#BroodyBFF: How I met Brooding YA Hero

Today’s post has been really hard to write. Mainly because every time I try, I keep swooning in a delicate, ladylike manner. You see, I’ve been asked by my fellow lovely Broody BFFs to write about the fateful day I met Brooding YA Hero. So, here goes – wish me luck…

I’m fairly sure the sun was shining two years ago, on the day I ran into Broody. I was walking along, clutching a printout of my latest, adjective-filled first draft, when I spotted him across the road, leaning against a wall and looking suspicious. The first thing I noticed, other than the fact he was dressed like a modern-day James Dean, was his dazzling, cerulean sapphire orbs. I thought, ‘hey, maybe he should see a doctor about those gemstones he has instead of eyes,’ but then he flashed his smile and that was when I tripped over clumsily and fell into a bush.

 

I’m so DITZY.

 

Of course, he knitted his eyebrows together in concern and immediately came to pick me up with his strong, strong arms. When I’d stopped staring at his eyes, I asked him his name. I’m pretty sure he said it was Boulder or Fire or something equally manly and sufficiently ‘exotic’ that may have been yanked from an online baby name generator. I asked if we could go for coffee, but he just bit his lip and said it was complicated, because he was a chosen one and had to go and fulfill his destiny. I said that sounded like a pretty lame excuse, and if he didn’t want to go on a date he should just explain his feelings. He got mad and slammed his fist against his motorbike. Of course, I found that kind of toxic masculinity hot.

 

 

 

When he’d driven off sulkily and I’d gathered my belongings, I found a piece of paper with his phone number on it hidden among the pile. That sly fox. I’d call him, but last time I saw him I’m pretty sure he was a bit distracted being dramatically (and prettily) injured in some epic battle. Also, I was too busy frantically flicking through my manuscript to check just how many Broody trope boxes I’d accidentally ticked. Oops.

 

 

(Well, the real story of stumbling upon the tweet down there via my UK YA writer friends isn’t quite as exciting, but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of fictional embellishment, right?)

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