Here’s why I don’t sand down the edges of my masculine of center characters. In fact, I toss a little grit in there and hope it sticks.

 

When I was thinking about what to write about for this blog, I decided to start with the question posed by a potential reader hesitant to read one of my books because the characters are too “gritty.”

Don’t you think the characters would be appeal to more people if they were a little less… raw?

It’s one of the most common questions I get. Well, that and “Do you really need to have all those sex scenes?” And I’ll address that one later, but here’s a preview: Yes. 

But let’s get back to my characters that are masculine of center, whether they identify as butch, like Sam Draper in McCall, or androgynous, like Jaq Bailey in London, they are by far my favorite characters to wrap words around. I like the sharp grit they leave under my fingers as they move over keys, reminding me to leave the raw sexy edges that define them. I like the way they fuck girls against brick walls in not quite hidden Blackpool alleyways. I like how they unapologetically protect themselves and the women they love. And I love their courage they choose to show in vulnerability, whether emotional or sexual.

Masculine of center characters in queer fiction are often stoic and one dimensional, and frankly, I’m bored. It’s like watching someone trying to kayak in a straight jacket. I have huge respect for my fellow lesbian fiction writers and realize this opinion is perception, not truth, but I’ve craved depth, heat, and complication in masculine lesbian characters for as long as I’ve been reading queer fiction. It’s not lack of talent on the part of the writer, it’s understandable concern over how these often controversial characters will be received.

To fully develop a character, it takes a partnership between the writer and the reader. It’s my job to tell you just enough, a framework, of who the character is and what they look like. The magic happens when the reader I’m fortunate enough to have fills in the blanks for me. The reader will tell the truth. If the writer didn’t have the balls to do that when she wrote the character, then it can’t come together and she’s let her reader down.

So I leave the edges raw. And every once in a while I run my fingers over my past characters, just enough to let the rough edges catch my skin and remind me to tell the truth.