So I'm on Amazon looking up Dr. Rick Henry's books (he's a professor of mine, I feel like I should support him) and then I think "Boy, I'll look up my own name!" James Beardsley it is, with a few different results.
On the top of the list is a man named James Beardsley Hendryx, apparently a writer of ribald Alaskan adventures. Uh oh. One of these articles looks like Hendryx is a pseudonym and his real name is Beardsley... Oh, never mind, I look up a bio and he was born JBH. Whew. Close one.
Apparently the guy that founded the Beardsley Zoo was named James. But he was a cattle baron. Not exactly a writer, thank goodness.
Some jerkoff postal inspector used the name James Beardsley in fake correspondence to bust... a "free love" conclave? That's weird. I wonder if I could use that in a story. It's an amusing coincidence. With the right spin it could make something cool.
I'm not sure why I was so worried about the Hendryx thing. I am very attached to my name; it has a nice anglo-saxon ring to it that I think would look fantastic on a book cover. My own little piece of egotism. But another James Beardsley in my field could ruin me. Bad enough I've got that pervert Aubrey with his giant Lysistrata penises... He's famous enough. But another James Beardsley, writing somewhat pulpish adventure stories for children could hurt my credibility. I'd hate to have to take a pen name, though I'm awfully attached to "Seamus O'Shaugnessy." Maybe I'll use that one for racy stories or something.
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I think I'm the only person in the world who can type thier name into google and the first site listed actually mentions myself and not some science fair winner in bumfuck, oregon :) Tara Sturm... eh. I am thus lacking in interesting stories regarding my name. Damn.
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