3:30 AM

I’m editing One Leap Year of Instants and pondering the nature of the Bechdel Test.

See, I’m also writing Kung Fu Zombies and the very low bar of the Bechdel Test is, for the first time ever, a very hard bar to clear.

Why?

Well… my protagonist and sole POV-holder is a self-absorbed, self-centred, self-important, white male. Age twelvish.

And he doesn’t get his head out of his arse until act three. The last third of the book.

It’s very hard to write a scene in which two women with names talk about something other than a man when the lead character instantly bitches about why they’re not talking about him.

And he’s such a firkin whiny brat already.

I made him twelve because that’s old enough to be moderately independent without making him too old to change who he really is. And this guy NEEDS to learn.

[IMO all self-oriented white males need to learn, but there’s only so much one can do]

Ugh.

I feel ashamed of myself. I was in the five-figure word count before my leading ladies even turned up, let alone had a chat.

On the other hand, I know I must be doing a great job at characterising him because this must be how self-oriented white males think when they’re writing a screenplay…

Pretty sure all of the scrape-by Bechdel passes are the direct result of a man thinking, Two female characters - check. Both with names - check. One line each to each other about something blatantly trivial and ignorable - check. I AM THE GREATEST HUMAN BEING ON THE PLANET.

And then I wonder if that type of person views that low bar as something akin to Everest. Or Olympus Mons.