I Am Alexandra Grant

The Journey

I started writing 17 months ago, after our son moved out to begin his life’s journey. After 20 years focused on our child and my husband, I felt purposeless. After 25-plus years, I picked up my drawing pencils again and started writing. I have a lot to say, it seems, since I am still at it. The road has been long and full of rejection. If constant rejection doesn’t teach you how strong or strong-willed you are, I don’t know what does. This new purpose has also brought success.

My work appears in 31 anthology books and in many online and print literary journals and magazines, and I published a book this week as the sole author. It is tiring work, but thrilling and fulfilling in ways I hadn’t fathomed. There has been one very annoying hiccup, or as one says, “a fly in the ointment.”

Big Problem

My work keeps being attributed to another Alexandra Grant, every single time! Apparently, the only Alexandra Grant who writes is the Alexandra Grant who married the actor Keanu Reeves. Even more striking is how painful it is to get my work attributed to me. Let me be clear, in case you mistake me too.

I am Alexandra Grant! I was born six years before Mr. Reeves’s illustrious wife, so I believe I’ve owned the name longer. I write poetry, which she doesn’t; I write essays and short stories, which she doesn’t. We both write stories on the vast topic of love, though mine aren’t tied to a famous person; instead, they focus on pain and self-discovery, with a side of fictional, soul-searching angst. I am also an artist, as is Mrs. Reeves, but I am an amateur artist for hobby purposes alone. I love drawing and painting, but I do it to relax after a day of mental work and writing. I move from the written arts to the visual arts every day. Both serve different parts of my history and emotional make-up.

Why It Matters

Creative people use different methods to work through their past, pain, or dreams. It’s what we do. I pour my heart, mind, and soul into every word, line, and paragraph, and into every pencil, colored pencil, and brushstroke. Sometimes it comes easily and with little effort, but more often than not it’s steady creating and recreating of words on paper (computer, actually) or images on paper (yes, real paper here), and it takes a great deal of time and effort. There are also those moments, hours, or days when nothing comes. My mind can seem to grab onto anything I want to put down.

Writing every day isn’t easy. I spend 8–12 hours a day, sometimes more, writing. When I say writing, I also mean promoting and marketing my work, entering contests or submitting to publishers, and writing on online platforms. So, this is why it makes me so mad when my work is posted by a different person. It seems book platforms think there is only one of us, Alexandra Grants, and I am not the one they want.

Possibilities

Maybe they think listing a famous wife’s book will bring them more patrons. I could, or might. Maybe they don’t know that, aside from her, many Alexandra Grant writers exist across the globe. There are. I have googled it. I find it particularly telling that I am not confused with any other Alexandra Grants, and none of them with me. No other Alexandra Grant’s writings are attributed to her, just mine. What that is or means, I have no clue. It doesn’t matter, really. What does piss me off is what it takes to convince these book platforms that I am who I say I am and that I write too?

A Pain In My Arse

Let’s start with the process. First, I have to find the sites that carry books and/or promote them to readers. Then I have to set up an account on each one as an author. I do this myself and don’t have a staff to do it for me. Once that is set up (profile, humorous bio, and any related setup info), I have to add each book one at a time. This job can vary in many ways.

Some require little; some require a lot more. On some sites, I add the ISBN and the book loads right away. Then I add it to my page. This is the part that makes no sense to me. I add it to my author page, which has its own author account number or name, and it gets posted to someone else’s. Well, not someone. One particular someone. Then the hassle begins.

Now the fun part starts. I have to disambiguate our accounts. This means writing to the platform and, most of the time, asking them more than once to separate our accounts. Then, after that happens, which takes anywhere from a couple of days to weeks on Goodreads, I can add my book titles.

Hoops

I have to add each title, publisher, publication date, and publisher contact information one by one to verify my authorship, and so on. Some ask for additional information like page count, which I have to manually check for each book and its different versions. Yes, I have to do this for each version on most sites. So, imagine 33 books and at least 2 to 3 versions of each. You get the picture.

The Players

Volunteers called librarians do this task of verifying each book and each instance of the book, one of my titles. Not all librarians are created equal, as I have come to find out. Some care carefully, but I have yet to find more than one, so I am being generous. Most of the time, it’s someone who signed up for this kind of work for whatever reason and then doesn’t care enough to do it carefully and properly, or I wouldn’t be writing this piece.

Silver Lining?

I suppose I should be grateful for that one caveat alone. It gave me something to write today. I am not. I could have spent my words elsewhere.

Not My Job

Now here is the real gem in this tale. On one of these sites, I call it the site that shall not be named, I had a long discussion after repeatedly begging for weeks to have my name separated from the other Alexandra, and then begging to have the books appear on my page instead of hers. I asked the librarian a question. I asked how or why they weren’t checking which one was on the book.

The answer floored me. They told me straight that I couldn’t possibly expect them to check every book title an author adds. My response was heated, and I won’t apologize for it. I told him, of course I expected it—it’s their job. I went further and asked what would happen if librarians just threw books onto shelves without checking the author name, misfiling them. Librarians everywhere are turning in their spinning chairs at this exchange with a librarian in name only. The “librarian’s” response made no sense.

Trusting the Pros

Every listing has to include a website (not your own, but the publisher’s) where they can confirm you and your titles. Publishers don't add authors or the books they publish without careful scrutiny. They want to avoid mistakes. Amazon, specifically, will not add a book to an Author Central author page without verifying every title.

So, knowing this, book platforms should be able to easily confirm a writer’s published works. Not so. You get email after email saying they can't verify your work for the separation. Then you have to argue your case like a damned attorney in a criminal trial.

I should be used to this by now, since I am on my sixth book platform, but I am not. I am madder than a wet hornet. If I can’t possibly be who I say I am, and all my work is under Alexandra Grant-Reeves, maybe I’m entitled to her bank account too; after all, we are one and the same. Right? Somehow, I don’t think that dog hunts.

Groveling

One day, when I was especially weary of begging for my authorship, I went so far as to message the artist’s agent. That was months ago. And yes, you guessed it. She can’t be bothered to reply to a little-known poet. It’s clear I am no one they’re concerned with. Perhaps so. Maybe I am no one. But I am Alexandra Grant, and no one will take that from me. I was here first. Literally.

Could Have, Should Have?

A thought came to me the other day, when I was about to give up on fighting to get my books under my profiles. The idea was that if I left my work under the actor’s wife’s name, I might get more sales or readers. Realistically, someone who is following her or the actor might be more likely to buy one of my titles if they believe it’s one of hers.

Nah

But that thought quickly vanished. I deserve to have my little slice of written history. I worked for it to be there. Whether I get sales or not is inconsequential. I won’t ride someone else’s coattails. I’ll earn my own. And that makes me proud to call myself an author.

(Published by The Inner Catalyst on Medium, 2026)

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