I have guy characters in this novel who are not doing what they’re supposed to do. They manipulate the system, they’re preoccupied by computer games, they smell like work, they talk back to adults, they take stupid risks, they’re restless, they’re competitive, and their timing is awful. They’re also thoughtful, generous with small things and big, intensely creative, loyal to their families, and fierce. One is good at kissing in the rain. Another is funny.
I know, as a writer, I should line up one of these guys in a proper swoony relationship with my teen girl protagonist, or work them all into a tight little triangle, but every single one of us is resisting. The guys could care less what I think. The girl is busy with bigger issues.
And yet, when certain people show up in a scene together, I can feel tiny charged particles zipping around, pushing and pulling the characters away from and toward each other. It hurts, somehow, and it’s fun, too. I wish I knew what was going to happen.
Maybe that’s a good sign.