In Defense of the Weak Girl

When the discussion turns to common annoyances in YA books (or any books, probably) one common complaint is the weak female character. I won't say her name, but she loves a sparkly vampire and has become the poster girl for the kind of character nobody wants. She lets things happen. She is obsessed with a boy. She whines. 

And before I go further let me clarify, I don't love a weak character. My favorite books feature characters who make things happen, who are intelligent and problem-solving. Who save themselves and don't wait for someone else to do it for them.

But I got to thinking as I was listening to an audiobook this afternoon (and I won't mention the title right now. I will just say it is making me uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. But we'll see.). You know, sometimes I am a weak character in my own life. Sometimes I've let people save me. Sometimes I've needed them to save me. Sometimes I'm stupid. Sometimes I care too much about trivial things and crave praise to make me feel valued. 

Does that make me one of those girls? What does that even mean, anyway? Is there a list of qualities which you must achieve in life to become a "real" woman? Because sometimes I feel like there is. A complicated algebraic equation of amount you're allowed to care about fashion over the time spent reading times which boys you swoon over to the power of which indie bands you listen to. (I am clearly a math genius). 

And if the numbers add up right and you take a few kickboxing classes then you qualify as a "strong" female. Or in the case of books, a strong female character. 

But what if my numbers don't add up? Can my story still be valuable? What if the girl waits for the prince to save her? What if she doesn't know how to save herself? Can she still be an interesting character? Can her story still be worth telling? 

Yes.

Because a real girl can sometimes be a damsel-in-distress and still be intelligent and complex and have hidden depths. Because I can care too much about what number the scale says and what other people think of me. Because when I was a teenager I just wanted a boyfriend because it made me feel like I had value. And not a single one of those facts tells the whole story about me or defines my strength, then or now. In fact, some of my strength now comes from feeling that way then. I learned things. I grew. And yeah, some of it I still struggle with. 

I'm rewriting my WIP (again. I know.). And I'm thinking about my two female characters. I love them both. And I hope they don't get plunked in a category (Strong. Weak. Mid-weight!) because they fit some checklist. 

A weak character can be complex and worthy too. And a strong character can kick butt but lack depth. Women come in all shapes and sizes and personalities. There's room in my library for a weak character. What about yours?

All This Messing Around Has to Stop

It's that time again. That time when I start to think, "you know, I could be a better blogger." I usually ignore these kinds of feelings because they come pretty constantly about pretty much everything. I could be a better housekeeper, writer, parent, chocolate-chip cookie maker.

 Actually, that last one is a lie. I am an excellent chocolate-chip cookie maker. Really. They ruin my diet every week.

 Anyway. Today is Monday and even though I hate Mondays they do offer the opportunity to start a week right. Today, already (nobody point out it is almost two and "already" hardly applies) I've, um, eaten breakfast, fed the brood, taken D to swimming and done 30 minutes of cardio, fed them lunch (why? Why do they need to eat so much?), showered, gotten the terrible twins on the bus and eaten lunch myself. And I think other stuff.

And let's be honest, if I'm going to fit something else in I need to learn to be more organized. Things that take me, right now, 30 minutes need to take me 20. I need systems. I need plans. I need (*shudder*) to-do lists. 

But here's the problem. Whenever I decide to get organized in my house, or in my writing (hello outline, I'm looking at you) my brain explodes. And that is a hard thing to recover from. Honestly, all the little pieces flying and somehow the organizing is MORE complicated than the chaos. Which frankly can't be true.

The thing is, to get to the organized you have to wade through the chaos and that forces you to face it. To look at each little McDonald toy you've been shoving in a bin for five years and think "this has served its purpose and can be thrown away." Or you can throw the bin away. Both work. And facing all those little loose ends you've been ignoring take a level of mental honesty I am not really prepared for.

 You know how when you're revising a book you're supposed to kill your darlings? (sidebar: is this a quote from Stephen King or does it predate his writing book? Because it feels like something he should've said). I think cutting back is hard for the same reason. You clean up a little corner which only reveals how messy everything else is. So once again its Monday and I have good intentions to do better this week. And I'm going to tackle one of those little places, in my house and in my book, that is all kinds of cluttered with broken dollar store toys and ripped up books (so the hardest, right? How do you throw away a book? I have board books my oldest chewed on so they look like they were shelved in a hamster cage but you can still read them so I keep them).

I'm going to tackle my little corner and make it cleaner, neater, and more organized. And I'm not even going to roll my eyes when I do it.

Bad Guy

Unrelated random before I start the real post: babygirl asks for things by repeating the name of the thing in her little lilting voice. "Water?" "Bottle?" "Show?" (you get the idea). Then, when I ask her if she wants that thing (because one-word requests are sort of ambiguous. And toddler-speak is a precarious art) she answers "Okay." So it goes:


babygirl: "show?"
Me: "you want to watch a show?"
babygirl: "Okay." *runs to couch*


I always feel played.

You might remember, although you probably don't, that I was having trouble with my villain in my current WIP. Sure, bad things happen. Many, many action sequences. Perhaps too many? But there was an absence of a real, defined villain. Someone you could hate, or at least point to as the cause of woe.

So I began a rewrite. Seriously, this was the biggest reason. I got to the ending climax and there was no bad guy to thwart them.

(Well, there WAS a bad guy. There is a big, bad, pulling-the-strings villain, but his reveal is of necessity at the end, so I can't say who he is. And, consequently, he's not got much camera time.)

I've added the bad guy in this round, although he's still not there enough and he's still...a bit of a puppy. I can't seem to make him really evil. Or even seven shades past douche.

Apparently I'm not the only one to have this problem. Check out cracked.com's list of villains-who-were-really-good. (Note: the language here is a bit more adult than I usually post on my blog. Be warned.)

And I'll go eat some chocolate, because whenever I run into a problem with my writing, chocolate is the first defense. I know you thought revision was the answer, but you were wrong. Chocolate is always the answer.

Baby Socks

Kids grow fast. I mean, until they're two they'll outgrow their entire wardrobe every few months. That's a lot of clothes organizing for those of us who are, shall I say, organizationally challenged. I barely keep up. Side note: we're planning one more child (I'm a little crazy. Fine. A lot crazy) and part of what I'm excited about is getting rid of all the stored boy/girl clothes when we find out what gender it is.

All this brings me to baby socks. No matter what, there are always a few stray items that don't make it into the "bin" when I move one size out and one size in. And, inevitably, I find stray baby socks in random places. Then they get returned to the laundry. And I wash them. But I don't put them away, because they don't belong anymore, so they get put on a dresser, or left in the basket, to be washed again...you can see where I'm going with this.

The other day, I made a decision. No more baby socks. When I find a random little guy, guess what? I'm throwing it away. I can replace socks. They aren't expensive. Heck, last baby can have ALL NEW socks for all I care. It isn't worth it.

But it got me thinking. About writing (hang in with me here). Sometimes it is too easy to hang onto something that just doesn't belong anymore. A great description. A perfect scene. Even a character. But, the truth is, you don't need it. It's just getting recycled through the wash, over and over. And you know what? (I'll speak for myself here) my writing isn't so brilliant that I couldn't reproduce, probably better, any bit of description or scene I might delete and later want. But more likely, when I've cleaned out and shed the unwanted bits I find there's room for new thoughts and ideas, which make more sense and work better with how the story has evolved.

That's my first resolution this year guys.  No more baby socks. What's yours?

Confused

I've got a few close friends and family reading my novel at the moment. I know it would probably be helpful to have another writer read my stuff, but this is where I'm comfortable at the moment. The people reading it are extremely well-read and intelligent, so I really value their opinions.

The problem is when things aren't working, but there isn't a really definable reason. Everyone makes general comments that this part was their least favorite, etc., but no one knows why. Like with my first chapter. I realize that this is a critically important chapter, both as I'm searching for agents/publishers, but also eventually for potential purchasers. The pacing works, I think, as does the characterization, logical development, etc. But, I still feel like something is off...and I'm having a hard time moving on to the rest of my book with that stupid first chapter hanging there. 

Writer's block? I suppose. I've revised the dumb thing several times, and it has improved, for sure. I've also been super busy with other life stuff. Hopefully, I'll be able to sit down tomorrow and sparkle it. (Yes, I made that up--"sparkle" is a noun. Way to go you grammar hound you).

Status: slightly loopy