Confession time: Impure Thoughts.

Long time, no bloggy. I'm actually doing a lot of fiction writing, and that doesn't necessarily lead to a whole lot to put here. I've also been reading nothing but young adult fiction and comic books. It's not been a bad January. Good brain rest.

But I do have this:
A while back, when I was doing a sort of "character inventory", a "what do I learn about myself from looking at my characters thing, I discovered something interesting about the sexuality of my female protagonists. It was...rather nonexistent. These women apparently all have bigger and better things to think about than how blazingly attractive their male lead is. Goodness, they're all crusaders and artists and gods know what else. They don't have time for such entanglements! (Maybe they secretly like girls, and I just haven't noticed yet...)
And it's not that I write pure, virtuous gals either. They're just...not interested. They don't notice men. They don't notice women. They just go about their business. UNLESS, and this is a sizable unless, I've designed them to be that sort of stock "man-eater" character who exists to be the punchline of many a discomfited man joke.

This struck me as odd when I first noticed it, and it still rings wrong, perhaps because it's not at all like me. I notice people. I have a nearly-male brain when it comes to being dropped into lust over something visual. Narrow hips on which pants fit well. That classic triangle man-shape (broad shoulders/narrow waist). Men's legs (oh days as the soccer team ball girl, how formative you were...). Hands. The right mouth on both men and women have been known to send me flailing into moments of trying to remain appropriate. Flawless skin on women's upper bodies. I could probably go on.
My leading ladies display none of this. I suppose that I could blame it on time period and what have you, but honestly, people still noticed other people, even if they thought they were being terribly unchaste for doing so.

My point here is not to figure out what this says about me. I KNOW what this says about me. As much as I enjoy physical relationships, I've always thought that living without longing for one would be really nice. Just hang out. Love your friends, have fun, no worries. Viv' la self-sufficiency.

What concerns me here is actually the believability of my ladies. I write fiction with a very present romantic element, not going to shy away from admitting it. The women I create do end up paired off (mostly), and I don't want it to seem out of character when it happens.
This may be a statement of the obviously, but:
Becoming involved with someone is not a purely cerebral thing (even if I'd like it to be). It has a (if you'll excuse the near pun) nuts and bolts biology to it as well, and that can be tremendously fun. The writing of that attraction can help draw a reader into further identification with a character.
I mean, who wants to read about two characters whose relationship build goes thusly:

Genetically, they were compatible and conversation ran smoothly. They found time in each other's company quite satisfactory. Surely this is what it was to be "in love." Perhaps it was time they took the relationship to its natural next level. They shook hands on it, business like, for soon, it would be business time.

(So I exaggerate. None of my character interactions are this bland, but it is the risk one runs, I think.)

I also wonder, if--in addition to my own little weirdity--that some of my lack comes down to a societal acceptance of men having these obvious "want to bone it now" thoughts, and women *wilt* just shouldn't. I dare say. I hate it when stuff like this creeps in unexpectedly. Just when I think I can be above what is societally ingrained, I have asexual women who will go blithely along with a man's attraction once it has been made known that he wants her as though it had not occurred to her until that point. LAME.

Then, this morning, I came back to a character I created last summer (just so a costume I threw together would have a little more meaning to me).

She is Quincy Anna-Victoria Winchester Darlington IV. (Her father didn't think he should stop the family tradition of Quincy Darlington-ing just because he had a daughter.)
She's a sky pirate in an alternate historical England (time period to be decided). She may be a bit rough around the edges, but my dear Quincy has the potential to mark a departure in my heroines. For the first, and relevant here, she arrives on scene with a lust-interest. Mr. Nathaniel Brooke (just Brooke to the endlessly informal Quincy) is a bit of air force hot stuff who is not opposed to making a little money on the side if his pirate friend needs a hand from time to time.

Part of the three pages of hers I have written include the place where the reader would meet Brooke for the first time, and I'd like to think it's one of the best pieces (if not only) of flirtation I've ever written. It's obvious they're interested in each other. Quincy may do a little "this is not ladylike" censoring, but it's more tongue-in-cheek than anything, and Brooke might be guilty of thinking Quincy is easy 'cause she's a woman in trousers, but they're still attracted to each other. It's not sweeping and epic, and it's not tragically doomed (and maybe I've just put my finger on the problem with some of my other characters). It's just interest. Plain and never simple. (Ahaha. ehem.)
********

Goes like so:

“Quincy.” He stretched out his hands like a gentleman to greet me, but we both knew I was no lady and he was no gentleman. At least, there was no way I could be a lady, thinking the things I thought about the way his belt road on his hips. The way his military issue coat fit his shoulders.
I bowed over his hands, touching my forehead to the back of them as he took mine, an Eastern habit I'd picked up in my childhood. “Brooke. I’ve got a situation.”
“You always have a situation Quincy. Is it a lucrative situation?”
“I always have a lucrative situation.”
He smiled. He was like Helen of Troy when he smiled. Thousand ships, no fooling. My knees felt dangerously watery.
“I’m listening.”
I explained things to him.
“I know those containers. I didn’t recognize the mark.”
“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“No. I can bring them to you later.”
“Why not now?”
“I’m a little busy. Besides, I’d like you to take me to dinner for my trouble.”
It was easy to narrow my eyes at him. My insides were feeling especially traitorous at the suggestion. “I’m taking you to dinner?”
“You’re the wealthy one. I’m just a governmental employee. You know we make nothing. I could take this cargo and run with it."
I frowned. “You wouldn’t.”
“No?”
I shoved him. “No. Your happy little job means too much to you.”
He raised one coppery eyebrow. “It does at that. I’ll have the cargo to your ship by 6, then we’ll get some food. I hope you brought decent clothes.”
I looked down at my slightly out-of-date military trousers and boots, ancient shirt and somewhat begrimed gloves. “My vest is decent.” I said, grinning.
Somehow with Brooke, I always managed charming when I grinned. He shook his head at me. “You’re something else Quince. Go shopping, why don’t you. You’re about to have the money for it. The officer’s club serves up a mighty good meal.”
“The officer’s club?! Brooke, you know I hate being around so much brass.”
“I know.” He grinned. “But I like making you squirm.”
********
I really want to do more with Quincy--and not just in the interest of consciously addressing the issues stated above, though that will be part of it. This morning, when I was thinking about how long it had been since I've written anything here...and how much fiction I've been doing, I thought it might be fun to try to post a serial here. I'm hesitant, due to my complete inability to finish anything I start, and I already have too many projects.
But if I start with say...one piece a month, with the goal to get it up to every other week...that might work. 'Cause I think this gal really wants to come out and play.