Writing women is hard.
Admittedly this might have more to do with my being out of practice (17 novels in m/m romance will do that to a girl) than the actual degree of difficulty involved, but let’s not bicker about the details. We’ll just accept the statement as fact (consider it a spot of blogger omnipotence, *rolls eyes*) and move on to examining why this is true.
Being a woman myself, I identify with the female persuasion. One would think this would be a help, but it’s not. I have firsthand experience on how complicated, knotted, rationally irrational a gal can be. So I judge my characterizations of the gender VERY hard.
While I can hardly understand myself half the time, I try valiantly to understand each and every motivation of each and every one of my women.
This is lunacy.
Just because we share girl parts, does not mean we share anything else. I could no sooner identify with Aileen Wuornos then I could with Ted Bundy (and I thank the good Lord for that).
Heck, if I know.
I’ve just got to get over myself, get over my womanhood and become simply a writer again.
Easy as pie, I’m sure.