Feminism in my Romance Novel: Finding a Balance

Recently, I wrote a Romance novel. Well, Romance-ish. It is also a mystery/thriller. It also deals with psychic powers. But there's a lot of naked and a cool love story involved and so by entirely unscientific calculations, it counts as Romance. When I endeavored to write this novel, I was determined that the main character, Alex, was not going to turn into an Anastasia Steele or a Bella Swan. While I found it easy to write a strong female lead, I was surprised at how often I found myself falling into the trap of inherent sexism. It is easy to do in a genre that often revolves around romantic love being the end all, be all. However, especially in the age of #metoo and a growing awareness of the need for women's empowerment, I felt it was what I needed to do.  Here are the ways in which I feel like I succeeded.

1. Alex is very aware of how her body works.

Alex is a psychic whose powers are activated by arousal. As such, she has become keenly aware of what turns her on, and what does not. She is also very in-tune with the long-documented concept of "thought orgasms." This is shown in a scene in which she pleasures herself.

"Years of unofficial research had led Alex to believe that men were primarily concerned with the cleanliness of a woman’s breasts. At least, when showering with a man her breasts received special and extensive attention. When Alex wanted to prepare herself, however, she focused on other areas, running her hands in slow circles behind her knees, languorous strokes up the insides of her thighs or along the delicate planes of her neck. Her painted toes turned the faucet on again and again, refilling the hot water. She didn’t have to bother with shaving, at least, Pasha, her brilliant Rumanian accountant, had showed her how to make trips to the salon, the gym, and the dermatologist business expenses, bless him, and so her time was true luxury. She checked the time again. Neil wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. She slid her hand below the water. Self-care, as Selah often reminded her, was very important. "

2. Alex is unashamed of how she makes her living.

Alex has built a career around her powers. She has made herself a name is a private investigator. While most clients are grateful, some are jerks, and she is not standing for that.

“So,” he boomed, “this is our little detective.” Alex felt the muscles in her jaw tighten, but forced her mouth into a smile. “Indeed,” she said, extending her hand and grasping it. She could feel his eyes crawling over her like bugs. She sighed inwardly. Inevitably, it came to this; the man who saw her only for the sex and not her expertise. She would make this report as brief of possible.

Turning away from the Neanderthal, she handed the file to Richard. His smile seemed apologetic. “Everything is here,” she said, “bank accounts, the affected clients, approximate dates and amounts.”

“Thank y- “ Richard began. His courtesy was cut off by an indulgent chuckle.

“Forgive me for asking,” he said, in a way that made it clear that he was not, in the least, apologetic, “but how can we possibly tell if this information is reliable.”

“Ms. Campbell has completed satisfactory inves- “

“Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day,” he said with a simian grin. He turned to Alex, who could feel her blood pumping in her temples. “What guarantee can you give that your . . . unconventional approach actually works.”

Alex had a canned speech that she used in these situations. It included a list of times she can been called as an expert witness, her curriculum vitae, her education. Today, however, she decided to take a more direct approach. She sauntered over to the towering man and started through her lashes into his eyes. Her pink tongue darted out, briefly, moistening her lips. She slid one hand up his torso from his waist to his shoulder, grabbing him when he moved away in surprise. With the other hand, she reached below his belt. His eyes widened in surprise. However,she quickly located evidence that he was not entirely displeased by the attention. Alex closed her eyes and focused. The information came slowly, she had not prepared herself, mentally, physically, or otherwise, for an investigation, but her brow furrowed and eventually it came.

“You were supposed to have a date last night,” she murmured. “Someone you met online. You bought flowers and sat at the table for two hours. She never came. You went home and watched porn.”

His eyes, which had grown steadily larger since the moment Alex approached him, were bulging by the time he pulled indignantly away. He was panting slightly. The large man cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and looked at Mr. Lowe.

“Tell Mr. Langley to meet me in my office,” he said, and strode out of the room. 

"
3. Alex holds Hank accountable.

Hank is the handsome local detective who sometimes hires Alex to help the LMPD out on cases. They are more than a team, though, they are friends. When Hank forgets these elements of their relationship, Alex is not afraid to call him out.

 “I don’t do this because I particularly like these jobs, you know,” she said.

He looked up, shocked at the anger in her voice.

“It certainly isn’t for the money, either, I get paid less for this shit than I do any of my other jobs. You think I like spending my time in roach hotels or standing in blood splatter instead of condos on the beach?”

“Why do you do it, then?” he asked.

“Because I want to help! I want to do something that really helps people. I want to affect something more than some company’s bottom line or do more than confirm for a wife what she already fucking knew. But more than that I do it. . .”

She trailed off, afraid to say more, already a lump was rising in her throat. Hank had treated her with dignity and respect. They had become friends. Good friends. Suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. Neil. The serial killer. Isolation. Her own possible death. It was just too much. She wrote a name, description, and address on a napkin and slid it across the table.

“Here,” she said around tears. “Do what you want to with it.” 

4. Hank, himself, does not treat Alex like a wilting flower.

Hank is worried about Alex, which is a sign of caring. Even in that, though, he does not condescend. This scene was really important to me, because I actually rewrote it twice to make sure that Hank was being supportive and not trying to be the white knight. Although, in another scene, Alex is not afraid to use others' vision of her as a damsel in distress to get her way. Read both below to see the contrast.

She could tell that they still weren’t convinced. She was torn between gratitude for and irritation with their concern. She was, after all, hardly a damsel in distress. If that was what they wanted, however ...

Alex slumped, lowering her lashes and pursing her lips. She sighed deeply and then straightened up. Sad but strong. It had the desired effect; she had their undivided attention.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she began, “You’ll be doing me a favor as well.”

Slowly, with a haltingness that was not part of her show, Alex explained what she had discovered and how. They reacted just as she had thought they would, with a protectiveness that made her glad that she wasn’t the perpetrator. She waded through the prerequisite offers to “disappear him” and “take his place” and when they had died down she continued.

“The way I see it, we’d be doing each other a solid. I’d be somewhere that he couldn’t find me, and you’d have someone who could follow this lead. As sexy as Miggs is,” she continued, “I’m not sure he could pull off sequins.”

All eyes turned to Hank, whose jaw muscled bulged and relaxed as if he was chewing gum. Even through her Onyx Alex could see deep crimson rolling off him. He stared at her for a long moment.

“All right,” he said at last, “Let’s do it. Alex, stay here. Let’s get you what you need. The rest of you, get to work.”

Hank leaned over his desk, his hands splayed on the scarred laminate. One foot tapping restlessly on the floor. He spoke in very measured tones.

“Are you okay?” he said at last.

Alex tried to answer. She tried several times but each time her resolve, her ability to compartmentalize shuddered with the weight of the water behind it.

“I’m surviving,” she finally replied. Hank nodded slowly.

“Alex.. “he said, and then nothing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alex picked at her cuticle for a moment. She’d always wanted model’s hands, those well-manicured smooth wonders. But she couldn’t handle the emotional burden of a manicure, the nail techs heard so much. So much and that emotion had to go somewhere. Her hands were large, blunt-tipped.

“Because I didn’t want this,” she said at last.

“What?” Hank asked.

“This” Alex said louder, gesturing to the office. “I didn’t want a dozen big brothers trying to protect me, getting in my way. I didn’t want a bunch of people knowing my business, or a skeeze or two thinking this was their big break. I didn’t want pity. I especially didn’t want pity.”

Hank moved to the font of his desk and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. She raised her eyes to his and shuddered a bit, remembering the night before.

“I don’t pity you,” he said, “I pity him.”

Alex felt rage start to rush through her then she caught Hank’s smile.

“In addition to being boring, and obviously stupid, if that man so much as hiccups in your direction he’s going inside for years. “Alex laughed, a stray tear making its way down her cheek.

“Probably has a small dick, too,” he said as an afterthought.

“I’ve seen better,” Alex agreed. Pettily. And it felt good. Indulging in her anger for a minute felt damn good.

“So, what do you need?” Hank asked.

Alex’s mind worked rapidly.

“I’ll need a throwaway cell and a place to stay. Also, some identification. Some clothes. Do you have anyone in vice who could give me a primer?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah, and we will also get a couple of guys to show up every now and then, keep an eye on you, especially to and from work. When do you need this by?”

Alex pondered, “give me two days to get ready?” she asked.

Hank affirmed, “I’ll also make sure you have some coverage between now and then.”

Alex shook her head wordlessly, but Hank held up a hand.

“It’s ultimately your call,” he said, “but hear me out. I just want someone parked nearby, so if you need help, you just have to call. Otherwise we will stay out of your hair." 

 

5. Alex is more than T&A.

It was very important to me that Alex be a nuanced character. She is attractive and also clumsy. She gets stressed out. She likes good food and bad music. She loves her friends dearly. She takes yoga and martial arts classes. These were all very important elements to me. Also, they can add a bit of humor, which I found appealing. That is shown in the following scene:

"Excruciatingly slowly, Alex eased her arm out from under the man she had been interrogating for six weeks. Her hand was asleep, cold and clammy, and she shook it gently, keeping one wary eye on his face. He didn’t move. Once the feeling had returned to her arm, Alex moved to phase two of her plan. She eased her free leg and arm off the edge of the bed, lowering them and letting gravity take her with deliberate nonchalance, to the ground. The last 18 inches went more quickly than she’d anticipated, and with a thud far louder than the acrobat’s landing she had planned, Alex was free stopped snoring with a snort. His name was Fred Langley, which added another layer of difficulty to the case as it was incredibly difficult to yell “Fred” with sincere passion and ecstasy. Alex froze, her brown eyes wide. After a second, he rolled over and the rhythmic sounds started again. Alex heaved a sigh of relief and began army crawling to the foot of the bed. She found her panties, black lace of course, and slid them on before peeking, Kilroy-like up to the bed. Fred was still sleeping. God bless Fred. And Merlot. And multiple orgasms. She stood and looked for her bra. It was nowhere to be found. Damn it. She’d liked that one. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped. She slid her dress, thanking the deities of fashion for sheaths, over her head. She twisted to reach the zipper and nearly fell, banging her hip on the dresser with a muffled curse. Fine, she’d fix it in the elevator. Alex grabbed her clutch and strappy sandals and left the room, dangling the shoes from her fingers and closing the door in slow motion. Once it had latched she sprinted for the elevator, pushing the button five times in a row."

6. Alex has emotions. All of them.

While Alex is badass, it was equally imperative that she be able to get angry, and sad, and betrayed. Alex can get scared and exhausted. Sometimes she can fight through; sometimes she can't. This added a necessary element of humanity that, I think, elevated the entire story. The next scene describes the time that she chose to sleep with her husband, one last time, while blocking her powers.

She knew that she needed to go into the next few days with her eyes, all of them, wide open. Yet she fastened the onyx around her neck. For one night, she would take her chances. Tomorrow she could be scared and angry. She could be a detective. Tomorrow she could be a psychic. For just one night, for her last night, she just wanted to be a wife.

7. Alex gets it done.

I'm not going to elaborate on this much, because I don't want there to be any spoilers. But this woman gets things done, even when she needs a bit of an assist from time to time. And I love that about her.

What started as a silly idea, with a lot of work, turned into a novel that I'm proud of, one that I think breaks some of the tropes we see so often while staying true to the genre. If you are intrigued, you can buy it here. If you have already read it, I'd love to hear whether you think I made it or not.

Hold Fast

This week has been tough for people with depression. For people with anxiety. For people who have struggled with suicide. It's been tough for people like me.

I'm not going to say that I was particularly attached to either Ms. Spade or Mr. Bourdain. I don't own one of her handbags. I'm not that into fashion. I love food, but I don't think I saw more than a few of Mr. Bourdain's shows. But they were losses of life, and for that I am sad. More than that, though, seeing people lose this particular battle is a special kind of terrifying for those of us who struggle with the same issues. If these people, those with success, with money, and therefore with access better therapy, more time for self care and without all of the issues that add exponentially to their mental load couldn't bring themselves to stick it out any longer, what chance do I have? If they can't, how can I possibly? Will I be next? Will I win this next round?

In light of that, I want to reach out to anyone who has struggled with depression and anxiety, as well as those who love someone who does. I don't have the answers; I wish I did. What I do have is an insight to this sometimes hellish world, and I am hoping that some of this helps.

For those who struggle; here are some techniques that work for me;

I make a pledge to hang on for as long as I think I can. Lately, the time chunks have been larger - years, months. The pull never goes away; as terrified of death as I am - and I am - there's always that belief that someday I will lose the fight to hang on (more about this phenomenon later), but for now, I can hold fast. I can hang on until Tax Season. I can hang on until the custody hearing is over. I can hang on until the kids are married and settled in. I can hang on until my husband dies of old age. I remember some times, though, where it was the space of one breath. I was literally sitting there convincing myself that I didn't have to kill myself in the space of the next breath. I could hang on for that long. The next breath? Well, I would decide that, then. Eventually, it became a whole minute. I remember staring at the second hand as it moved, excruciatingly slowly, from 9 to 12, thinking maybe I'd stretched a bit. But then it had been a minute, and I decided I could hold on until the next. So, that's my first technique. Find a period of time, as small as you need, and decide that you will not kill yourself for that bit of time. Call someone if you need to. Distract yourself if you can. But commit. And hold fast.

The next technique I learned, in all places, from Mockingjay. You see, Peeta had been hijacked. His brain had been reprogrammed so that his memories were altered and things that once brought him joy were convoluted, terrifying. He learned to play a game called "real or not real" as a way to cope, and eventually came to understand that the memories that had been hijacked had a "shiny" quality to them. For me, it's much the same with depressive/anxiety/suicidal thoughts. They seem so real. They seem so true. Yet, if I really look at them, they are a bit, well, shiny. There's a certain feeling to them that is different from any other feeling. I don't know how to describe it except, they're shiny. Look at those thoughts you have, the coldly logical voice telling you that you are a failure, that the pain will never end, that everyone else would be better off without you, and see if they are shiny. If they are, know that you brain is lying to you. Don't listen to that lie.

Finally, I ask for those I love to tell me stories. Tell me about things that we did together that made you happy. Tell me a story about a year from now. Because, you see, I've been here before. So many times. So, there's a good chance that the story I will be told will have taken place after, or in the middle of, one of my bad times. So, it stands to reason that if there was good after that last time, there will be good again. Someday. Sometime. I need to remember that these times pass. I need to know that I've had a positive effect on someone. Stories help me remember that. I hope they will help you, too.

For those who love someone with such issues, here's what you need to know;

For many of us, suicide, not continuing to live, feels like the default. It's living that feels like taking an action, not dying. I'm not neurotypical, so I can't speak with certainty, but I don't feel like that's the default for NTs. I don't feel like, for you, there's this belief that if you relax for a second, you will die. And that's what it feels like. Not kill yourself, just. . .let your guard down and look down and discover you've done it. Kinda like picking a scab or scratching and itch and breaking the skin. Just. . whoops. It is a huge emotional burden, this. It is exhausting. And it is scary.

If we are considering suicide, we have determined that we are somehow hurting you. That's why I take issue with the belief that suicide is selfish. I mean, it is. It absolutely is. But it doesn't feel that way. It feels like we will hurt you a lot for a little while and then you will be so much better off. We are actually doing you a favor. I remember when I was in my early 20's I tried to commit suicide. And I was hanging out with one of my friends when I was doing a bit better and he was acting strange. I asked him what was wrong and he started crying and nearly screamed at me "why didn't you call ME?!" And I was genuinely confused. Why would he want me to call him? Why would he want to stop me? My family are still hurt by what I did and while I can see it NOW, at the time I remember not understanding. Didn't they see I was doing it FOR them?

Which brings me to the last thing you need to know. At least for me, my suicidal tendencies don't come in some whirlwind of emotion. They come from this voice of cruel logic. This internal voice that very clearly spells out all of the reasons this is the best decision. It is the worst kind of logic; utterly false yet it sounds utterly rational and true. That's why it's so hard to fight. The waves of illogical emotion I can deal with. That point by point logic, well, that's hard to fight. It just seems to make so much sense.

So, what can you do?

Acknowledge our illness. Listen, suicide is a choice. I get that. I believe it. But the illness that leads to it isn't. You don't ask a diabetic to suddenly produce insulin. You don't ask someone with cerebral palsy to suddenly walk. You can't ask us to magically produce brain chemicals. We would if we could, but we can't.

However, you can hold us accountable. We can shower, even if we feel we can't. We can get out of bed. We can be hugged. We can eat and drink. And we need to. But sometimes we need help.

Be patient. We will be annoying as all hell during our rough times. We want you to call, but don't want to talk. We want you to get us out of this but will fight you. We will let you down and that just makes it worse. You're having to fight our illness and those internal voices get loud. But be patient. Don't give up on us.

Reach out. A lot. In every way possible. Text, message, call. Tag us in memes and pictures. Anything to let us know we have some relevance. Sit with us. Distract us, somehow, even if you have to fight us to do it. It sucks, I know. But it helps.

To those who have lost the fight; I will miss you. I'm sorry that you made that choice. I'm sorry that it didn't feel like it was a choice. To those who are still fighting, hold fast. You are loved. You have made a difference. The world is a better place with you in it. And it will get better. Remember, you currently have a 100% track record of surviving even the worst days, and that's pretty damn amazing.

What I Learned in School This Year

Thursday was the last day of school for my children. Due to various circumstances, it was not only their last day for the year, but it was their last day ever in the school they attended for the past two years. In many ways, it was a wonderful place. My children learned a lot. I learned a lot, as well. I learned that it is more work to get your children to and from school, on time, with everything that they need than it was to homeschool. I learned, in the words of Roland Deschain, that there is a time to use the fist and a time to use the feather. I learned common core math strategies - kinda. But, what I learned most of all was that, here in Kentucky anyway, teachers are under attack.

Let me say that again. Not only do these heroes deal with over-crowded classrooms, students who do not have the foundation to be invested in their education (more on this later), standardized testing being the benchmark against which their effectiveness is measured, long hours, buying their own supplies, and so much more. Now they are under attack in every way from every level.

Let's start in the classroom with the students themselves. In that instance, when I say teachers are under attack what I mean is that I don't remember visiting the school a single time during which I did not see a student either attack a teacher physically, or spew forth profanity-laden diatribes. Chairs were thrown, doors kicked, and materials were destroyed, daily. I saw the teachers manage the situation as best as they could, with compassion beyond what I could do. Some of them stepped aside to cry for a minute or have an asthma attack privately, and then they marched back into the classroom, a smile on their face, to teach again. So much talk has been dedicated to school shooting, and rightfully so, but what we fail to see is these smaller - relatively - attacks that happen daily.

When these events happen, teachers turn to parents and administrators for guidance. While there are certainly many parents and administrators who give support, backup if you will, in many cases the teachers find themselves under attack from the very people who should be helping them. Many parents simply do not answer the calls or emails. While this benign neglect of the situation is not helpful, it is at least not antagonistic. Other parents, however, show us exactly how the children in question learned their habits. On at least four occasions, I was called some variation of "bitch" by a parent who was exiting the school while I was coming in. Simply because I had the audacity to be sharing a doorway with them while they were upset. I can only imagine what was aimed at those with whom they were angry. I saw parents screaming at teachers and staff. I saw a parent kick a chair. I have heard parents berate teachers for having the audacity to discipline their children. I saw an administrator repeatedly insult teachers, tear them down emotionally and mentally, and enact policies that further bind the hands of those who are "in the trenches." I saw the same administrator repeatedly and  actively disregard unanimous decisions made by the teachers in regards to policy and staffing.

If that wasn't enough, the media, and certain government officials have joined in the carnage. Recently in Texas, a community member had a habit of driving through the pick up line at a school. This is dangerous on many levels. Students often do not exhibit the situational awareness needed to navigate traffic, especially at the end of a school day, and driving through an area in which they were moving put the students in danger of being struck by a vehicle. Students cannot be released to a person who is not on "the list" of approved individuals. Having a person not associated with any students driving through the area puts children at risk. Additionally, this action is inconsiderate as it contributes to chaos and confusion. After many attempts to verbally redirect the person driving the car, a teacher put his safety at risk by laying on the vehicle in an attempt to stop it. Rather than being lauded for his selflessness, the media portrayed this as a "teacher attacking a  motorist." Don't believe me, you can watch the video here. Here is Kentucky, teachers fighting for their pension were labeled "thugs" by the Governor. To make matters worse, he doubled down on his verbal attack by blaming teachers for children's death or becoming victims of sexual assault.

And now, adding injury to injury, the State of Kentucky, lead by a former clergy member, are in the process of taking over Jefferson County Public Schools. They state that the schools have not been effective in closing the gap for disadvantaged students. I have spent a lot of time here telling you what I have seen. Now, let me tell you what I have not seen. In my many, many hours spent in the school, I have not seen a single politician in the school, witnessing first-hand what happens and what the teachers do to try to educate every single student to the best of their ability. I have not seen a single politician at any of the school events, educating parents about ways to make sure their family has housing, electricity, food, clothing, or help with substance abuse, physical abuse, finding a job, and more. I have not seen a member of the clergy in schools volunteering, reaching out, or providing any of the above assistance. They blame the schools for not closing the gap, but here's what they fail to grasp. A student who is hungry cannot close the gap - the school provides not only free breakfast and lunch, but provides backpacks of food for summers, breaks and weekends to those who are in need. Yet it is the job of the state and the community (including the church) to make sure families are fed when they are unable to feed themselves. They are not doing their job. A student who is ill cannot close the gap. Yet the State and the churches are not doing their part to ensure that students have access to health care when the families are unable to provide this. A student who is being abused or neglected cannot close the gap. Yet the substance abuse, physical abuse, and neglect take place in the same communities as these churches that are casting stones, they take place regardless of calls to DHS. A student who is homeless or living in squalor cannot close the gap. The school provides assistance with clothing, housing, and utilities, and yet the churches and politicians create such a maze to navigate for assistance, looking for every opportunity to say no. Now it is those people, those very people who have dropped the ball in so many cases, who have added to the already astronomical role the schools must play, who believe they should be the ones to set the policy and run the school system. They are taking the power away from the stakeholders, those of us who ARE in the schools daily, and adding it to their load when they have a history of uninvolvement, fiscal irresponsibility, disrespect for the system, and improper implementation of the programs already in place to aid their constituents and community. It is, in short, another attack.

We need to do better. We trust teachers with our children for 8 or more hours a day. We trust them to help us mold the minds of our little ones to achieve to the highest of their ability. Some parents trust the teachers for far more - babysitting, feeding, raising their children. The least we can do is to stop the attacks and help them do their jobs.