We’d love to date some of our novels. Spend hours gazing into their deep vanilla pages, drinking in their character and whit over the candle light. Pay thirty bucks to sit near them in a dark theatre, sharing a drink and popcorn, hoping beyond hope your fingers graze their cover. Then contact is made and your heart skitters. Threads of delight unspool through you, until you’re left a goopy heap on the floor. Some we’re so smitten with, we’d like to introduce to the parents, a.k.a. editor and/or agent. Then again, others we’d like to break their hearts…like they broke ours. Such promise from the start, only to end with rolling tears and curses.
But…that’s not what I’m talking about today. I’m talking about dating (in time) novels. I’m not talking purposefully dated historicals. You know the ones when you’re reading along, hit a line, and an exact year pops into mind.
Totally Made Up Examples:
Tasha pulled on her Ugg boots… And you scream, “2011!”
Dylan snatched the iphone from his pocket, slid a finger across the screen, then set it on the passenger seat. Since Siri didn’t understand growls, he took several calming breaths. “Call Felicia.” And you scream, “2010!”
Sex & The City… 2000’s
Bellbottoms… 1960’s and early 2000’s
As an author, I strive to keep my work classic, ageless in its beauty. My characters wear the basics, unless they are an odd bird, then I let them strut. I don’t go into detail on electronics. That is an ever changing field. Sure, one day phones won’t be phones anymore, but I’m not placing the make and serial number my character uses in a scene.
What about you? As a reader, does it bother you when authors blatantly date their works? Do you care about dating your novels? If you do, how do you avoid it?
Megan Mitcham, Author