When I think about the books that I love most, one of the things they all have in common is a strong heroine. Hot alpha male hero, interesting plots, sense of humor, yeah, all those things too. But if I don't like the heroine, I have a hard time liking the book. It can be hard to put my finger on what makes me like a heroine. Sometimes it's just a gut reaction-- she's too whiny, or she makes dumb choices, or she does things that make no sense. So I started to wonder, what makes a strong heroine?
Strange how the wind seemed to be flinging itself at the windows. As if it wanted to get in. To get to her. It sounded like a bitter roar, like Andrew when she’d screwed up every ounce of her courage and told him she wanted a divorce. You’ll never get the kids. You’ll never survive without me. You’ll never find a man who will put up with a frigid ice bitch like you. She shivered. If Andrew really wanted to keep the girls, how would she fight him? She would have to go public with her side of the story, which would bring humiliation not only to her, but also to her kids. Would it be worth it?
A gust of wind rattled the door to the balcony. She rose and went to it. When she turned the knob, the door flew open with a bang. With the salty ocean air full on her face, she stepped onto the balcony, into a world of wild darkness. The wind howled and swirled around her. Instead of attacking her, it filled her with a strange, primal strength. Andrew didn’t have the right to keep her a helpless sex doll her whole life. She’d done enough. Gone along with his strange needs. Until he’d pushed her too far.
Again, she saw the back room where he’d brought her and his biggest fundraiser, a fat man who always managed to grab a feel whenever she greeted him. She knew he wanted her, Andrew knew he wanted her. This wasn’t one of their usual secret parties, where her face was hidden behind a mask. This was a political party, where their friends and other power brokers were socializing over cocktails and crab cakes. But Andrew had told her to unzip her jacket so the man could feel her breasts. And then he’d pushed her to her knees and left the room. The fat man had unzipped his pants hurriedly and thrust his penis at her mouth. He’d grabbed at her nipples and she’d cried out in pain, but he didn’t notice, or care. Enough, she’d thought. No more. Her parents hadn’t raised her to prostitute herself. She’d jumped to her feet, slapped him in the face, and that night, still riding the adrenaline of anger, she’d told Andrew she wanted out.
He couldn’t stop her. Just like no one could stop the wind that whipped against her legs and made her hair flap crazily against her face. She raised her arms into the air as if she were a sail catching the wind. Energy raced through her. It was exhilarating. It made her laugh out loud. It made her feel like a hundred-foot-high force of nature.
“Hey,” came a voice behind her. Dustin caught her waist from behind. “Don’t do anything crazy now.”
Crazy. She turned and threw her arms around his neck. With the wind now at her back, pushing her toward him, she yanked his head down to hers. In the dark, his eyes gleamed, startled. Maybe he said something, but the wind snatched the words away, and she didn’t want him to talk anyway. She wanted his mouth next to her, on her, and as soon as his lips touched hers, a current of something thrilling scorched through her body. Promise and excitement, as powerful as the storm winds, took her breath away. Strong, warm hands on her back snatched her closer to him. She was pressed into a hard chest, every line of his body melding with hers.
Shaking, she opened her mouth under his and moaned as his tongue entered her. So this was passion, this was desire. This was what it was like when a woman wanted a man. Nothing in her life had ever felt this good.
"Doll" is available now from Samhain Publishing.
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3 comments:
I like to see heroines who are intelligent. Not necessarily in a "book smarts" way, because there are plenty of ways to be intelligent. But my favorite heroines are always smart. They are women I would want to sit down and have coffee with. And they are unfortunately few and far between.
I heard an author once say that after years of writing romance novels, she realized that she always wrote her heroines to be unworthy of her heroes because she secretly thought that only she (the author) was good enough for her heroes. While I think there was a bit of tongue-in-cheek, it was nice to hear her be so honest, because I've wondered that about many authors before. I read these fantastic heroes that women would fall all over themselves for, and they fall for women that they really shouldn't be giving the time of day (apart from how apparently hot they are). Reminds me of Bridget Jones' Diary.
I am really inspired by heroines who can manage to be their flawed selves, and also be amazing and brilliant at the same time. *That* is a real heroine.
I like heroines I can connect with. If they're too stupid to live (Bella Swan?), I end up throwing the book across the room. If they're too perfect, I'm equally as frustrated.
I like intelligence and courage in my heroines. It's ok for her to be afraid of something, but it's how she reacts to that fear (running away, facing it head on, depending on your boyfriend to get you out of it) that defines what kind of person she is.
Rebecca, that is so interesting about the author making her heroines unworthy. I hope I would never do that, but I'll have to double/triple check myself. I always do fall a bit in love with my heroes. I like intelligent heroines too, and they are definitely hard to find.
Crista, I like what you say about facing fears. I always get annoyed when heroines lean on their boyfriends or fathers or brothers to protect them. A certain amount of that is okay, but I want to see the heroine stand up for herself too.
Thanks for reading and for your feedback!
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