I'm happy to introduce a recent addition to RWASD, a great writer and another male point of view, Joel Dorr:
Real Men Write—and
Read Romance
How often have you picked up a novel to find all the male
characters were as vanilla flavored as a Carnation Instant Breakfast? They have
no purpose other than to be a man prop character to push the story along.
You’ve read them, the boyfriend who cheated on our heroin for unknown reasons
or how about the doting, layered fiancé who works all the time, leaving our leading
lady alone wanting more sex. Vanilla characters have their place—getting the
back story out and even as a dialogue dummy for our main character, but how do
we add a little flavor to the same old boring breakfast?
As a male and writing from a male perspective in romance, I
find it helpful to develop comical and quirky traits that make us laugh at these
Y chromosome characters. Perhaps it’s the funny way he suddenly breaks into a sweat
whenever he spots someone’s mini-wheat adorably licking an ice cream cone and
fumbling it through their five year-old fingers within splattering distance of
his Michael Jordon Nikes. Or the uncontrollable, yet nerdy predictable way, his
head spasms to the right craning up to look at ceiling tiles, whenever a pretty
Asian gal tries to start a conversation with him. These idiosyncrasies not only build an interesting
male character, but the quirkiness is also relatable to the audience and memorable. Can’t you feel the anxiety of a child nearly
dumping his ice cream cone on your $300 pair of shoes? What do you do when
someone you find extremely hot walks up to you?
Let’s use that as an example and dig into the neuroses of a character
--let’s call him Bob, the same name as the host of this blog--and discover what
makes him avert his attention away from..let’s say attractive Asian ladies. Some
writers might naturally toss out the cliche explanation of a childhood crush on
a sexy Asian teacher… Would anyone like a little dry toast with your Instant Breakfast?
Every character has the potential for a shareable moment that moves the story
along and adds some flavor. One method I use is to think like the readers of
grocery store tabloids, searching out the juiciest and most ridiculous of possibilities.
In my imagination, Bob’s issue would look more like this:
While
Bob was a tween of fourteen, he was chasing after an errant Frisbee, overthrown
and clearing the fence, landing in the petunias under the bedroom window of the
grumpy next-door neighbor. As Bob rummaged around looking for the Frisbee,
careful not to trod on the old Asian woman’s flowers and get grounded again, he
glanced inadvertently into the window. Sleuthiness turned into horror as he was
frozen like a character in a Stephen King novel.
The
old Asian woman was nearly naked!
Unable
to move he stared at her, clad only in her stained bra and grannie underpants,
pulled up over her large, double tummy roll.
Bob
had never seen anything so revolting—well, there was that two-headed baby on
the cover of the Enquirer Magazine,
but this was real life. She screamed and
Bob forgot about the Frisbee, making a beeline for his home, hoping she was so
shocked or too old to realize it was him. Unfortunately for poor Bob, that
image would be burned into his retina, an unwanted visual recall for a lifetime.
Ding
dong, Bob’s days are numbered the doorbell seemed to chime. As predicted, the
old woman came to the front door and he awaited her trumped up, stalkerish tale
of their encounter. Bob mumbled under his breath, “If I were going to be a
peeping Tom, why would I be looking in her windows, when we have two MILFs in
the neighborhood?”
“Robert?”
Bob’s parents called in unison and he marched toward them trying to get his
explanation straight for a reduced sentence. Using his full name was never a
good sign.
“Mrs.
Wong brought over this package for you. It seems the postman made a mistake and
accidently left it at her home. She was hoping to give it to you in person, but
I didn’t know you were home.”
Maybe she didn’t realize it was Bob. Or
perhaps she didn’t see him. Whatever the case, he was home free. Or was he? The
next afternoon while playing Frisbee in the front yard Bob saw Mrs. Wong on the
front porch. She turned catching his eyes and…sent a wink! Yes, definitely a knowing wink confirming the
events of the previous day. He would never forget the image of hospital-issued
underpants pulled up over human fat inner tubes. And that disgusting discomfort
would stay with him forever, tied to any encounter with an Asian woman,
beautiful or not.
Ok, now which explanation is more fun and interesting? Crush
on a pretty teacher or old woman in granny undies? And even if this is your
main character, it makes him human and kind of adorkable, for having such a
silly quirk. If it’s a character you don’t particularly want your reader to
like in the first place, then your layers make him even more of a pathetic,
loser-like jerk. Either way, chasing the laugh may help you enjoy adding some
personality to your male character making him much more interesting. And come
on, we can all relate, to some ridiculous idiotic tick we’ve manifested as a
result of a simple, yet traumatic event, which happened long ago, so wouldn’t
your reader?
I used this technique a lot when writing my new romantic
comedy Those Crazy Notions of Otherwise Intelligent
People. Yes, it’s true, real men
also write romantic comedies along with the ladies. I have the “real man” pedigree growing up in Montana and Wyoming, where as a young boy,
my brothers and I raced by horseback across the grass pastures of my
grandfather’s ranch. There is no video game that can match the exhilaration of
riding full speed on the back of a galloping horse. With a full access nature
pass, I swam, rafted and fished many of the lakes and rivers of Wyoming. Early inspiration hit when I located and
walked down the same dirt path Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid used to
hunker down in their Hole in the Wall hideout. My brothers and I carried
fishing poles, instead of guns, that is when we didn’t have a pretend posse
chasing us. I was able to put myself through college playing basketball,
getting degrees in Theatre and Broadcasting. Later I began writing and
developing stories for film and television, until 2006 when I became the Editor
of Dramabiz Magazine, a theatre
business management monthly.
How does a writer
describe himself--with a story, of course? About 20 years ago, I flew to
Wyoming to visit my family. Seated next to me on the airplane, was a gentleman
with long, white hair, pulled back in a ponytail wrapped in leather ties with
beautiful beads. We fell into an easy conversation telling each other our
“stories”. He spoke of his tribe, their history and traditions. I countered
with my clan, cowboys and Irish and German ancestors. In true “cowboys and
Indians” fashion, the conversation turned to the Battle of the Little Big Horn
and “Yellow Hair”. Generations of Dorrs living in Wyoming and Montana heard the
stories—and not the kind you read in history books. We had much disdain for
George Armstrong Custer, the great injustice the U.S. Government put on the
native Indians and the fiction portrayed as historical fact. Finding common
historical ground, the gray haired man shared how this too is a story passed
down through the generations in his family, in fact some of his relatives died
as they fought the American encroachment led by “Yellow Hair.” At the end of
our trip, my new friend revealed that he was the official storyteller for the
Oglala Sioux Nation. He expressed honor in meeting another tribe’s storyteller,
which struck me. He said that I, just like him, was destined to be a
storyteller, and that it was my responsibility to pass down my tribe’s history.
Years later, I have come to realize what he meant. I have always felt a need to
tell stories, as did my father and his father. Ironically, as I reflect back, I
remember that I wrote my first play after my father took me to the battlefield
at Little Big Horn and explained the truth behind the Indian Nations last great
victory. I was in third grade. Who am I?
My name is Joel Michael Dorr and I’m a storyteller from Wyoming.
Thanks so much, Joel, but did he have to be named Bob? The elderly lady I saw was dancing naked under the moon. Oh, I almost forgot.
