The Complaints Department: What Your Over-40 FMC Wants You To Know – Romance Edition

After finishing a draft, I asked my FMC what she really thought of my writing decisions.
She filed a formal complaint.

Dear Author,

I am writing today to file several complaints. I have tried to bring these to your attention previously – both by being that annoying voice in your head that asks inconvenient questions as you write, and by refusing to take part in your so-called plot. Yes, that bout of writer's block you had last month was my fault, and no, I’m not sorry. You pushed me to it.

But rather than run rampant across your pages like some feral, clichéd catastrophe, I’m taking a leaf out of your book and putting pen to paper – or fingers to keyboard, whatever.

Complaint 1: You’ve neglected me for weeks.

I know I'm fictional, and it’s not like I’m some diva who demands attention (much), but a little company would be nice. You left me alone. At home. With nothing in the fridge. Nothing.

Which leads me to…

Complaint 2: Feed me, woman!

I know ‘feeding me’ takes up a whole load of word count and page space, but can a girl not get a meal around here? I feel like I’ve spent the entire book running on empty – which is ridiculous when you think about the bedroom scenes you expect me to perform in.

And don’t even get me started on the week you left me…all worked up! There’s edging, and then there’s unnecessary punishment.

And when you finally returned?

Oh, coming back to you now, is it?

We got interrupted.

By the bloody parrot.

A Parrot! Really?

A little care wouldn’t go amiss.

Complaint 3: My age.

I’m in my 40s. I’m fine with it. Really. But what kind of unhinged person forces a woman my age to examine her early-morning reflection for twenty-one paragraphs? At 5am? With pillow creases and smudged make-up?

And as if that reminder that I’m not a sprightly, fresh-faced twenty-something anymore wasn’t enough, you’ve littered my world with men who make Henry Cavill look like some hideous creature from outer space.

And while Henry is completely age-appropriate and I so wouldn’t kick him out of bed, I really just want a man with a dad-bod, greying hair, and laughter lines. You know, a real man. If he has an arthritic knee, needs glasses to read, or has a nerdy obsession with gaming, model building, or his 3D printer, it’s not a deal-breaker. If his fridge is stocked and he knows how to turn on the oven and the washing machine? Take. Me. Now.

Complaint 4: The number of hot young men.

There’s nothing wrong with them (apart from that one scumbag who just wanted to ‘bang an older bird’ – if you bring him back, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.) But generally, they’re okay guys. Maybe a little immature. With commitment issues. And they all smell of cedar, musk, or pine. With shirts that somehow fall off at every opportunity (okay, so I’m not totally mad at that – I’m ageing, but I’ve still got a pulse!)

The problem isn’t them. Or me. It’s you.

You keep making me conveniently run into them – sometimes literally run into them. And then you have me stand there, red, flustered and totally lost for words, like some kind of bumbling idiot with no control over my mouth or limbs.

May I remind you I have a degree? And a first-aid certificate. And some badges from that one month in Brownies… in crafts. And gardening.

I have skills. And a brain. Can I maybe get to use them once in a while?

I feel you should explain yourself; I deserve that. And while I’m here, I demand some changes.

I need a meal. And no, that sandwich I took one bite out of in Chapter 12 is not acceptable, and the smoothie on the way to the station in Chapter 1 did not count as breakfast.

Let the guy you pair me up with be a bit messy and lived-in. Like a tired single dad, with a love of cuddling up in the afternoons and taking a nap. One who knows what he wants, isn’t afraid to show his emotions, and realises that one argument doesn’t mean it’s game-over.

And please, for the love of all things intellectual, let me use my math skills and show that man I have a brain.

Until then, your author rating is stuck at one star: Has unresolved fantasies she’s trying to live out through me and just because she’s an insomniac who somehow thrives on three hours of sleep, thinks we all can.

You want more stars? You make some changes around here.

Respectfully,

Your undernourished, overstimulated, silver-fox fancying over-40 FMC

Right, now she’s finished venting, let’s get to why that was important… Why I Wrote This Letter.

All of that was an exercise I did with one of my own characters after writing my first draft. She was a feisty little thing, as you can tell.

A Little Craft Insight: You vs Your FMC.

Take a second here… Is what you think you’re writing really matching up to who your FMC actually is?

As authors, we want to create strong leads, bold protagonists, and characters that live rent-free in the reader’s heads long after they’ve put the book down.

But how do you know you’re getting it right?

I’m a romance author, and I know I want my FMCs to be passionate, determined, independent and brave, but also a little soft and emotional, because… that’s real life.

And, like a lot of authors, I talk to my characters. Yes, sometimes even out loud (don’t pretend you haven’t done it.)

But what if they talked back? You ever wonder what they’d say?

Well, after reading my first draft through and having gotten to know Lily (my FMC) pretty well during the write, I started to see a few things she might want me to put right.

Like why her love interest was a sculpted Adonis of a man with a high-flying job and tragic backstory.

(If you want to know, he’s now a just-divorced, almost-homeless bartender with a bitterly bitchy ex-wife and an absolute scene-stealer of a daughter. So, yeah – messy. Oh, and he’s a little soft around the middle.

And that’s fine. Because love is messy. And men aren’t all perfect. Even the seemingly perfect ones.

You don’t always want a gym-sculpted, square-jawed, high-earning Mr Perfect. Often, you’d take comfort over cash, substance over style, and definitely emotional understanding over easy-on-the-eye.

When She Starts Talking Back… Let’s Get Into What She Really Thinks.

Trust me, your heroine probably feels the same. And let’s face it, we’ve probably already given her enough emotional trauma in her backstory to keep her therapist in Gucci handbags for several millennia. She might just want real, snuggly, and emotionally available.

You’re busy living out your fantasy on the page and writing about hot mountain men in lumberjack shirts or high-flying CEO’s with slick hair, smooth pick-up lines, and a limitless supply of cedar soap (and shower gel, aftershave, beard oil – the list goes on), but how is that translating on the page?

Is it you who really wants to stare at him, open-mouthed, for three and a half chapters?

Is it your fantasy to change that different-woman-each-night bad boy with the trauma-heavy backstory into a foot-massaging, cupcake-baking, puppy?

I’m not saying these tropes are bad. I’ve written them myself. I love these tropes – LOVE them. But have you chosen one that is aligned with your FMC?

Because if not, she’s going to have notes for you!

And like my Lily above, she might be a little sarcastic about it.

You gave your character life – and she’s grateful – but she’s still going to tell you when you get it wrong.

Whether that be waking you at 3am to throw some intrusive thoughts into your head about your latest subplot involving her male best friend (that she definitely has a thing for) while you’re trying to force her towards the cute librarian in Apartment 9…

… or causing you endless rewrites by going rogue…

… or giving you writer’s block for two weeks because she’s barricaded herself in her room like a petulant teenager.

And here’s the thing: sometimes, she’s right.

Because if those things are happening, they’re originating in your head. You know something is off. You know something is needling away at you. You just might not realise what it is yet.

So take a look at things from her point of view.

Based on who you’ve made her, what would she want?

🚩 Is your over-forty, hurt-by-every-man-she’s-ever-dated protagonist really going to want a twenty-eight-year-old playboy with commitment issues?

🚩 Is your recently divorced, newly independent, life-of-the-party, backpacking adventurer really going to look twice at the guy who she’s only run into today because he’s popped out for milk – the same guy who otherwise hasn’t left his house in three weeks because he’s been involved in an online gaming extravaganza and prefers to live behind a screen – when she’s got a teenager at home that does the same?

🚩 Is she going to fall for a guy who works seventy-hour weeks and plays golf with his buddies at weekends when lack of time is the reason she divorced her ex?

✅ Or is she going to want safety, security, and a fridge that’s seen more than cans of beer and leftover takeout?

If those red flag men are only in your book to bolster the word count – and your brain is itching with doubts – it might be time to let your FMC take charge.

The Reality Check.

She’s over forty. She’ll tell you things like…

🔹She cannot survive on fresh air alone.

🔹Men who don’t eat carbs are not her friend, let alone a lover.

🔹She doesn’t want to get in bed with a man whose sole aim is to leave before last orders so he can get another pint in.

🔹She may be over 40, but perimenopause has hit, she has no idea who she is anymore, she's going to have emotional breakdowns daily, and so Mr Emotionally Vacant isn’t going to cut it.

🔹She wants a man who is already broken in; she doesn’t want a project. Maybe she even wants one whose knees creak when he bends, who thinks 9pm is a perfectly reasonable time for bed, who knows whipped cream is best on hot chocolate and not in the bedroom leaving sticky patches on the bedclothes, and one who doesn’t flinch when you call and ask him to pick you up some tampons on the way home from work.

10 Things Your FMC Hates About Your Writing

Oh, trust me, she’s got a list of complaints. Do any of these sound like things your FMC might spit at you if you and her got into it?

1.       Let me make the first move.
I’m ballsy and independent, I can hit on that cute guy in the produce section all by myself, thank you. With that fruit-squeezing technique, he might be good at something. Cooking. I meant cooking. Honest.

2.       Stop interrupting every kiss.
Phone calls, people barging in, storms sending the cat into a tailspin so bad it runs through dinner, knocks over the wine, lamp, bookshelf, and leaves fettuccini footprints across my first edition Jane Eyre.
It’s happened seven times so far. I’m counting.

3.       Where’s Becca?
You know, my best friend you said I was inseparable from in Chapter 1. She’s mysteriously vanished.

4.       Why are all the men half-naked?
Is my heating stuck on high? Is he allergic to fabric? It’s the UK… it’s not that hot.
And cooking pancakes while naked? Is that even sanitary? I could do without a pube between my teeth in my meeting later. But kudos for giving me a meal in chapter 20. I’ve not eaten since chapter 2, and that was almost six weeks ago.

5.       Why do I get a makeover with every new love interest?
I’ve worn glasses since age ten. Suddenly I feel the need to get contacts, a new hairstyle, six push-up bras, and a whole new wardrobe?
If he’s interested, he’s getting slept-in make-up, a messy bun and tracky pants. Deal with it.

6.       Why are we talking about the toilet lock-in of Christmas ‘99?
Is the fact my aunt once locked me in the downstairs toilet by accident one Christmas trauma? No.
Is it relevant? Also no.
My point entirely. Let’s move on.

7.       Why did my eyes change colour overnight?
Also, back in Chapter 3, I was a redhead. A little continuity, please.

8.       Do I have to fall in love with every man? I’m a grown woman, not a love-struck teenager downloading baby-generator apps every time I see a man in a leather jacket, with tattoos and a smile that could stop traffic.
Also, I’m forty-seven – there’ll be no more kids taking up residence for nine months at Casa Me.

9.       A man won’t fix me.
I started out this book as an anxiety-riddled mess, and falling in love is not going to magically cure that, my sesame allergy, my fear of birds, or that one dodgy toenail that just won’t grow straight.
Unless we’ve suddenly switched genres and he’s a wizard.
In which case… can he make my butt fit in those size twelve jeans I bought in 2015, forgot to send back and now live at the back of my wardrobe tormenting me?

10.  Must I internal monologue everything?
Ugh, it’s so exhausting. Can’t I just have someone to talk to? A confidante? You know, maybe Becca.
Oh, she’s now called Kate? And brunette? And in a secret relationship with my love interest’s best friend?
I can’t keep up with you. I’m tired. Can we write in a nap?

Takeaway Time*

(Not that kind of takeaway… unless we’re ordering pizza)*

I bet you laughed, cringed, or apologised in your head to your FMC while reading at least one of those.

And that’s normal. Expected. I’ve written them all. Where do you think the idea for this blog came from?

Let your protagonist have a good whinge and get it all out of her system.

It’s a surprisingly good editing tool and will highlight:

📝 plot holes

📝 uncharacteristic behaviour

📝 scenes that need strengthening

📝 dodgy subplots

📝 unrealistic men

📝 your own slightly kinky fantasies

📝 …and so much more.

Ready To Try It Out?

If you think your over-40 romance heroine may be more:

‘I need a man who knows how to empty the bins’

than

‘I need a man crafted by a master sculptor and can last for twelve hours in bed’ (plot hole right there, ladies. We’d both be sore, need a nap, and a snack, right?)

…and would definitely have something to say if she ever escaped those pages…

Give her the chance. Download my Complaints Department Letter Template: Over 40s Romance Edition.

It can be pretty funny.

We’ve all got an FMC with notes, so why not give it a go? And feel free to share the chaos with me?