I’ve always had trouble with women. Women characters, that is. Making them walk and talk was reasonably straightforward. Whatever made them tick always seemed tantalisingly out of reach.
In contrast, tortured (ex-)special forces guys, young idealistic lawyer-types, frustrated creatives – they’re no terrible stretch if one gets into a let’s pretend state of mind.
In my early years of ignorance and naivete, the bar I’d subconsciously set for writing female characters was frightfully low. My female characters would a). never scream unnecessarily, b). never merely stand by as the hero gets a beatdown, and c). react pretty much like I imagined my mother or sister or female-friends would react in whatever extraordinary circumstances they might find themselves in.
This three-step checklist worked well enough until life experience and reluctant maturity coincided with having to write character drama rather than wham-bam actioners or thrillers. Try as I might, just making shit up and tap dancing furiously —
There’s a knock on the door!
— OR —
THe phone rings!!
— OR —
An EXPLOSION!!!
— no longer worked. There was a Truth to be gotten at in the stories: a truth about characters and ‘where they’re coming from’. And try as I might to avoid or ignore it, the answer to this challenge was simple: backstories had to be written, especially for vexsome characters.
(Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I’m on record somewhere on this blog as saying that backstories are for sissies. What can I say? I was young and foolish.)
Backstories are helpful wee things. Besides being something with which to brain shut up pesky actors with, they are part of the world building process that stories require. With each backstory, each character belongs that much more to the narrative – you can quickly see whether they are essential or not (and if not, start making them essential) – and when you do it right, there’s an inexorability to character arcs and interactions that do away with things like plot devices.
(Those of you who’ve always done backstories have likely known this all along but it’s nice to (eventually) get to this point at my own pace.)
And so one finishes a many-paged backstory for a female main character but there’s something in it that’s just not ringing true.
That’s when one swallows one’s pride and asks one’s wife or friend or colleague, What do women really want?
Once the initial response is over and done with, whether it’s hearty laughter or stunned silence or an impassioned speech on twenty-first-century feminist politics, one soon finds oneself en route to the Truth.
Just don’t hum I am Woman or (You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman as you go about it.
Trust me: it’s not worth it.
