I am not the Maggie Robinson who has completed an alarming number of Scientology courses. Sorry, Tom.
I’m not the character in a British TV comedy show about a dysfunctional family called “The Robinsons.” I did used to have the Mary Engelbreit poster that advises “Let’s put the fun back in dysfunctional,” but I digress.
I’m not the Maggie Robinson who also lives in Maine and plays fiddle with the Westcutogo Ramblers.
I’m definitely not the Maggie Robinson who holds a Ph.D. and has written about noopept and such, a zillion health and diet books, two of which are 1000 Powerful Stategies to Sharpen Your Mind and Good Fat vs. Bad Fat. I need to buy both of them.
My husband John also has a common name. The football coach. The bishop. The drummer. The Pulitzer Prize winner. The serial killer. And the terrorist, which always results in the suspicious looks, full pat-down and luggage search anytime we fly anywhere.
If I’m published, I’d like to keep my name. I don’t think anybody’s going to mix me up with the carb-counting Maggie. I’d be shelved near Nora Roberts too.
How about you? Ever googled yourself? This post is a friendly reminder that EVERYTHING you write on the Internet can come back and nip you in the posterior. Renamed yourself? What did you pick and why? What would you name ME in case I need a nom de plume? All suggestions welcome.