I was once told I write people’s minds. A woman with a French accent and a cigarette dangling out of her lips told me this. I have been writing for over twenty years now. At first, I experimented with style, and I wrote sentences like Hemingway, like Cisneros, like Winterson. I tried on different voices for my characters like some girls tried on prom dresses. Finally, after fusing together these voices and the voices running through my mind, I found my own voice, the voice of Lucie Guerre.
I’ve pretended to sleep on trains as I watched the stars and factories go by. I write poetry in composition notebooks, and my journals have been read and reread for meaning. My prose is not discounted at a garage sale. These words are not on a table marked half-off with used trinkets that reflect our lives: costume jewelry, snapped-off brooches, the toaster oven without heating coils, and moth-eaten clothes from the depths of our wardrobes. My words do not belong there. They’re not stale.
This journey is just beginning, and the beauty lies in the journey.
Lucie Guerre is a pseudonym. Lucie is derived from a Latin word meaning “light”, and St. Lucy lost her eyes either through her own volition, through torture, or due to an admirer’s liking of her eyes. I personally love the idea of my writing providing vision to the blind. Guerre stems from the phrase “nom de guerre”, which essentially means a name of war. Generally, it comes from names chosen in times of combat. Idiomatically, it is another word for a pseudonym. My pseudonym is used mostly with pieces I’m too ashamed to write under (or too afraid to write under) my real name, but I feel like I am stepping into war with a pen as my weapon when I write.
This is where my pen rests as a sword. This is where I do my best to snuff out the shadows and make darkness light.