a post of questions without answers

This blog was once a Finding Frequency blog for a class. I was going to keep it open as that, but I clearly failed. However, I’ve needed a new place to write my writerly feelings for some time now so for those of you who may be following me as leftovers from the Finding Frequency project, you can go ahead and take me off. I won’t be continuing that. I will be writing something else.

I’ve had some thoughts recently about what my obligations are as a writer. Here’s the thing: I’m over thinking this. I already know that. Ergo – I don’t need to hear it. But it’s something that’s worth over thinking…

What does it take to write a strong female character? It’s a harder question than it sounds. It’s not good enough to write a female character who’s independent. It’s not good enough to write a female character who’s internally strong. You can write a strong female character and still draw criticism from all over the board – and rightly so. Many so-called strong female characters are criticized for being written with a male strength rather than a female strength, or they’re trying too hard and thus not strong but rather trying to be strong. The strength has to be accurate, natural, not merely masculine strength wrapped in a female body.

But, assuming you’ve written a strong female character, you can still draw criticism for not having a female presence in your novel or story. In order to pass the Bechdel Test (most commonly used to grade female presence in movies), a story must contain two female characters who at one point have a conversation that is not about a man or men.

That’s a lot of requirements. Now, not all of them have to be met in every story; of course not. A story should not be about pleasing the critics and if we tied all of our writers’ hands behind their backs with requirements of female presence strong female characters we’d be cutting off a lot of great fiction. But how much should these things be taken into account?

More specifically – how much should I take these things into account in my own writing? I ask this legitimately because I like writing novels with strong female characters – but I don’t know the difference between male strength and female strength in a female character. How do I create that? My characters are usually accused of seeming androgynous. Too feminine to be male but too masculine to be female. I have a friend who actively hates all of my male characters because they’re all whiny bitches and thinks all my female characters are too masculine to really be women and they all sound the same, so clearly I’ve got a wide range of fail going on.

As for passing the Bechdel Test – well, my current favourite piece that I’m working on, God Is A Tuscaloosa Drug Addict, fails completely at that. There is one female character – possibly two, depending on whether I decide to keep the pirate or not (she has a purpose in a subplot that enriches the story, but I’m not sure whether to keep the subplot for its enriching nature or scrap it because it makes the timeline more confusing) – and even if I have two characters they have no legitimate reason to discuss anything but the important topic at hand – God and/or Jesus (both characters). If I keep the subplot, then they add another male character to discuss – the angel Gabriel. It’s a strong book. It has a strong female character. It doesn’t pass the Bechdel Test, which means it doesn’t have a female presence.

“Come on, L.V.; this can’t really be the biggest problem you’re having in your writing, can it?”

Not by a long shot. The biggest problem I’m having in my writing – aside from the fact that I seem to be failing at doing any of it lately – is the fact that I’m not a terribly good writer. My characters are all basically copies of each other because I don’t know how to write different characters for each new story, and my stories ideas are all stupid, and the ones that aren’t stupid are poorly plotted, and the ones that aren’t poorly plotted are poorly written. Or at least, they could be written a lot better. But it’s still a problem I’m having.

The answer is pretty simple: “Why should you care? Write what you’re writing about.”

Except it’s not so simple: As a female writer who wants to write strong female characters because I enjoy writing strong female characters, how much do I owe to the movement of feminist writing? Not even feminist writing – the Bechdel Test isn’t about proving a proper amount of feminism in a story – it’s about proving that there’s a female presence at all. Just two female character, who simply manage to have a single conversation that is not about men. Men can be present when this conversation takes place. The conversation merely can’t be about men. Two women discussing bomb strategies would give it a female presence. GTDA lacks that.

Okay, but it legitimately lacks that. The book really just has three characters – one character has disappeared, so the female in his life is trying to convince his father that humanity is worth it so his father will bring him back. There are possibly three side characters – all of whom are also trying to bring back the character who has disappeared. It’s about the character who disappeared. Just about every conversation is about him except for the conversations that take place between Arielle and God – and those conversations are about all of humanity.

I guess the question I’m grappling with is this: how much do I owe to women and women’s presence in my writing? A glance? A subtle wink? A nod? Do I raise my hand at it, tip my hat, wave at it? Give it a double thumb’s up or a shout out? Do I stand on top of a mountain and scream its name? I should vary by story, sure, but then is it worth discussing any work’s use of women? If it is, then it’s worth discussing my works’ use of women. Should I keep a conscious eye out and make sure all of my writings pass the Bechdel Test except for the ones that clearly can’t? And about that strong female character – how do I write that? How do you determine when a strong female is really just male strength wrapped up in a female body and thus not representing female strength at all?

Which naturally leads me to weird thoughts like…are all plots male plots because they were devised by men originally? What would fiction look like if women had been the writers and men had not been allowed to write? Are we imposing feminism onto a masculine system, or is that completely irrelevant? Actually, for this conversation it is completely irrelevant because I have no intention of ever exploring that line of thought in my actual fiction, but I get to thinking about strong female characters and then inevitably I get to this point.

There’s a book series that I enjoy reading. It’s not that fantastic, but it’s easy and nice and I enjoy it when I feel like vegging out. The author has stated that she wrote the world intending to see what it would be like in a world that was opposite ours – where women were in charge and men were subservient.

In my opinion – she failed. She created a world where women are revered, but men are strong and overprotective and, in general, rule through the women they control. The women who really are in control are evil and corrupt forces. The good women can’t rule without a strong male by her side to protect her from the dangers of the world, and they’re weak and susceptible to many forces around them.

One series I’m writing – The Devil Theory books – is a sci-fi/fantasy with a strong female center. The main character has led her people through many dangerous times throughout her many lives. She’s back to fix the problems that were created when she abandoned them the last time (under the assumption that in the new universe she would not be needed and she could move on), and she must defeat the force of evil that’s been eroding the universe – the force that led to the destruction of the previous universe. Through the course of the series the main character follows what essentially amounts to The Hero’s Journey (something I discovered rather than something I designed; I learned about the monomyth well after designing the books). There is a female presence in these books – quite a strong one judging by the number of Bechdel Test-passing conversations occur. It’s got what I believe is a true female strength, rather than simply a masculine strength wrapped up in a female body. She’s not a tomboy who does what the boys/men do and rejects all “weak” female trappings. These books achieve what I want them to achieve.

My friend hates it. He essentially likened it to teenage trash and wanted me to throw the book away and write something else instead. I don’t want to take his advice, so I’m not going to, but now I need to find someone else that I can trust to read it. I know it’s pretty terrible – the idea originated when I was eight. Talk about your Mary-Sues; I’ve tried to un-Mary-Sue the first book as much as possible but it needs help.

It’s with another friend now. I will eventually print it and have my mother read it. But I do wish I had more legitimate readers.

My biggest worry is that it will be criticized for being the opposite of everything it’s supposed to be; for saying the opposite of what it’s meaning to say. I don’t know if I know how to get across what I mean to achieve in anything that I write. I’m not sure how much help my major is giving me. A novel and a short story are different beasts entirely, and I can’t write a short story to save my life. I feel like I have enough space to establish a character and then it’s finished. Things you can and should draw out in a novel must be established quicker in a short story. I can’t do that. All of my short stories fall flat because I don’t have the space to move around that I’m used to and that I prefer. They’re different types of writing. Sure, it helps to know how to do more than one type of writing because you can use techniques from one in creating the other; you can use short story and poetry techniques in novels. But they’re still different beasts. My problem in short stories is completing a project without going over page limit and without wrapping everything up too quickly. My problem in novels is accurately achieving my intentions over the long term. Keeping everything relevant. Mainly – making sure my main characters don’t suddenly cease to be strong, mature characters. Also making sure I’m not pulling a Dumbledore over Harry.

My friend and I had a conversation about that once. Dumbledore keeps secrets from Harry for no good reason – basically because Dumbledore is secretive. Dumbledore is secretive because the author needed for Harry to not know these secrets until the books were ready for him to know. It was basically a weak excuse to advance the author’s needs rather than the book’s needs, which made it ring false for both me and my friend. Apparently that was a big problem in the first book that my friend read. I need to learn how to keep my characters mature and consistent, and keep my plot from being too Dumbledore.

Very difficult to learn how to do in a short story.

Okay, so I completely dropped my initial line of questioning and emo moped about the other thing I’ve been dealing with in my writing. Oh well. C’est la vie. Hello, 2:44 am. So nice to meet you again!

week 12 day 1

— week 11 omitted for sleeping —

I think I live in an absurd fairy tale joke, but whoever’s in charge forgot to pass that little detail on. My atheist nerd brother who doesn’t care what anybody thinks is in love with a mormon wannabe-nerd/wannabe popular girl he met in high school who cares more about what everybody else thinks than she does about him and who wouldn’t know how to love if someone sat down with her, outlined the concept, and then went in depth on each point. Also, my mother has taken to passing wisdom on to others who believe, like her, that we’re going through a spiritual evolution and that the aliens will come to help us move from a third dimensional reality into a fifth dimensional reality.

My dad thinks he’s a character on Weeds.

I think I’m a writer because the alternative is being insane.

week 10 day 6

We all need to think naughty thoughts from time to time. We all need someone to share those thoughts with. Sitting at the table, ignoring my work, pressing a gum eraser into various shapes for my brother to guess. That is my naughty thought for the day.

week 10 day 5

I’ve learned, being a writer, not to argue with inanimate objects when they tell me that certain things need to be done. When a book tells me that it needs to be written, I start planning. When a movie tells me that it needs to be watched, I get my hands on it and set it to play. Life is more interesting this way.

week 10 day 4

Time is a funny thing. It’s always in flux. It will go from excruciatingly slow to chaotically fast in the snap of a finger. It’s rarely slow when you need it, and almost never moves fast when you want to get it over with quickly.

The interesting part is when two sections of time overlap.

This must be finished. It needs time to slow down so that it can be finished, but time keeps speeding by, the hours disappearing before you have time to even breathe their air.

But at the same time, this other thing is coming up. Time needs to speed up so the new thing will arrive quicker. And yet each day goes by at a snail’s pace, inching along, laughing at you tapping your leg faster than a hummingbird’s wings beat.

The hours are disappearing but the days are elongating.

Time is clearly a master trickster.

week 10 day 3

Everyone has their routines for writing. Mine consists of copious amounts of procrastination. I wouldn’t recommend it to others, but then, nobody’s writing routine should ever be recommended to others. Those kinds of things don’t actually transfer.

The End.

week 10 day 2

There are sharper blades in the apartment. These insults to history merely stand to remind me of who I used to wish I would one day be.

week 10 day 1

You know, it’s weird to live with someone and miss them while hating them and wanting to get to know them better. I always felt like we weren’t quite there yet – our friendship was getting closer but it wasn’t quite at the point yet that it needed to be. We were still…acquaintances. And now I’m pretty acutely aware that it’s over before it really began.

Which is depressing in a way because I’m not supposed to lose my best friend before they’re even really my best friend.

That sounds like I was trying to force the relationship. I wasn’t; you were just better than any other friend I’ve had – save one. And since I’m pretty sure he’s not going to last the summer and I’m going to lose him again, well…fuck you for fucking this up.

Sorry. Angry again. I’ve been pretty pissed off the past few days because of you. Oh well; I guess that’s life. I’d tell you why all your friends come to hate you but I still love you too much to want to do that. It’s fucked up, but I still want to protect that bubble of happiness that you wrap around yourself to keep the bad stuff out. I mean, I know it leaks through anyway and the shit hits the fan and there are a few bad months of crap, but you always wipe yourself off and wrap that bubble around yourself again. You know how to try to enjoy life even though it keeps throwing stones at you, and all I want to do is protect that bubble.

So I’m avoiding you now. You put emotional distance between us, and now I’m trying to put physical distance between us.

I likened myself to a volcano when talking to a friend earlier today. I don’t want to erupt on you. I want you to be happy. That’s what I’ll hold to – I’ll hold to making the people around me happy. I’ll make them all happy, and then I’ll back away and sever those ties so I can make myself happy again. That’s probably a good idea. I love you. Be happy.

week 9 day 7

I think I just like to be angry. On some logical level I know that all your fuck-ups weren’t “your fault”. You have a thing…a block…a physical inability to act like a normal human being. You said those things out of some misguided attempt at showing your love. You did those things because of some deep, personal misunderstandings about how human emotions function. You study the brain and think you know it all but it’s just theory to you. You can’t connect, and it’s not your fault.

Maybe that’s the case, and maybe I shouldn’t be angry with you for something that’s not your fault, maybe I shouldn’t call you an asshole and hope that someday things will either be better or I’ll be able to completely sever this relationship. Maybe I just really like being angry.

Oh, who am I kidding? Not myself. Fuck you anyway. You’re an asshole.