Losing Kate

One of the reasons I didn’t change my last name when I got married was because I wanted the name on my books to be Kate DeHaan. People told me that I could still publish under that name while still changing it legally to match my spouse.

But I’m far too vain for a pen name.

While I do say that mostly as a joke, it’s not really a joke. I want my published work to be under my name, the name I grew up with, my legal government name.

You might be trying to be charitable to and say that it isn’t vanity. But I think it is. I am proud of what I write, and once (Barnes and Noble willing) I see my books on the shelf, I am self-absorbed enough to need my name plastered on the cover.

I’m even vain enough to post writing advice on a blog I barely advertise.

But even though I think highly of myself, I’m still plagued with self-doubt. I often wonder why on earth I’m still paying for this site if no one reads it.

But I don’t think these two things are that different. I think the pull between ego and loathing are two sides of the same coin. Both a way to protect the writer from failure.

An inflated ego makes any rejection meaningless because you, the writer, are simply an unappreciated genius. On the other hand, an inflated self-hatred makes any rejection inevitable because you are never going to be accepted anyway.

But truthfully, rejection stings just the same no matter how we posture ourselves.

Still, I don’t think the writer should forsake ego and loathing. The problem is balancing the coin so they become confidence and humility.

A healthy confidence and humility keep the wheels of the writing process greased. Confidence keeps you writing, humility lets you edit.

I’m confident in my work, so I keep my name. But I am humble enough to acknowledge the help I receive. I am humble enough to recognize that what I once thought was the best writing I could achieve, would need to bleed red ink to be presentable.

I’m able to do my best work when I am not afraid to write something that isn’t good enough to publish. Because the truth is, it might not be good enough. But that doesn’t mean it never will be.