"Virile stud."

That was the response I received from men when I asked, "How would you like to be portrayed in my novel? I could disguise you with any characteristics." Prodded for more detail, my male friends referenced writer Ian Fleming's James Bond (with the film versions in mind) or Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan (with Harrison Ford as the model, not Ben Affleck).

"Would I get to use a gun in your book?" came as an afterthought from Adam (note: all names in this essay are fictitious to protect the deluded). "I've always wanted to fire an Uzi."

"Sure, I'll keep that in mind for you." I said.

"Make me a doctor," begged Rob. This made no sense since he was a doctor, albeit a PhD in philosophy. He envisioned himself as a famous brain surgeon, with a low golf handicap. "Write a chapter with me at Pebble Beach, about to take a swing, and my beeper summons me to fly to Washington, D.C. to operate on the President. That would be cool, huh?" I jotted down notes on this scenario. Men did not take the question seriously or personally. Flippant, casual, and cartoon-like characteristics manifested themselves.

No man asked, "What kind of novel are you writing?" They assumed the hero would be a dashing lawyer, doctor, or spy. He would be rich and single. That piece of information might be the only calculated truth in their answer. The males projected their desire to be in their late twenties, unattached, and successful.

I received far more thoughtful answers from women friends. They reflected on the question and revealed a hidden facet of dreams or a correction of a perceived external flaw. Although I am untrained in the social sciences, I noticed a definite difference between male and female responses.

Women asked me questions in an attempt to narrow down my plot intentions and novel genre. I kept the field open and told them to spill out the first thing that came to mind. "Don't think too much. Give me your gut reaction."

"Better hair." This request came from Linda, who was blessed with a beautiful face and could wear hats well. She did not specify hair color for her abundant luxurious dream locks. Other friends leaned towards their opposite hair colors-- golden blondes chose inky black, browns desired blonde, and several ladies wanted an auburn hair with green eyes combination.

Weight was a general issue, though no one requested extreme voluptuousness. Women wanted to wear a slinky black dress to a cocktail party and not worry about panty lines. Another friend chose smaller feet. Sandra had been obsessed with her size elevens for years.

Tracy requested that her thinly disguised character travel to exotic locations. She did not elaborate on the reason for the travel, just that it be first-class and amazing. Amanda chose an international business career, an extreme fantasy from a woman who was a stay-at-home mother for eighteen years. Another woman expressed the desire to be a hooker with the proverbial heart of gold. Cliché, yes, but Joanie had always had some Gypsy Rose locked deep in her chaste Catholic soul.

My women friends put a lot of thought into their novel character's home, career, and life. They gave thorough explanations of their desired characteristics and lifestyle, and expounded on traits for fantasy husbands and children. Females, not males, gave follow-up answers weeks after I broached the subject.

One friend surprised me. After months of dealing with aged parents and siblings fighting over health decisions, she re-opened the character discussion. Straight-faced, she requested to be an orphan in my novel.

Character creation requires a lot of thought and care. Thinly disguising folks one knows is tricky business and cannot be taken lightly. Then again, in the case of men, every male I know will assume he is the hero. That is, as long as the hero is over six feet tall, has dark wavy hair, wears Armani suits, and checks his Tag watch before boarding a plane. My male friends will preen and thank me for issuing him a weapon. They will not lay claim to any character named Bob, George, or Merle.

Female friends will be harder to please and far more likely to spot flaws or take offense. Now that I asked the question, women will read my upcoming novel and search for a glimpse of their alter ego. The more I think about it, I plead writer's block. Perhaps, I can issue guns to the female characters and see what happens.

Joanne Faries, originally from the Philadelphia area, lives in Texas with her husband Ray. She considers herself fortunate to be able to pursue a writing career after eons in the business world. Published previously in Doorknobs & Bodypaint, Joanne writes short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. She has works on Associatedcontent.com, in Shine magazine, A Long Story Short.com, Chicken Soup for the Soul – Kids in the Kitchen, and has started a novel. Joanne enjoys reading and movies, and is the film critic for the Little Paper of San Saba. She is a member of Trinity Writer's Workshop in Bedford, Texas.

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