Years ago I attended a writing seminar that said weak literary characters should never be part of a story and if a man dared to write a weak literary female character, then hanging was just too good for him.
I disagreed and here is proof that you can write stories with a weak literary female character.
They’re just not very good …
Please don’t hurt me.
Belinda McFate: The Literary World's Weakest Female Character!
The door suddenly collapsed and rats flooded the room.
Belinda jumped up on a chair, held up the hem of her dress, stamped her pretty little feet, and screamed like a ... well, like a girl.
"Where's a man when you need one! I need a man!" she screamed.
Sadly, men, chauvinist pigs that they are, will have nothing to do with weak women.
Eight hours later, Belinda pulled the last of the scrambling rats out of her once glorious golden mane and flung it out the window.
As she wrapped the ragged remains of her $2,000 dress around her, two delicate diamond tears beaded in the corners of her emerald green eyes to begin their course down her blushing cheeks.
She shook her little delicate fist for effect and suddenly the universe held its collective breath as the miraculous was about to happen.
Pretty little Belinda McFate was going to make a declaration.
"The next time, “she said. "The next time I need somebody to help me ..."
Her eyes flashed green fire as she set her perfect jaw in determination, "I ... shall ... scream .... louder!"
The Return of Belinda McFate—The Literary World's Weakest Female Character
Belinda McFate's hands trembled as she read the instructions on the back of the package of Ramen noodles.
"Boil two cups of water," she read aloud. Her pretty bow of a mouth turned into a pretty pout as her eyelids trembled with tears. Why do they have to make the instructions so complicated?
She paced the room of her tiny apartment willing herself not to cry. "Boil two cups of water," she whispered to herself. "Boil two cups of water."
She stopped her pacing, sighed, and realized she really, really needed a man to help her. Sadly, she grabbed the bag of noodles and a sauce pan, walked out into the hallway and timidly knocked on the door of the adjacent apartment.
The door opened and Belinda's emerald eyes shot open to take in masculine magnificence.
He stood bare-chested in the doorway, clad only in khaki pants, and top-of-the-line hiking boots. He had his brown hair trimmed to perfection and she knew if she could only touch his chin it would be as smooth as her own. She allowed her vision to wander down his bare physique, past his massive chest, down his slim waist and abdomen with its clearly defined muscles.
"Wow," she said, her voice barely a squeak.
"Yes," he said, "I have that effect. What can I do for you, miss?"
She held out the saucepan. "Could ... could I borrow some boiling water?"
The man looked down at the saucepan and saw the package of Ramen noodles dangling from her right hand.
"Well, now, pretty lady," he said with a smile that made her knees go weak, "I think I can help you here. Come in."
He took the saucepan from her and the package of noodles. "Ah, yes. Ramen noodles. Man food. Let me show you how I cook these."
She followed him into the kitchen that looked more like a gourmet restaurant. The man poured water into the saucepan from the sink's faucet, opened the package of noodles, added them to the water, and then opened the spice packet and sprinkled the contents on top.
Taking two potholders, he grabbed the two handles of the saucepan and gave them to Belinda. "Now hold that pot just like that," he said.
Then taking her face between his two strong hands, he kissed her, long and slow with passion and Belinda’s eyes wouldn't close because they too wanted to know what had hit them.
Their lips parted and he stood back with a smile.
"Wow," she said.
"Well, sweetheart," the man said as he turned and took a shirt from the back of a chair and put it on. "My testosterone is calling me to Cairo."
He grabbed a fedora off the kitchen table and flipped it casually over his head. "I trust you'll see your own way out."
Belinda's lips tried to move. She tried to say, "Please take me with you" and "Hunka, hunka burnin' love!," but the only word that came out was another high-squeaking, "Wow."
"Yes. Quite." And with that, he dove out his open kitchen window and she heard his feet going down the fire escape and out of her life.
Belinda smelled something delicious and looking down saw the pot in her hands was boiling quite merrily with Ramen noodles ready to eat.
The End of Belinda McFate—The Literary World's Weakest Female Character
Belinda screamed as she stood on her tabletop. The ninjas that had just burst through the windows surrounded her doing unnecessary katas and flourishes as bad guys are want to do when they have a pretty innocent cornered.
True to form, Lance Bullet, Belinda's next door neighbor, burst through the front door.
He deftly tossed his fedora into the face of the nearest ninja and the resulting second of distraction allowed our hero to send the ninja smashing into another from a blow from Lance's strong right fist.
Flipping his steel pen out of his coat pocket, Lance deftly flung it as a dagger into the chest of another black-clad assassin and as the killer fell to the floor, Lance ducked just in time to allow five shurikens to sail over his head and embed themselves into the body of another.
With four down, the remaining ninja looked about at his fallen comrades and then with several deft back flips, launched himself out the window into the alley below.
Lance dusted off his hands as Belinda stared at the carnage about her. "Well, now," he said, "I've rescued you from interdimensional demons, Illuminati cultists, alien abductors, and now it's ninjas." He looked about at the limp bodies and sighed. "The only way I'm going to get any rest is to just marry you once and for all."
"Wow," Belinda squeaked.
They found a Justice of the Peace and though they had to deal with the sudden arrival of a Martian warlord who fancied Belinda as his new slave, the ceremony went without incident.
That night, Belinda and her new husband prepared for a romantic evening.
She slipped into an almost invisible next-to-nothing. Lance slid into bed and patted the space beside him.
Belinda smiled. "I'll be right back," she said coyly.
Walking toward the kitchen through the dark living room, she casually reached up and plucked a Hashashiyyin from the ceiling where he had suspended himself by his fingers and toenails.
"I will use small words so you can understand," she said, her hand in a firm grip around his throat. The happy, cute smile never left her face. "Tonight is my wedding night and if you or any of your ilk disturb me or my husband, I will make you hurt and make you hurt in a way you've never experienced."
She pulled him close so he could look deep into Belinda’s emerald green eyes that spoke of unmentionable cruelties. "All Lance can do is kill you, but I'm a woman," she said casually. "I can make you wish I had just killed you outright."
She let the assassin go and he hastily backed up bowing and muttering apologies until his backside hit the door. In a flash, the door opened and closed leaving Belinda alone in the comforting dark.
+ + +
Lance looked up from his bed to see his new bride carrying a pot full of water and a package of Ramen noodles. "Let's make supper," she said with a wink.