There are aspects of the written word that are tied to our minds and mental tendencies that are not as transferable as the ink to the page. Aspects of what it means to be distinctly male and female, I dare say how God intended.
These aspects are like the aroma of a good soup, simmering on the stove of creative's muse's kitchen. Noticeable from the mere entrance of the audience to the work but not identifiable without a taste of the subject matter.
A mother can not write of the violence of war the way a soldier does, from the perspective of a soldier. She may empathize and sympathize but the soldier will know what it feels like for a man to kill a man.
The soldier, conversely, can never, no matter how versed and researched, speak with any of the authority of the mother in childbirth on childbirth.
These perspectives are not lines to be drawn in distinction but rather lenses and filters to observe the world better in. For there is a desperate need in this world for soldiers to be willing to understand the birth of children and mothers to be willing to understand the horrors of war.
If nothing else the written word gives us this unassuming table where both sexes can sit and lends itself more to understanding than spoken words tend to.
As Anne Frank said, "Paper is more patient than people." And our written words can be sipped and spooned through like the noodles of a soup. rich in its composition and varied in its ingredients.
As for the men who write. Your masculinity is part of the body whose hand holds that pen and hovers over that keyboard. Your aggression, your stoicism, your logic, pride, and honour all blend as the muse stirs your pot. You do not write with these aspects as to overshadow or replace the aspects of feminine authors of which I am not fit to adequately describe. But instead to compliment them.
Neither is better, both are needed.
The way you need a bowl and a spoon to eat soup.