Birth of a Pen Name

Many people have asked me about my name—M.J. Marino. What does the M and the J stand for? Is that your real name? Are you male or female?

But my favorite question is from people who do know me. How did you come up with M.J. Marino?

Gah! It’s a cringe worthy story and it brings great joy to my family—especially my sister, Sam—that I now use it as my pseudonym, or Pen Name as some people refer to it.

So, no, M.J. Marino is not my legal name, but it is very much my real name. I’ll clarify that cryptic statement in a moment. But first let me tell you the story behind the infamous name, M.J. Marino.

When I was a baby, there was a Malt-O-Meal commercial where the father is trying to encourage his reluctant son to eat the hideous hot cereal garbage. The catch phrase for the commercial was, “Good stuff, Maynard.” I was a reluctant child, refusing to eat her equally horrible baby food. My grandma, Dorothy, was trying her best to make me gobble it up. She used the catch phrase, “Good stuff, Maynard,” while cramming my mouth full.

Well, let me tell you, that shit stuck to me like glue. Oh, my God! Everyone started calling me Maynard. And when I say everyone, I mean fucking everyone. No, that awful nickname wasn’t just reserved for the family to use—oh no, it was used by ALL. Pastors, neighbors, punk kids in the neighborhood, friends of the family, distant relatives, the mailman, random people I was introduced to.

Everyone called me Maynard—me, runt of the litter, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, cute-as-a-button, GIRL was called Maynard! Worst nickname ever.

Oh, but it gets better. Why stop at one nickname?

You got it. My parents decided to tack on another nickname on top of it. In my family, the more rambunctious females have Jo tacked on to the end of their name. Mary Jo, Kathy Jo—hey! Why not add a Maynard Jo to spice things up?

That’s right—I am Maynard Jo. As if giving your cute little girl one awful boy nickname was bad enough, lets double dose it with a second boy name?!

But why would your parents give you such a sweet little girl a horrible nickname? Great fucking question and I don't have an answer. I can only speculate my family is cruel. No, I'm kidding, they just like to relentlessly torment out of love.

I really hated that name and I grew up with it. By the time I reached school age, my parents freaked out that I would attend school not knowing my real name like my sister did (a story for another day). My parents started to use my real name but everyone else kept on using Maynard Jo—like I said above, that shit stuck. I hated it and cried when my friends at school would ask if I had another sibling named Maynard Jo, or better yet, if my family knew my name wasn’t Maynard Jo.

The solution? My parents shortened my nickname to M.J. which did absolutely nothing to stop my friends from asking why my family called me M.J. FYI—my real name has no M or J in it, making M.J. pointless in covering up Maynard Jo.

Man, that shit was awful growing up with. Over the years, my family started to use my real name—all, except for my sister. See, Sam had sadistic side (I know she is going to give me hell for this later BAHAHA) that refused to relinquish my childhood nickname. She may have converted to M.J. but she gave my name her own twist. When I would refuse to answer when she’d holler M.J., she would start singing at the top of her lungs M.J. Marinooooo.

I can laugh about it all now and I swear I don’t have a complex about it. I actually smile when I hear someone use my nickname and get a warm, fuzzy nostalgic feeling.

When I decided to write my novel, my sister was one of my driving forces. I was going back and forth on whether to use a pen name or not. My brother-in-law and my dad were pretty insistent I use a pseudonym. I did it out of respect for my family even though I really could care less who knew I wrote erotic, intense romances. My husband was cool with it. My oldest son was cool with it. And my younger sons were just excited their mom was going to be an author. But sometimes family can be protective of you and your privacy.

With the decision to use a pen name, I needed to come up with one. I was throwing ideas around with my husband when he suggested I ask my sister, mom, and close girlfriends what they thought of the options. I wrote up my list in a group chat.

My sister was the first to respond. “Where is Maynard Jo?”

Fuuuck. “It was taken.” It was taken, but I didn’t want her throwing out any other Maynard name suggestions.

She wouldn’t let it go. “What about Jo Maynard?”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna stick with initials—like J.K. Rowling. Readers seem to like unisex authors.”

I thought it was the end, but I was wrong. “What about M.J. Marino?”

Ding, Ding, Ding. We have a winner!

And that was it. Everyone responded back with a vote for M.J. Marino. Traitorous bitches.

So, not my name, but really is my name—at thirty-eight years old, I wear my childhood nickname like a badge of honor. Actually, I think it's growing on me.