The Men I Write: Colton, Christiaan, and the Making of a Hero

There’s a reason readers become attached to fictional heroes.

It isn’t just because they’re handsome.

And it isn’t because they’re perfect.

Readers fall in love with heroes because of how those heroes make them feel.

Safe. Chosen. Protected. Cherished. Seen.

And in a culture where masculinity is often either mocked, softened into passivity, or twisted into selfish domination, I think many women are quietly starving for stories about honorable men again.

Not macho caricatures.
Not controlling “alphas.”
Not emotionally vacant pretty boys.

But real men.

Strong men.

Good men.

Men who know how to lead without crushing, protect without controlling, and love without consuming.

That’s the kind of hero I write.

The word masculine has become strangely controversial in modern culture.

For some people, masculinity immediately conjures images of arrogance, emotional cruelty, selfishness, domination, or misogyny.

Others reduce men to bumbling incompetence or portray fathers and husbands as weak, childish, or unnecessary altogether.

I reject both extremes.

Broken masculinity is toxic.

But real masculinity is not.

Across all my pen names, my heroes tend to share certain qualities:

• protective

• competent

• devoted

• sacrificial

• spiritually grounded

• emotionally observant

• quietly dominant

• unapologetically masculine

But what matters most is how they use that strength.

My heroes do not wield masculinity to control women.

They use it to love, protect, defend, lead, and serve.

Strength exists to protect—not consume or abuse.

One of the things I think women respond to most strongly in my heroes is that they are emotionally safe without becoming weak.

They are capable men.

Competent men.

Men who can fight if necessary, lead when required, sacrifice without hesitation, and stand firm under pressure.

But with the women they love?

They become gentle. Tender. Patient. Protective.

Not because they are lesser men—but because they are good men.

And I think many women long for that kind of masculinity now more than ever.

Although many of my heroes share certain moral and emotional traits, they are not all copies of one another.

Some are playful and warm.

Others are reserved and disciplined.

Some carry visible wounds while others hide them quietly beneath the surface.

But all of them are shaped by responsibility, loyalty, faith, sacrifice, and love.

And perhaps no two heroes demonstrate that contrast better than Colton and Christiaan.

Colton is warmth.

Movement.

Life.

He grew up an orphan without knowing who his parents were, spent years drifting across America, and eventually found himself swallowed by Hollywood and the sex industry before finally discovering faith, purpose, and real love.

And despite everything he’s seen?

Colton remains deeply human. Playful. Funny. Loyal. Sacrificial.

He is the kind of man who would move heaven and hell for the people he loves.

When he marries Aviana, her family becomes his family. When he becomes a father, he throws himself into fatherhood wholeheartedly because he refuses to let his own lack of upbringing prevent him from becoming a great husband and dad.

Colton isn’t perfect.

But he shows up.

Every single time.

And that reliability—the willingness to stand firm for the people he loves—is what makes him so deeply attractive.

Where Colton is warmth, Christiaan is restraint.

He was reared to become king beneath the shadow of a corrupt father whose cruelty, infidelity, manipulation, and hunger for power deeply shaped Christiaan’s understanding of leadership and morality.

Instead of becoming like his father, Christiaan turned toward faith.

Toward honor.

Toward discipline.

Toward integrity.

By the time Alexis enters his life, Christiaan has become a deeply controlled man carrying enormous burdens:

• political pressure,

• grief,

• betrayal,

• caution,

• responsibility,

• and loneliness.

At first, Alexis mistakes his reserve for coldness.

But beneath that restraint is an intensely loyal man desperate to protect the people he loves.

And once Christiaan commits himself to someone?

He does so completely.

Not halfway.

Not conditionally.

Fully.

That depth of devotion is what makes him so compelling.

One of the questions I’m most fascinated by is:

Why do women respond so emotionally to certain kinds of heroes?

Because the reaction is often immediate and visceral.

Women may not always be able to articulate why they love a hero—but they feel it deeply nonetheless.

And personally?

I think it comes down to emotional safety.

Despite what modern culture often claims, I don’t believe women are longing for weaker men.

I think many women are actually exhausted from feeling as though they must carry both masculine and feminine roles simultaneously.

Many are tired of emotional passivity. Tired of instability. Tired of selfishness. Tired of men unwilling to lead, sacrifice, protect, commit, or remain steadfast.

And when women encounter heroes who are:

• loyal,

• dependable,

• courageous,

• emotionally steady,

• faithful,

• protective,

• and kind,

something inside them exhales.

Because those men feel safe to trust.

I think one of the saddest things modern culture has taught women is that femininity itself is weakness.

So women harden themselves.

Armor themselves.

Brace themselves.

And many forget what it feels like to simply soften into being a woman loved by a worthy man.

My heroes create emotional shelter.

Not because my heroines are incapable—but because they are cherished.

And when a woman feels emotionally safe, protected, and valued, she often becomes softer, warmer, more peaceful, more hopeful, and more fully herself.

That’s the emotional experience I hope readers feel while reading my heroes.

Love changes all my heroes.

Not by weakening them.

But by deepening them.

The right woman does not erase their masculinity—she calls forth the best parts of it.

My heroines do not “complete” my heroes because I don’t believe broken people should seek relationships to become whole.

But they do help refine them. Balance them. Soften rough edges. Strengthen vulnerable places.

And call them into greater emotional honesty, tenderness, joy, and peace.

Together, they become stronger than either would have been alone.

At the end of the day, the men I write are ultimately men who successfully live out being both lovers and fighters.

Fighters:

• for their families,

• for their women,

• for their faith,

• for what is right,

• and for the people entrusted to their care.

But also lovers:

• gentle with their wives,

• tender with children,

• emotionally devoted,

• faithful,

• sacrificial,

• and willing to lay down their lives if necessary.

That, to me, is honorable masculinity.

And I think the world desperately needs more of it.