Why My Heroines Aren’t “Likeable” (and Why I’m Cool with That)

Women with teeth don’t need permission.

People love to tell me my female characters aren’t “likeable.”I’ve heard that so many times I’d like a dollar for each utterance — I’d be rolling in dough.

They say it like they’ve caught me doing something wrong.

“She’s too abrasive.”

“She’s too blunt.”

“She makes bad choices.”

“She doesn’t act grateful.”

“She doesn’t act like I would in that situation.”

“She doesn’t talk like a lady.”

“She should smile more.”

“She’s not easy to root for.”

And every single time, I grin a little and think: Good.

She’s not supposed to be.

I didn’t grow up around soft, sweet, no-trouble women who apologized for taking up space.

I grew up around women who held their families together with grit, willpower, and a subtle threat in the way they cut their eyes at you. Women who survived things men bragged about causing. Women who didn’t crumble. Women who didn’t behave. Women who said exactly what they were thinking in no-uncertain (frequently raw) terms. Women who damn well didn’t ask permission.

So no, I don’t write “nice” heroines. I write real ones.

Don’t misunderstand — they weren’t heathens or biker-bar chicks. They were real women who were tough because that’s who they were. It was in the breeding.

Take my sister, for example. She’s more of a lady than I am. She revels in the performative niceness that makes her popular with people. But I know what she’s like when she’s not in costume — hell hath no fury… and she knows I know it. We tell people: “Same father, different mood.”

You get the picture.

The Lie of the “Likeable Woman” (forget about the heroine for a minute)

“Likeable” is a performance.

It’s code for:

• be smal

l• be pretty

• be polite

• be digestible

• don’t rock the boat

• be flawless, but not intimidating

• be strong, but not too strong

• be emotional, but not hysterical

• feel first, think later

The world loves a woman who’s palatable —and turns on a woman who dares to be complicated.

But the women I know? They’re not made of sugar and sunshine.

They’re made of fire, grief, humor, instinct, spite, loyalty, and survival .And they do not owe anyone comfort.

Flawed Women Are Honest Women

My heroines (and many of my female characters):

• snap when they’re cornered

• say the quiet part out loud

• stay in relationships too long

• leave too late

• fight dirty

• shut down instead of opening up

• make choices they regret

• trust the wrong people (or no one at all)

• love the wrong people

• and carry wounds that never healed pretty

They’re not perfect.

They’re human.

And personally?

I trust the flawed ones more than the polished ones.

Southern Noir Doesn’t Have Room for Dainty

Down here, women grow up learning: Nobody is coming. Nobody is rescuing you. Nobody is fixing the mess.

You make your own damn way, or the world swallows you whole.

So my heroines don’t faint. They don’t wait. They don’t break neatly. They don’t wrap their trauma in lace and handkerchiefs.

They brace their shoulders, grit their teeth, and step into the dark anyway.

That’s not “likeable.”

That’s survival.

Why I Don’t Mind What Readers Think of Them

Because I’m not writing role models. I’m writing women who exist. Or existed. Women who’ve been overlooked, underestimated, blamed, silenced, and told to be grateful. Women who deserved stories all along.

These aren’t the heroines who get invited to brunch. These are the heroines who bury the bodies after brunch.

And if someone side-eyes them for not being soft enough? Good.

Let them side-eye from a safe distance.

The Rub

If you’re here for women who behave, sorry about that — but not sorry. If you’re here for women who bite —pull up a chair.

I got you covered.