A dodgy moment of fictional frolic

When I'm in a good writing flow I don't really have to think about plot. Provided my characters have established themselves, they sort out what they're going to get up to by themselves. All I have to do is type the words as they spill into my head. And sometimes they can surprise me, my characters, with the decisions they make about their lives. It's a bit like being in charge of stroppy teenagers and recalcitrant oldies, or dysfunctional siblings and awkward friends. Fiction, I say, is closer to the truth than we think.

Take yesterday. I found myself writing some back story for Blue, who is Indigo's younger brother. He is also a twin, which only I and Nina (the mother, if you can call her that, she's a bit of a cow really) know. I thought Nina ought to be in on this plot point as she was the one who gave birth to Blue and his twin. I did wonder if I could get away with her having two babies but retaining memory of only one, but thinking back to the two labours I've been through and the fact that 23 years down the line I'm still trying to shift the post-baby fat and stop waking up every 4 hours for feeding time, I discounted this idea as a fantastical whim. So Marcus (Blue's twin) is very much alive and kicking and waiting to wreak vengeance on his harridan mother (I imagine. I would. But I haven't written him in yet so I don't know his take on the situation of maternal abandonment).

Back to Blue. Blue, it transpires, is a naughty boy. And when I say 'naughty', I don't mean scribbling on his bedroom wallpaper in green crayon like my Chris did when he was three. 'How did you know it was me, Mummy?' he said when I confronted him about the graffiti. 'You signed your name,' I said. He can be a bit transparent like that, can Chris.

No, Blue, at the age of 13, is revealed to be naughty in a promiscuous way.
'You can't do that!' I say in shock as I re-read what I've just written.
'I can,' says Blue. 'I just did.'
'But you're only 16,' I say, trying to delete the bit of hanky panky that was appearing before my eyes.
'16 years and 9 months,' says Blue. 'You just worked it out, remember?'

I admit I did. Blue was born at the end of September and this episode, with girlfriend Polly in the Shell House, happens just after they've finished their GCSEs the year following his 16th birthday.
'Oh yes,' I say, looking at my scribble pad where I try to keep track of continuity regarding dates, times, years etc so I don't have characters going to the supermarket for milk two years after they've met a grizzly end under a Nissan Micra.
'And I've been behaving like this since I was 13,' says Blue.
This also is true. Quite frankly, I'm appalled. So is his mother, but she's more forgiving of his behaviour than me, probably because a) he is the favoured child and b) she's having guilty mother feelings about abandoning twin Marcus.

'Anyway,' says Blue. 'You can always look away if you're feeling prudish.'
'This,' I say primly, 'is going to be a literary novel of quirky and original proportions. I'll not have it littered with hormonal teenagers. By the way, I can see your pants over the top of your jeans.'
'This is the cool way to wear a jean/pants combo,' says Blue. The crotch of his jeans is dangling somewhere around his kneecaps; his pants are bright orange. He's right, of course. I've seen lads around town sporting this very look. In public, would you believe? I always try not to point and giggle when I see them. It's not a good look and I think somewhere, some fashion guru is having a big old laugh at the expense of our teenage population.

'You have forgotten one important point,' I say, consulting my continuity notes. 'This isn't 2009, young Blue. It's only 2000. You are way ahead of time with your jean/pants combo.'
'So what am I wearing?' he asks, looking over my shoulder at my laptop screen.
'I haven't elucidated that point,' I say. 'But if I did, it would probably be something like surf shorts. Or shell pants.'
'NO WAY!' yells Blue. 'NO WAY AM I WEARING EITHER OF THOSE THINGS. THEY'RE SKANK! AND MINGING!'
'Skank?' I repeat. 'Minging? They are not words I'll be including in my narrative.'
'You can't make me wear those things,' says Blue.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. Here is my chance to regain control of this wayward character who is causing me a dodgy creative moment.

But, as both Andy and Vera have said (and they've both read the first few thousand words of the first draft of this latest project), I've just got to go with the flow because that is what is making this book so different from anything else I've ever written.

I sigh.
'Clear off Blue,' I say, giving him a shove. 'I need to catch up with what Violet's been doing since she left university and married Jensen.'
'Jensen?' splutters Blue. 'What kind of a name is Jensen?'

'Hush your mouth, you,' I say. 'Just remember that you, Mr Trendy Jean/Pants combo are named after a German Shepherd dog I once owned.'