Norm Deploom
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Norm Deploom
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[ nom d uh - ploom ; French naw n d uh - pl y m ] SHOW IPA
/ ˌnɒm də ˈplum; French nɔ̃ də ˈplüm / PHONETIC RESPELLING
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noun, plural noms de plume [nomz d uh - ploom ; French naw n d uh - pl y m ]. /ˌnɒmz də ˈplum; French nɔ̃ də ˈplüm/.
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IS and ARE are both forms of which verb?
First recorded in 1815–25; coined in English, from French words: literally, “pen name”
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2022
Where does nom de plume come from?
How is nom de plume used in real life?
Police Hunt for Paris Massacre Suspects | Tracy McNicoll, Christopher Dickey | January 7, 2015 | DAILY BEAST
noun plural noms de plume ( ˈnɒm də ˈpluːm )
Collins English Dictionary - Complete & Unabridged 2012 Digital Edition
© William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins
Publishers 1998, 2000, 2003, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009, 2012
The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition
Copyright © 2005 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.
A nom de plume is a name, especially a completely fake one, under which an author publishes their work instead of using their real name.
The term pen name means the exact same thing. There are many reasons an author may choose to use a nom de plume instead of their own name, such as to avoid controversy or to create a persona . Many women authors throughout history have used a male or gender-neutral nom de plume to get their work published due to bias against women writers. A famous example is Mary Ann Evans, who used the nom de plume George Eliot .
The term nom de plume technically only applies to writers, but it is sometimes applied to other artists or as a synonym for the more general term pseudonym (a fake name).
The proper plural for nom de plume is noms de plume , but it is often seen as nom de plumes .
Example: Many people know that Mark Twain was the nom de plume of Samuel Clemens, but they don’t realize he also published as Sieur Louis de Conte.
The first records of the term non de plume come from the 1800s. Although the phrase uses French words, it was actually coined in English. The French word nom means “name” and plume refers to a quill —a feather used as a pen. The term pen name is essentially a translation of nom de plume , and both expressions are still in use. ( Nom is used in the same way in the older term nom de guerre , which refers to a pseudonym used by a soldier.)
Actors and entertainers have stage names ( Cary Grant ’s real name was Archibald Leach; Lady Gaga’s real name is Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta), but writers have pen names—or noms de plume. Some famous ones are George Orwell (real name Eric Blair), Lewis Carroll (real name Charles Lutwidge Dodgson), and Evelyn Waugh (real name Arthur St. John).
Authors use noms de plume for many reasons. Sometimes, a famous author uses a nom de plume to publish a work in a genre that’s different from the one they’re known for, like when Agatha Christie published non-mystery novels as Mary Westmacott or J.K. Rowling wrote mystery novels under the name Robert Galbraith. Or just to write more books, like Stephen King did with the nom de plume Richard Bachman.
Sometimes, the fake name is intended to create a persona, such as Diedrich Knickerbocker (real name Washington Irving ), Dr. Suess (real name Theodor Geisel), or Lemony Snicket (real name Daniel Handler).
Mark Twain, the famous nom de plume of Samuel Langhorne Clemens , is said to come from the phrase that riverboat captains would shout out when the boat was in two fathoms of water.
What are some other forms related to nom de plum e?
What are some synonyms for nom de plume ?
What are some words that share a root or word element with nom de plume ?
What are some words that often get used in discussing nom de plume ?
Nom de plume can be used as a synonym for pseudonym , but it’s usually applied to the fake names of authors.
#MuseumFromHome If you were a woman writing in the eighteenth or nineteenth century, you may have chosen to obscure your gender by using an androgynous pen name. Use our game from the exhibition Man Up! to find out what your nom de plume might have been. Tweet it at us! pic.twitter.com/oSE6WxFFUQ
— ChawtonHouse (@ChawtonHouse) April 30, 2020
For the last year I've been writing under a nom de plume. It's been an interesting experience pouring everything out and seeing its effect. Still not gonna write under my name for a while.
— Jamaine (@thejigg) October 11, 2018
In the '80s, a time when every bit of information wasn't necessarily disseminated via press release or Tweet, spotting a Prince nom de plume in other artist's liner notes was quite exciting.
— Pete Carney (@prc6th) December 3, 2019
Nom de plume means the same thing as pen name.
His musical nom de plume comes from the name of a storied Jacobean-era house in Wales.
In the last year, her fusion exercise class has attracted a cult following and become de rigueur among the celebrity set.
They tried to continue their getaway but had to quickly abandon their vehicle on the Rue de Meaux in the 19th.
Humans spent a long time domesticating cattle, and what they were trying to do, in essence, was de-domesticate them.
The band was still on its way back as De Blasio and his wife departed.
Yet even after the funeral protest, de Blasio was booed and heckled while addressing a new class of recruits as well.
Madame de Condillac stood watching him, her face composed, her glance cold.
Then the door opened, the portiere was swept aside, and Anselme announced "Monsieur de Garnache."
San Antonio de Bexar lies in a fertile and well-irrigated valley, stretching westward from the river Salado.
One evening, while he was thus engaged, he observed de Patinos and Duke Wharton enter together.
Without any known cause of offence, a tacit acknowledgement of mutual dislike was shewn by Louis and de Patinos.
French for “pen name”; an invented name under which an author writes. Mark Twain was the nom de plume of Samuel L. Clemens .
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TG fiction all too often relies on formula: boy becomes girl, likes it, and lives happily ever after. My characters are heroes and scoundrels, lovers and losers...my plots involve crime and punishment, and sometimes murder...with the explosive spark of gender turned upside down. By introducing the genre to a wider audience of readers, I have advanced the proposition that the transgendered share all of the virtues and foibles of the rest of humanity.
Nom de Plume is the pen name of the author of The Jessica Project, a romantic thriller that pushes the boundaries of gender identity, and explores the possibility that love might help a person reinvent him/herself.
It always amuses me to take a zany headline and twist it into a story. Here are the opening lines of a short tale about a henpecked husband who decides if he can't lick them, he'll join them:
I got the idea while listening to the news on the radio, during another grinding commute home from the big city. It seemed a couple in Florida had gotten so sick and tired of their spoiled, neglectful children that they were camping outside their house in beach chairs, refusing to go back to being parents until their brats knuckled under.
Why couldn’t I go on strike from being the breadwinner? My lazy wife did nothing but loll around the house all day watching TV, and my teenage daughter cared only about clothes, her social life and her revolting boyfriend. I couldn’t recall the last time one of them had a conversation with me that didn’t end up with their hands in my pocket. Maybe I could teach them a lesson before they sent me into an early grave. Why couldn’t I go on strike from being a man?
Click here to read On Strike!
posted by Nom de Plume | 10:35 AM
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8 comments
When a corporate buccanneer is forced to walk the plank, he has to do it in high heels! Here is an excerpt featuring the misanthrope, now Miss Anne Thrope, and the Special Mistress appointed by the court to transform him, Donna Mae Trix:
“Good morning, Anne. I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the whole year,” Donna said with exaggerated sweetness. I opened my eyes to see her hovering over the bed, a look of triumph on her face.
“Where am I?”
“In your new apartment, of course.”
“Apartment? What happened to…Cassandra?”
“That was days ago. Once she finished with your laser treatments, there was a little more swelling than we anticipated, so we decided to let you sleep until your skin was back to normal. Of course, this gave us plenty of time to decide on a hairstyle for you and weave it into place, and it also let your fingernails grow just long enough for us to do something with.”
“Do you mean the laser treatments are finished?” I asked as I tried to get up. I was still feeling a little light-headed, and Donna had to grasp my arm as I got unsteadily to my feet. When I looked down and saw that my toenails had been polished too, I nearly passed out again.
“Oh yes, your body and facial hair are gone forever.”
That shocked me back into reality. “What do you mean, gone forever?”
“Anne, the Consent Decree required you to subject yourself to the same treatments prescribed for the female victims of Metabolean. Laser hair removal is permanent. The follicles absorb energy from the laser until they die and can no longer grow hair.”
“Nobody told me that!”
“Cheer up! Now you’ll never have to shave again.”
“You little bitch! I’ll get you for this!”
Donna whipped a pistol out of her purse and pointed it at me. “The mediator was afraid you might react this way. The dart in this gun is filled enough female hormones to knock the stuffing out of you. Bend over.”
I pushed her aside and made a dash for the door. I heard a thwack and felt a sharp pain in my ass. Too late, I reached back and tried desperately to pull the dart out of my skin, but by the time I was able to find it in the satin folds of my nightgown, its awful payload was coursing through my system.
Holding the dart in my hand, I looked at my knees shaking under my nightgown, and for the first time in memory I started to cry. “Oh my,” Donna observed. “I had no idea the estrogen would start in so quickly!”
I slammed the door in her face and crawled back into bed, broken down with misery.
Later that day, I came to terms with my fate. Maybe it was the psychological impact of having my body laced with female hormones, or maybe it was the stark language of the Consent Decree that I finally got around to reading. As I sat in bed on my sore ass, pouring over page after page, the enormity of my predicament sank in:
“Defendant’s legal name will be changed to Anne Thrope.”
“Defendant is to present herself as a woman at all times. Female hormones will be administered if necessary to modify defendant’s behavior.”
“The wearing of any articles of male clothing by defendant during the term of this agreement is prohibited.”
On and on it went, stripping me of any vestige of masculinity, making me sick to my stomach. The kicker came at the very end: “Any violation of the conditions of this agreement shall have the effect of extending the term hereof for an additional period of one year.” That meant if I slipped up even once, I would be forced to start my year as a woman all over again, or subject myself to millions of dollars of civil liability to Metabolean victims Once I realized that I was trapped, I resigned myself to coping as best I could with the maniacal agreement I had so foolishly signed.
Click here to read Miss Anne Thrope
posted by Nom de Plume | 8:03 AM
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1 comments
In order to avoid getting a pink slip, a lawyer decides to wear one. Here is an excerpt from "Skirting the Law", the first installment in a three-part gender-bender about a makeover salon named "The House of Fabulous":
He caught a taxi to the House of Fabulous, which occupied a gingerbread Victorian townhouse off Castro Street, and presented himself at the lavender door a few minutes before four o’clock. After looking around nervously to see if anyone was watching him, he pressed the buzzer, and an attractive woman opened the door almost immediately. Appearing to be in her late forties, she was conservatively dressed, wearing a knee-length black dress accentuated by a single strand of pearls. Her hair was swept back in an elaborate coif, her makeup was immaculate, and the nails on the hand she extended to Terrence were beautifully manicured.
She showed him into a small foyer which was overwhelmingly feminine in décor. Everything seemed to be done in shades of lavender, from the chintz loveseat to the frilly lace curtains adorned with festoons and jabots. “Are you the person I spoke with on the phone?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yes, I am Madam Fabulous,” she replied in a pleasant voice. “You must be Terrence.” She sat down on the loveseat and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit down next to me. What brings you to the House of Fabulous?”
Terrence weighed his words carefully. After all, Madam Fabulous might wind up as a witness if the company mounted an aggressive defense. “I am a lawyer for a large corporation. Recently the California legislature enacted a law protecting cross dressing in the workplace. I have always dreamed about being a girl, and now I can do it without losing my job.” She nodded sympathetically as he pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of his shirt. “I’ll have to be careful to comply with the company dress code, so as not to give them grounds to retaliate against me. Here it is.”
Terrence knew the Tyrex dress code for female employees by heart, having drafted it with Helen Wallace the year before, and he watched while Madam Fabulous scanned it. “‘Skirts or dresses are required except on casual Fridays. Hosiery is mandatory,’” she read out loud. “Sounds like a party, Terrence. Are you sure they’re going to be happy with the new you?”
“I’m sure they won’t be. That’s why I need your help in making myself over.”
“Very well. Repeat after me: ‘I dedicate myself to the discovery of my inner woman, and I pledge my allegiance to Madam Fabulous and her Mistresses in my quest to become a Fabulous Girl’”. After Terrence repeated the pledge, she stood up abruptly and ordered him to take off all of his clothing. Her voice had a new edge to it.
“Right here?” he asked, startled by her sudden change in demeanor.
“Rule number one: do not question Madam Fabulous’s instructions, at any time. Would you rather take off your pants out on Castro Street?” Without further protest, he stripped down to his briefs, and when she glowered at him, he removed them also. Terrence stood, naked and exposed, as she circled around him. “Good girl, you took care of your body hair. All right, let’s get started.” She handed him an evil looking garment that looked like an elaborate G-string. “Stuff your family jewels up into your abdomen, tuck yourself between your legs, and put this on. At once!” she shouted when he took too long to get started.
When his package was tucked away, she nodded her approval. “Good girl,” she said once again, unnerving him with the words. “That contraption is called a gaff. You are only to remove it when absolutely necessary. Now that we have that taken care of, we can give you a name. Have you any preference, or shall I assign one to you?”
His mind went blank. “How about Terry?” he asked at length.
“A lovely name. Terry it shall be.”
Click here to read "Skirting the Law"
posted by Nom de Plume | 11:30 AM
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0 comments
A picture is worth a thousand words, but sometimes there is more than meets the eye. Read an excerpt from this strange love story with an old-fashioned twist:
Dear Kit,
This is the most difficult letter I've ever written. I only wish I had the strength to tell you what I am about to say in person, but I don't have that kind of courage. That's why this letter is wrapped around a video cassette. A picture is worth a thousand words.
Before you put the cassette in your VCR, let me try to prepare you for what you are about to see. The woman who will be speaking to you in a few seconds is me.
I didn't want this to happen, and I can't tell you how many times I've tried to overcome the impulses that have led me beyond the point of no return. I have to choose between living a lie and being true to myself. Living the lie would be so much easier on everybody but me. I suppose what I am about to do is selfish, but I have only one life to live, and I am going to live it as a woman.
You have been my lover, and now I hope that you will be my friend. All my love,
Chris
Kit was in a state of shock as she crumpled up the letter and put the tape into her VCR. With shaking hands, she fumbled with the remote until the set came on. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the image on her television screen, and she collapsed onto the sofa as the tape played on.
"Hello, Kit," said the nice-looking girl staring into the camera. She was perched on the same sofa where Kit now sat, her dress pulled primly down over her knees. Her voice was husky, but with a feminine lilt to it that betrayed nothing. She appeared to be extremely nervous as she brushed a stray hair away from her familiar face with a delicate gesture.
Familiar, yes, but so utterly different! Chris's blue eyes were now framed by long lashes and arched brows, and his cheeks and lips had a rosy glow. His long hair was styled into a perky shag, and the hands folded in the lap of his dress had polished nails.
Her dress, Kit corrected herself as she stared at the screen. The person looking back at her was a total stranger now. How could Chris have kept this from her? For over a year, as they progressed from casual acquaintances to friends and finally to lovers, he had given no inkling of his secret life. How could she have been so blind?
Kit stared, mesmerized, as Chris spoke into the camera. "I won't blame you if you hate me for hiding this from you. Before I met you, I used to dress up nights and weekends. I've been doing this since I got out of school. Even before then, I used to fantasize about being a girl, ever since I snuck into my mother's closet and tried on some of her clothes when I was a kid. It used to turn me on, and even now I still get a rush from it, but that's not the reason I'm doing this now."
The girl sat back on the sofa and crossed her silky legs. "When we started going out, I forgot all about Chrissy, and I really thought that you had cured me somehow. But more and more, I've found myself longing to become her again, and not just part time, but for keeps. I would have done this sooner if it weren't for the way I knew it would make you feel. Even if this hurts you now, it's better that you know about me so you can get on with your life. Goodbye, Kit. I'll always love you."
Kit stared at th
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