My male protagonist scares me

Josh Young, my male protagonist in Gaia’s Hands, is my worthy adversary.

He scares me because he is a younger man in love with an older woman (He’s 25, she’s 45). It’s still taboo in this day and age, more so than an older man with a younger woman. In the latter case, people turn their heads away with distaste (and, for older men, envy). For women who would date younger men, the outrage raises to a pitchfork-wielding pitch.

A lot of this is based on outdated gender roles. According to these, men aren’t even marriageable till 30, when they’re well on their way to conquering the world, according to dominant culture and romance novels. Women, on the other hand, can’t be as accomplished as the men and their basic commodity is their youth and childbearing ability. Relationships are based on this exchange, which is hypothesized to result from the biological imperative of reproduction of the species.

But at the same time people adhere to the cynical, commoditized view of the above paragraph, we believe in a true love that transcends all barriers. And people write romance about transcending those barriers. Except for an older woman and a younger man.

The barriers assume that all twenty-something males are the same, that they are at a specific (and one may say arrested) state of development that includes a societally-endorsed mix of partying with the guys, living in apartments crawling in garbage and dirty dishes until their mother comes and cleans up the place, and gaming unbathed for days on their PlayStation.

I want to assume differently. Josh Young is 25, with a Masters in Fine Arts and a job as instructor at his alma mater. He has a best friend who he met years ago at aikido lessons, and he himself is ranked 2nd Dan in aikido. Because this is a fantasy novel, he keeps a secret — visions that guide his life, and one of his visions brings him to the side of a woman twenty years older. And he resists, not because she’s too old, but because he’s too young.

I’m bathed enough in dominant culture that this is hard to write, but at the same time I’m compelled to write him as significantly younger, if a bit wiser for his age than typical.

Wish me luck.

PS: There are apparently older woman/younger man romance novels. Maybe I can pull this off!

PPS: Apparently there is a whole genre of Korean drama that features older women/younger men. Woo hoo!

I need a good bit of luck to get through this novel.

I seem to be writing slow, but at least I’m writing under the current method. The method is to free write, then transcribe with editing to tighten the writing.

I feel overwhelmed by words, though, and wonder if the meaning is there. I’m really stymied by writing lately; I surely didn’t go through this self-guessing the first time I wrote this novel. To be honest, I didn’t go through self-guessing at all, which is why I’ve edited and re-edited this book over the past five years.

This book is a beast, and there’s no reason it should be, except now it’s a romance novel in addition to a fantasy, and I don’t know what I’m doing there. I need all the wishes for good luck I can manage.

Learning about my Characters: Jeanne and Josh

I’m what’s known as a plantser — I start a bare outline and fill it in as I write. I’m finding out more about Josh and Jeanne as I write, and they’re turning out to be quite the couple.

Josh is afraid of an intimate relationship, but not for the usual reasons. He believes in another world, a world of spirits, hidden (as he puts it) in plain sight. He feels these spirits, sees visions, dances among the unseen in aikido. If he opens up, he reveals that world inside him.

Jeanne, meanwhile, is afraid of herself. She has been repressing her own relationship to the hidden world, because it wars with her adoption of the logical world of research. What happens, then, if she finds out — or remembers — her true connection to the world of the plants she nurtures?

I’ve gotten to the point where Josh has spoken of the hidden world as a theoretical, a source of poetry, and Jeanne begins to examine the imagination that she left behind in her chemistry labs. It’s exciting to see them launch into the second part of the book, the part of mysteries.

An Excerpt from Gaia’s Hands

This is early on in the novel — Chapter 3 or 4. In this chapter, Josh’s tendency to watch Jeanne from afar gets challenged.

****************

By Sunday, Josh’s migraine had luckily subsided with the help of a prescription a doctor had written him. But he hadn’t figured out the vision, of course. Or what to do about Jeanne. Josh threw on coat, hat, and gloves, and walked to his friend Eric’s house in the crisp cold of the afternoon.

“Who am I?” he queried himself. An introvert, an observer of human nature, a practitioner of aikido, a writer, an instructor, only son, half-Asian. He dug deeper: a dabbler in Shinto, a pacifist, a former problem child. He felt heart and gut, ai and ki. And now, something bigger than himself — a holder of a vision, a mystery. He would not tell that last part to Eric.

Josh arrived at Eric’s apartment and knocked on the door. At 1 PM on a weekend, Eric would be awake, unless he wasn’t. One never knew with Eric, who kept programmers’ hours and drank copious amounts of caffeinated drinks.

After a plodding pause, Eric answered the door in black sweats and a t-shirt that read “No, I won’t fix your computer”. His sandy blond hair had been combed recently, by a real comb, and his deep-set blue eyes shone clear. A good sign.

“Eric, I need to talk to you. Do you have time right now?” How do I even begin? Josh wondered.

Eric opened the door to chaos. “Pull up a piece of couch –” he pointed to a decrepit beige couch covered in books and papers, one leg propped up by other books and papers.

“Where do I put the papers?” Josh swiveled around for an obvious spot.

“Drop them on the floor,” Eric shrugged.

Josh dropped them on the floor. Eric moved a couple piles of books and folded his bearlike bulk onto a spot across from the couch. Josh paused, gathered his words. After a long silence he spoke. “This will sound insane, but there’s this woman, and I think I’m in love.” Josh studied his hands, felt Eric’s eyes on him.

“It’s about time. Do I know her?” Eric grimaced with his first sip of energy drink.

“I don’t know. You don’t hang out at the café much.” Josh closed his eyes and envisioned Jeanne on one of many Fridays, packing her computer away to listen to the music with an enigmatic smile. He caught himself smiling despite his moment of misery.

“Hate coffee, hate the music scene.” Eric pondered for a moment, then scowled. “You don’t mean Zoe with the dreadlocks who works there, do you? She has a boyfriend already.”

“No, and how do you know these things if you don’t go there?” Josh queried.

“Don’t ask me that.” Eric shook his head with a snort.

“Okay, I won’t. Do you know Jeanne Beaumont?” Josh closed his eyes and sighed out a deep breath.

“Not personally.” Eric raised his brows. “Isn’t she old enough to be your mother?”

Josh groaned inwardly. “Yes, and it strangely doesn’t matter to me. I really want to get to know her better.” He felt less sure of whether he meant Jeanne the woman or Jeanne the vision, which concerned him. “I’m also pretty sure it’s hopeless.”

“Does she know you exist?” Eric propped his legs on the seat cushion opposite Josh.

“I don’t know.” Josh sighed unhappily. “She looked right at me yesterday at the cafe, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You want me to tell you it’s hopeless, right?” Eric growled, but he often did, so it didn’t mean anything.

“Right. Because it is.”

Eric looked over at Josh. “It’s absolutely illogical that Jeanne Beaumont would be interested in someone twenty-some years younger, but I hear these things don’t always follow logic. What’s the worst that happens? You suffer, and you have a lot of material to write poetry about. Sounds good to me.”

Josh felt the blues settle down on him like a blanket of snow. Rejection was a pretty bad ‘worst that could happen’. “Thanks. I guess.”

Excerpt from Gaia’s Hands Rewrite

There is something about her, Josh wrote, letting words flow onto the page. Lush and bountiful. Cool and deep, like a forest. Like the plants she tends. He remembered the lecture he had crept into, feeling again like a stalker, even though it was open to the public. He had no reason to be there except to see her, but he remembered her speaking about permaculture guilds, plants living in mutual relationships. Jeanne and the plants …

His vision blurred. He saw a green mound where the room had been, lit by a brilliant shaft of pure sunlight. Fruit trees and vines surrounded the hill and climbed up it, glowing in the light. And under the tallest trees, two intertwined apples bearing impossibly large fruit, Jeanne stood offering one of each apple.

Jeanne, he didn’t fail to notice, was naked.

The vision dissipated as quickly as it had come. Josh found himself again in the busy room, surrounded by the murmur of voices, the people in sweaters and snowboots, winter coats hanging off chairs.

I’m still not used to seeing things, Josh thought. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. He steeled himself for the repercussions of his vision, because he never saw visions without consequences. He knew the migraine would come in a few hours, but the vision dared him to press on.

The dreadlocked waitress set down his order — a red-eye — the better to try to forestall the migraine. “I don’t know your name,” she addressed him. “I’m Zoe.”

“Josh Young. I teach at the college. Instructor in English.” He surreptitiously shut his notebook to obscure the subject of the evening’s musings.

“This is your regular order, right?” Zoe appeared to be doing some mental arithmetic in her head, Josh noticed.

“Yes. I’ll be a regular here. It’s a good place to write.” He felt himself saying the words despite his more fearful self wanting to run out and never see Jeanne Beaumont again. He thought he could feel his fate seal with those words.

A Tiny Bit of Progress

I actually wrote a little on Gaia’s Hands (the rewrite) yesterday. Not much, because I had to cut and hide a few things for a later scene and make some decisions that took a bit of time, but I got some written.

I have a better idea of Josh these days. (I’ve always had a good idea about Jeanne.) He’s actually a pretty interesting person, given a few years and an instructor’s position at the university.

I’ve been having such a struggle with this particular book (possibly because it’s a rewrite, possibly since I’m using the Save the Cat template from scratch instead of retrofitting it, possibly because it’s a romance, and I just don’t see myself writing romance.

But Jeanne and Josh are a couple, a tightly bonded couple, so their origin story needs to be told. And I’m the one to tell it.

Getting inside Josh

Because I can’t draw my character. Because I can’t post a male nude. Use your imagination here.

I’m still working on Gaia’s Hands, because I don’t have much else to do right now.

I’m trying to get into Josh Beaumont’s (male lead) head so I can develop and write him more fully. This is a challenge for me, because I’m not 1) male, 2) twenty years old, and 3) a mystic. No, scratch 3); I’ve had some nonstandard experiences in my life.

I want to be authentic with the character, especially with his sexuality, which is an important part of what is basically a romance novel at its heart. Josh is pretty normal in that category, except for the fact that the object of his affections is 25 years older. And he’s a virgin. As an older woman, I want to make sure this is realistic (other than the age thing, which happens sometimes) and not personal wish fulfillment.

This isn’t a total problem, because Josh is mature for his age (about 25 emotionally) and I think that comes from his being a mystic. Josh has visions that change the course of his life, and Jeanne has been the star of his visions lately.

So I want to paint Josh as a gentle soul, but with drive. Someone who sublimates drive into poetry. Someone who’s going to finally ask for what he wants when he can’t hold it back anymore.

He’s my project for today. Let’s see where I can go.

Writing Gaia’s Hands from Scratch

I think I’m going to start Gaia’s Hands from scratch.

I’ve come to the point where I realize the bones of the book are not sound.The current version of one of the protagonists is not someone typical of men in romances: the 45-year-old cop. A former Navy Seal or Army Ranger. An uber-masculine rancher. A billionaire. In other words, the typical protector of a helpless female. Josh, on the other hand, is a surprise. His non-staid nature is in his writing and his visions. He’s a bit fey, perhaps, but without its twee underpinnings. Instead, he is brave in his emotions and his drive. I need to be less scared in rendering Josh.

There is not enough buildup of the romance part. The book, I’m told, is a romance, given how two characters meet, discover each other, and fall in love. There’s not enough tension. There’s not a big blowout where they’re sure they’re never going to see each other again.

I have not written this book the way it deserves to be written. Jeanne is accomplished, but lonely. Josh is young, but determined. There are all sorts of reasons why they shouldn’t be together, but they’re internalized reasons from dominant culture.

And then there’s the fantasy part. That won’t take too much work — Jeanne’s talent of getting plants to grow + Josh’s attachment to the spirits of Shinto = surprise! In fact, if they develop Jeanne’s talent together, they grow closer. The romance needs to be attached to the accomplishments.

Now … OMG, I have to rewrite this novel. Josh and Jeanne scare me, especially Josh. He’s too close to my fantasies. Yes, I’m an older woman who’s attracted to younger men. And smaller men, too. It’s not like I’m not attracted to my husband, but whereas most women go “wow” when they see Jason Momoa, I say “wow” when I see someone built like a dancer or a lightweight wrestler.

This fear is what kept me from writing this story this deserves.

A Slap

So these last few weeks have been a great growth time for my writing. I have revised two out of my four novels (Whose Hearts are Mountains and Prodigies) to give more of a development of character at the beginning instead of barreling into the plot immediately. I am working on a third, Apocalypse for the same, and the fourth, Gaia’s Hands, is going to require a lot of work, especially now that I know it’s a romance novel.

And I would never have known to do this without rejections from agents sending me to developmental editors and beta readers and books about writing. I haven’t been revising just to pay my dues; I really feel like I have a better product because of it.

My mother once told me it took two people to paint a picture: the artist and the person who slaps the artist when they’re done. At this point, I feel like I need a slap. I need someone to read something and tell me if I’m done.

And then, in my next set of queries, what if I don’t get accepted by an agent? What’s next? I have really no idea to be honest. I suspect it will feel like a slap in the face.

Progress (I think)

I think I’m through the edit of Prodigies — it’s going to my in-house reader now. The edit was about two things — emotions and plotting. I hope I have those in a better place.

I guess Prodigies will go out on my next querying round, and I’m hoping the beginning now brings agents in. They should get to know the main character now.

Now, I’m afraid, it’s time to go back to Gaia’s Hands. I would rather prune very prickly roses than go back to Gaia’s Hands, to be truthful. That book needs so much help, being the first one I wrote. It needs replotting and characterization and dilemmas and … I still don’t know if I want to start it from scratch.

I do worry because I haven’t had an idea for a new book for a while (but Whose Hearts are Mountains wasn’t that long ago, either). On the other hands, I want the existing works to be sharp, sparkly, and compelling. I hope I get closer to that.