Who's Your Friend?

I was thinking about how subjective what we read (and write) is. A character I thought was benignly bitchy (Cassie Hayes in Spanish Disco) was loathed by one editor who passed before it was bought. I had men and women readers find her charming. And more than a couple who just couldn't stand her. But I have a high tolerance for snark and bitchiness if someone is smart, and so I actually liked her. She was someone I could be friends with.

And in thinking about it, particularly in genre fiction, you are always walking a fine line. Too quirky or too flawed and readers won't "like" your main character. Too likable and you end up with bland. My editor had a real problem with this character. Skye was a gambling addict. By definition, that meant she made foolish choices. I felt like I understood her. Addicts can be very likable and charming. But my editor . . . she was less certain, and we had conversations about it.

I suppose it's a bit like friendship. If I were to walk into a cocktail party where I didn't know a soul, and survey the crowd . . . if there was a cluster of "beautiful people" all smartly dressed over there. And a cluster of "power professionals" over there . . . and a smattering of small groups around the room of couples who look well, ordinary . . . I would make a beeline for the group of people over there with pink and blue hair, maybe a few tattoos, and a unique fashion sense.

My friends in real life are every color, religion (even lesser-known religions, like Baha'i, which is the chosen religion of my lifelong girlfriend), shape and size, and country of origin. They are rarely in professions where you punch a clock, though I suppose I know a couple who do. My best friend in the entire world and I have the following coversation once a month:

"I went and got my hair done today."
"What color?"
"Sort of pink. With the front pieces bleached out."
"Cool. Send me a picture."

My oldest daughter, the last party I went to solo, told me I looked like a "hot lesbian." When I asked what exactly a hot lesbian looked like, she said, "You." (For the record, I had on black pants, a black camisole, a white blouse, and a black man's vest on over it, and I was wearing my--as Oldest Daughter calls them--Lesbian Glasses . . . black with rhinestones.) And before anyone gets pissed at me over this stereotype, I gotta tell you, I have NO idea what a Hot Lesbian looks like. I am merely repeating her comments. However, I DO know a Hot Lesbian does NOT look like a Barbie Doll Mom, which is how most women around here dress.

So here's the thing. I write about about characters I can relate to. That I personally would want to be friends with. And it's dawning on me that sometimes that means I am going to butt up against a wide swath of readers who wouldn't want to be friends with my main character. And it also dawns on me, particularly in commercial fiction or genre fiction, how often that's a concern--likeable but not bland, flawed but not unforgivable.

Readers invite your characters into their lives for a few hours. They really get invested in them. They are, in their minds, justifiably angry when your characters do something horrible or they act "out of character." I think you can break more rules when you're established than when you are trying to break in.

So in your current work in progress, would you want to be friends with your main character? I actually would. But judging from the above . . . that's just saying my character is a little different.