Entry 08 | Call Me By My Real Name — A Reflection on Women Writers, Aliases, and the Power of Autonomy

(TAP PLAY TO LISTEN)

Sometimes I think about my name—Gabrielle Marie Kelley—and how important it is for me to write and publish using it. I once changed my last name for marriage (and promptly changed it back for freedom) but never have I changed it with the hopes that my work would be acceptable. There are many women in history who did not have this luxury; therefore, this journal entry honors them.

There was a time when a woman’s name on a book cover was a liability. Her gender, before her genius, would define how her work was read—or if it was read at all. To be female and a writer was to be suspect, underestimated, even dismissed. So many women, brilliant and burning with talent, had to hide just to be heard. They cloaked themselves in male pseudonyms, not because they wanted to, but because they had to. They became invisible in order to be seen.

Think of Mary Ann Evans, who gave us Middlemarch under the name George Eliot. Think of the Brontë sisters—Charlotte, Emily, and Anne—who first published as Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. Even decades later, Alice Sheldon chose the name James Tiptree Jr. to write acclaimed science fiction, knowing the genre’s gatekeepers might slam the door in her face if they knew who she really was.

These women were not pretending to be men because they rejected their womanhood. Quite the opposite—they were protecting their work from being reduced to stereotypes concerning femininity. In a world that refused to separate content from creator, they wrote incognito, not to deceive but to thrive.

And yet, in their hiding, they revealed something profound: the resilience of women writers. The adaptability. The hunger. The refusal to be erased, even if it meant wearing a different name to get a seat at the literary table.

Of course, there were disadvantages. These writers didn’t receive public recognition in their lifetime. They couldn’t fully own or defend their work. They navigated success under names that weren’t really theirs—an eerie form of ghostwriting one’s own legacy. But there were unexpected advantages, too. Anonymity offered freedom. It shielded them from the scrutiny, gossip, and gendered assumptions of their era. And because they bypassed bias, their work was judged—perhaps for the first time—on merit alone. Still, none of it was fair nor should it have been necessary.

And that’s why I don’t underestimate the power behind publishing under my own name. Gabrielle Marie Kelley isn’t just a byline—it’s an act of reclamation. I carry my foremothers with me each time I sign off on a story, a novel, a journal entry. I write for myself, yes—but also for the women who had to become someone else just to be taken seriously.

To the women who came before, I say: I see you. I honor you.

To the writers who walk beside me now—especially those who are women, I say: Let us never forget what it means to be able to own our stories and our names. Let us protect that autonomy fiercely.

And to the next generation, I say: Call me by my name, and I'll call you by yours.

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7 Famous Works Written by Women Under Male Pseudonyms

1. Middlemarch by George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans)

2. Jane Eyre by Currer Bell (Charlotte Brontë)

3. Wuthering Heights by Ellis Bell (Emily Brontë)

4. Agnes Grey by Acton Bell (Anne Brontë)

5. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Acton Bell (Anne Brontë)

6. The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie (initially published anonymously, she later insisted on full name recognition)

7. The Left Hand of Darkness by James Tiptree Jr. (Alice Sheldon)

   
   

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In this era of usernames, pen names, and digital aliases, we all still wear masks from time to time. But the truth behind the mask matters. I’m grateful that mine doesn’t have to be a disguise. When I write, I get to be Gabrielle Marie Kelley. Fully. Freely. Finally.

And what a gift that is.

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Discussion: What does it mean to you to write—or live—unapologetically in your own name?