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On Noms de Plume
Justin Von Depathos strode across the ballroom floor
To sit with Carlton Vishizwa and Charlotte Genevieve—
While I, in silent fascination, watched them from the door—
The “major players” waltzing ‘round the room that Friday eve.
Thurston Beaumont Jr. brushed my arm as he walked by!
His 12 best-selling books had earned him legendary fame,
And I remember thinking I was actually going to die—
It even gave me goose-bumps just to say his pretty name!
I had been evaluating catchy ‘noms de plume’,
As names you can remember seemed a very needed part
Of great success—and as I glanced around the crowded room,
I knew that this might be the night my new career could start.
I headed for the pink champagne and bowls of caviar
In hopes of finding literary stars to mingle with,
But then I asked myself—“When someone asks you who you are—
Do you really think it’s wise to tell them Wilbur Smith?”
Now—I’m not absolutely sure—but I think that it’s risky
To launch a new career with such a common sounding name.
I felt that I should dub myself with something far more frisky,
Or elegant, and debonair. That’s how they play the game.
As I stood there contemplating what that name should be,
A suave, distinguished looking lady gracefully walked up,
And with what looked to be a smile turned and looked at me,
Then—with a condescending gesture—handed me her cup!
It was rather obvious this woman had no clue
That I, too, was an author. (She’d mistaken me for staff.)
But then, instead of snotting off, like I was tempted to,
I countered with a smile and wisely conjured up a laugh!
Racing through my mind were thoughts of well-deserved revenge,
But better judgment intervened (though I was really stressed.)
I realized that—though her misconception made me cringe—
The reason for the boo-boo was the way that I was dressed!
I took her cup politely, then I gently set it down,
To thereby make it clear that I was not convention crew.
My smile was met with angry eyes, and followed by a frown,
When I said, “Hi, I’m Quildon Thrush.” And she responded, “Who?”
“Quildon Thrush. The author! I don’t have an agent yet.
If you could recommend one, I could use some good advice.
Like fledgling writers everywhere, I’ll take all I can get,
And if you’d introduce me to your friends… that would be nice!
“I was so disgusted when the airline lost my tux.
There wasn’t time to shop, so I just grabbed some working clothes.
My fancy suit that disappeared cost seven hundred bucks!
I know I’m slightly under-dressed, but hey that’s how it goes.”
She would stand there motionless for quite a little while,
Until I’d finished babbling and I paused to take a breath.
Then, again, I’d see her force a manufactured smile,
As she began the barbed reply that scared me half to death!
“Who the hell is Quildon Thrush? I’ve never heard that name!
—You look more like a waiter—and I’ll bet you made that up!
But if, in fact, to get some free advice is why you came,
Well, I’ll be glad to give you some if you’ll refill my cup!”
Frantically, I grabbed the closest bottle, pulled the cork,
Then carefully filled her little cup with sparkling pink champagne.
“You,” she sneered, “have got to be the very biggest dork
I’ve ever seen and if you think you’ll make it you’re insane!
“How the hell did you get in is what I’d like to know!
A crude and unsophisticated jerk is what you are.
Maybe if you changed your name to ‘Edgar Allen Poe,’
You could find a publisher—I think you want the bar!”
I was so incensed I pinned my thumb across the top
And wildly shook the bottle, nearly filled with vintage brew.
An awful thing to do, I know, but I just couldn’t stop
And, after what she’d said it seemed the fitting thing to do!
Her scarf of white chiffon and ivory blouse appropriately
Absorbed the brunt of flying wine, as I released the spray!
“Gosh, I’m really sorry, ma’am,” I said sarcastically—
Then, as she stood there freaking out, I calmly walked away.
Nothing else I’ve ever done has felt as right or good
As soaking down that spiteful cow who treated me like dirt.
And if I got the chance to do the same again, I would.
I only wish there’d been enough to booger up her skirt!
After that convention, I would take some time to think.
I grew this bushy mustache just in case I ever see
The witch that went from dry-an’-white to very-wet-an’-pink,
Because I know she’ll kill me if she recognizes me!
And though as far as pennames go, I’m sure the claim is true
That classy sounding ‘noms de plume’ can help your pieces sell,
Only fools confine themselves to merely asking “who,”
For some unknowns can write—if not much better—just as well.
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Mark Stellinga is a poet and antiques dealer residing in Iowa. He has often won the annual adult-division poetry contests sponsored by the University of Iowa Writer’s Workshop, has had many pieces posted in several magazines and sites over the past 60 years, including Poem-Hunter.com, PoetrySoup.com, and Able Muse.com—where he won the 1st place prize for both ‘best poem’ of the year and ‘best book of verse.’
A juicy tale, told with gusto, featuring just the kind of character we’d all love to make look as “all wet” as she is.
One of my all-time favorite fantasies, Julian! 🙂 Thanks for your input –
Well dome Mr. Thrush. A great way to start my day with a smile.!
Phil, I’m stumped by the reference to ‘Mr. Thrush’ (?), but starting your day with a smile is something I’m pleased to have accomplished – thanks for reading it –
Well done, Mark. A Galloping piece of narrative poetry that had me chuckling away. And what sweet revenge.
A synonym we use for champers in the UK is ‘fizz’. I was wondering if it would perhaps work better than ‘wine’, especially because of the alliteration of ‘flying fizz’.
Thanks for the read.
Paul, so glad you enjoyed it, and you’re right, “fizz” would likely work somewhat better in the UK, but my focus is typically on my followers here in the states, particularly here in the Midwest – it’s the Iowan in me.
This is a very fun, very ambitious poem, Mark, which kept me entertained the whole way through. The pen names that you casually drop in your poem are themselves little gems. Great work!
Thanks, Brain, glad you liked it. I’m a hardcore ‘story-teller’ by trade. Did a bunch of childrens books quite a while back and a few well received suspense novels. I don’t think Evan would go for any of my 10 – 12 pagers. Take care,
That is a remarkable poem with a breathtaking story that had me on the edge of my seat and then had me laughing with the humor of each verse and particularly the culminating deed. Your words were as fluid as the wine and as captivating as the shower. Great work! Loved it.
Thanks so much, Roy. I’ve written a ton of this sort. As my several books attest, both poetry and otherwise, I really enjoy sharing my extremely vivid imagination, but many of my best pieces are a bit too long, I feel, for the SCP clan. There are, FYI, a bunch of this type that have just now come available on my brand new ‘credit-card-shaped-flash-drive-book’ of 566 poems. Just $22 – incl. U.S. shpg. – for 1,027 pages – 43 illustrations & 225,000+ words of finely metered rhyme! 62 years in the content making, and one last shot at sharing. 🙂 Thanks again…
Good story with an easy reading flow, Mark. Together, these qualities propel it past the common SCP disinclination to read more than 50 or 60 lines. It also helps that you draw readers in with crafty noms de plume at the start. My favorite nom de chanteuse is Lana Del Rey, which has profited Lizzie Grant millions more than her songwriting skill, for all the appeal her authentic skill makes to her listeners.
One interesting point about your story is that Quildon Thrush (did you have in mind one of the slang meanings of Q. T.) seems to meet a woman with as much class as Wilbur Smith. Not to say that authors can’t be nasty, but I wonder how she got in. Clothes alone? The two of them present a kind of comic narrative beneath the overall scene. Another intriguing feature of your work here.
Margaret, I’m thoroughly delighted that you enjoyed this piece! As you point out, I’m keenly aware of the disinclination for the average poetry fan to sit still long enough to absorb the message of a more-than-10-stanza piece, so I very rarely submit any of my 80-to-100-stanza ‘story pieces’, and when I do, like on PoetrySoup.com, for instance, I have to send them in in 2 packets – 1st half – 2nd half. A little awkward, but it works well for appeasing my more ‘patient’ followers. 🙂 And you’re right again – the nasty gal Quildon confronts is definitely hard to like!
Mark, this entertaining poem picks up on the snobbery of the world of literature with a huge grin. Thank you! It reminds me of famous female authors of the nineteenth century using unisex names (Mary Ann Evans to George Eliot for example) as women writers were frowned upon. It also makes me want to think up a series of pen names for myself… what fun!
Hi Susan, Honestly, I was actually thinking about that when I posted this piece. If you do decide to employ a more masculine moniker to strengthen your credibility as a ‘Poet’, I was guessing that ‘Cliff Sedover” might appeal to a feisty little Brit like yourself. U C – there R these really tall cliffs on the edge of – well, just Google it – they’re very white and very famous – might do U some good??? You’re welcome, Ilene Wright.
Thanks for this, Mark. Those cliffs are the famous White Cliffs of Dover in Kent, my former home. I’m a Kentish lass who spent many a day at Canterbury (home of the famous cathedral) as well as Broadstairs (a seaside resort and favorite haunt of Charles Dickens), and Dover. I like your suggestion of Cliff Sedover – it certainly beats Ben Dover, the usual suggestion.