I think my personality prevents me from writing level-headed female MC's whose darkness still comes off as chipper.
People who don't know me very well see a nice blonde-haired, blue-eyed lady who talks so quietly they could never see me getting upset, but those who know me would probably agree that I'm just Emily the Strange on the inside, wearing all black, feeling cynical and less than optimistic when crossed.
I want to be normal, and less enraged at general stupidity, but I have a hard time overlooking the quirks emanating from the random natured people around me. Perhaps this is the uttermost reason I need to write, small things stand out to me in a way that makes me think, "You're kidding, right?"
For example, last week I was volunteering in my son's kindergarten class along with another mom and a grandma who makes rounds at the school (an on-the-fly volunteer). I like to keep to myself and just do my thing, but of course, something or someone always crosses the line from common sense and courtesy into something like anarchy in solidarity (I'm an extremist at times, bear with me).
After the first round of kids left my table I got up and sharpened the pencils in my cup and then waited for the next round of kids. When all the kids had taken their seats, I overheard the grandma at the table next to me say, "Let me get some sharpened pencils for you kids." And then she came over to my table, grabbed a handful of sharpened pencils from my cup replacing them with her unsharpened pencils.
I was stupefied first, and then as the seconds passed, I became angry. In the way of common courtesy I (perhaps wrongfully) assume that we are all on level playing fields as far as age (this might be an indication that I truly believe in a higher power although I'm still questioning religion in my life).
I couldn't start a fight with the woman, so I sunk so low that I became passive aggressive. The only people around me who could possibly relate to my feelings were the five-year-olds, that's when I became one. When one of the kids at the table pointed to the cup of pencils and said, "Why are only some of these sharpened?" I immediately pointed to the grandma and said, "She took them."
Now, eight days later, I'm still shaking my head about this woman and her actions. I can't stop thinking, "What kind of person does that anyway?"
See why I have a problem writing female main characters? This must be why the MC's for the next two books I plan to write are male POV's.
It might just be me, but male POV's don't seem to get the same stigma for being grumpy and depressed as female MC's do.
My mom thinks I should takes notes from Erma Bombeck and write a book about all the idiocy I encounter, but for now I'm sticking to MG and YA, while avoiding the female MC until I get a good grasp on how to lighten her up by detaching her from me.