So right now I’m getting ready to go on blog tour with Candace Havens and Lily Lang to promote our new steampunk anthology from Entangled Publishing (A Riveting Affair) and while I was prepping for that I saw another post by Michelle McLean about Protective Heroes and how she loves fictional alpha males. And I got to thinking. And that led to a big realization on my part.
I don’t like the typical alpha males. I really, really don’t. In fact most of the romance novels I’ve thrown across a room in the past few years have involved alpha males. Case in point? I never made it any further in Twilight than the sneaking in the window bit and I wanted to put the book through a shredder.
I can’t stand big protective guys who sends bodyguards or stalks a heroine “for her own good” and doesn’t think “wow I need to go out and get a hobby, or possibly spend some time in therapy. A lot of time in therapy.”
I’m not saying I don’t like a man who can stand up for himself or for a woman for that matter. I do. I really do. Ask all the nice men who I ground into the dirt during what my girlfriends called my uniform phase. I like muscles and tattoos and a guy who knows his way around a tank. (I have friended Men in Uniform on Facebook where these yummy gentlemen came from and am not ashamed to admit it.) But being honest with myself—what all the guys in my uniform phase had in common besides bulging muscles, tattoos and uniforms was one thing—they all had brains. And they respected that I had them as well.
Or as the nice police officer I dated during that phase put it. “I gave you a can of mace, I taught you how to drop an attacker, you’re going five blocks in a safe neighborhood, why should I come pick you up from work when I could be here making you dinner instead?” Trust me, he was right—guy made a killer Chicken Piccata. I mean seriously it should have been illegal it was that good. And I always made it home perfectly safe while we together — without him once coming to escort me home.
So that’s what I want in a fictional alpha male. To be evolved enough to know that my ovaries don’t make me weak and in need of protection.
That’s the one place that we as romance writers can take a clue from reality. We can write guys who are tough and strong and sexy as hell but have evolved beyond caveman sensibilities when it comes to women. We can write the same types of men that we are raising our sons to be and our daughters to want. And we can give all men—fictional or otherwise—the respect that they deserve by not writing them as caricatures.
Not every romance novel of course—because not everyone will agree with me and they’ll like their cavemen but as far as I’m concerned the cavemen knights in shining armor trope can go the way of amnesia babies and raping her till she loves me tropes. Which is completely off my reading and writing list.