with inquisitive minds need know only this, if you meet Annie it's probably because you're asking utterly redundant questions.
Annie.
<3
From even my earliest visits to the hospital I have bitter memories of being called in as Elsie, which has always held disturbing connotations for me with fragile old ladies.
[It was a name shared by an elderly neighbour who died (and wasn't found for a considerable amount of time) whilst I was growing up.]
One could understand if my moniker was particularly exotic or contained more than two bloody syllables but as it stands the bastardisation of something so simple remains a source of almost constant irritation to me.
A second point, and one much more applicable to the life of a candid Internet blogger, my full title leaves a rather noticeable trail when run through a search engine; often dredging up photographs and articles I would much rather be condemned to the bowels of digital history than be ever present as I age.
[I believe I also discussed the compulsive catalyst behind my constant altering of pseudonym in an earlier blog so rather than flogging a dead horse I suggest you go back and read my posts from October if you wish to explore that particular potentiality.]
Finally, and likely the most brutally honest response I can give is as follows: I don't like a large number of people.
The adoption of a false persona is much akin to handing out your phone number having switched the final three digits...it makes you an easily forgettable enigma or, in some instances, unforgettable but unquestionably unattainable.
Those with inquisitive minds need know only this, if you meet Annie it's probably because you're asking utterly redundant questions.
Annie.
<3
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