Well, look: I just finished reading Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind, and won't bore you with all of the particulars (my review is over hither.) But there's a lot to it, good and bad, and this blog is nothing if not a Sarlacc pit for fiction.
Anyway, I'll keep this particular digestive contraction short. Here is the thing: writers of the world, you do not have to have women in your books. Really. There are some truly fine first-rate stories in which women are nowhere in the picture: the Old Man and the Sea was exactly that, Bilbo Baggins got there and back again with nary a lady in sight, and I'll spare you the Moby Dick reference. In short, there is nothing wrong with sporting an all-male cast.
BUT (and boy, it's a big but.) If you're going to feature women in your story, and you want my dollars and my readership, I would kindly ask that you balance out your stupid and/or submissive women with some of the other kind. Think of it like fixing your carbon footprint by planting some trees.
"But," you may say, "writing women is HARD. The delicate-flower thing isn't PC anymore, but everybody gives you grief if you just make a man with tits."
BOY do I hear that. So here's what you do: go watch Firefly. Doesn't take long; they canned it after like one season. Watch and learn, and then, get feminine. You might even like it.
Sir? I'd like you to take the helm, please. I need this man to tear all my clothes off.