WRITING WOMEN CHARACTERS (Wait, Aren’t You A Dude?) By Adam Rakunas

Earlier this year at the Emerald City Comicon, I was on a panel with my fellow Angry Robot authors Peter Tieryas, Danielle Jensen, Patrick Tomlinson, and K.C. Alexander. As the panel wound down, K.C. turned to me and asked, “How do you write a realistic woman, being a male author?” I did the only sensible thing: I ducked under the table and curled up into a fetal ball.

Now, in my defense, it was the last panel of the last day of the con, and I’d been on my feet for most of that time. A question like this was one that required care and thoughtfulness, and I was in limited supply of both. If I gave any answer, I would not be doing K.C.’s question justice. Also: I am a gigantic wimp.

However, I’ve had a full night’s sleep and a bunch of tacos, so I feel comfortable and confident enough to say this: I fake it and hope I got it right.

It helps that I have a lot of kickass women in my life. I married a woman who grew up in four different countries, went overseas on her own to make her fortune, and now tells people who run companies how to act in a way that won’t make their shareholders panic (which, considering how fragile the economy is these days, is a really important job). Oh, and she also runs triathlons and skis black diamonds and scuba dives. I married an action hero, so it wasn’t too hard to write about one.

My mom also kicks ass, and I think she had to kick a lot of it to make sure others wouldn’t. She wanted to study computers back in a time when not many people did, let alone any women, so she hauled cross-country to a university that taught computer science. When she was getting ready to graduate, she and her roommate went to the company recruiters who were visiting their campus, only to be told, “Sorry, no women.” Mom and her roomie (who would later become my godmother) decided that was some bullshit, so they signed into their interviews with Texas Instruments using their initials. When the flummoxed interviewers saw two women, they refused to continue. Mom and my godmother complained to the university, who promptly kicked TI off campus. I was raised by a political rabble-rouser, so it wasn’t too hard to write about one.

My grandmothers grew up on opposites ends of the socio-economic spectrum and were on opposite sides of World War II (ie one was in uniform and one was a refugee). Liz grew up with a cook and a maid in suburban Winnetka, Illinois; Brone was a peasant who worked on a farm and did menial labor. When the war came, Liz joined the Coast Guard, and Brone hunkered down as the Wehrmacht and the Red Army beat the crap out of each other. When the war ended, Liz married my grandfather and settled in suburban life; Brone and my dad and grandfather went from one displaced persons camp to another until they got a cousin to sponsor their emigration to the United States. Liz wrote poetry and submitted it to the Saturday Review, which rejected her work, though John Ciardi wrote her a very nice note; Brone learned English from soap operas and became a citizen. Liz read me stories, and Brone cooked me tsepilinai. I as nurtured by women who cared about art and food and culture and identity and survival, so it wasn’t too hard to throw all those things into the women who inhabit the Occupied Space books.

How do I write a realistic woman, being a male author? How the hell can I not?

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