When the Boy came home for the holidays last year, he was wearing a watch. You may not think this is so remarkable, except for the fact that he had not worn one for the previous five years or so. No one below a certain age did: they all checked their cell phones instead. (This was the same five or six years that one went to a meeting or business luncheon and watched as most everyone sat down and laid his cell phone—this was pre-smartphone, though some were Palm Pilots—out on the table in front of him, like some ancient tribal display ritual.)

You may be expecting me to wax philosophic about the nature of time, but that’s not what this post is about. No, it’s this: if you’re writing contemporary fiction, these are the sorts of telling details of which you need to be taking note.

Like newspapers. Years ago I worked in a city that had both a morning paper (The Tennessean) and an afternoon paper (The Nashville Banner). My boss was an old Southern gentleman, and if one happened in a bit late some morning, he would say, “Did you bring the Banner with you?” Lovely, colorful detail.

We still have a daily paper in my small town, but newspapers are playing a different role in contemporary life these days. This is no longer a Father Knows Best (or even a Wonder Years) world, in which Big Dad comes home from work and settles down to read the paper before supper. (We won’t get into the death of journalism here.)

Where do you get your news? I get most of mine online; frankly, I get a lot of it from Facebook. (Which is embarrassing to admit, so I’ll hasten to add I read Newsweek religiously in print, my monthly Vanity Fair adds a layer, and Entertainment Weekly provides my dose of pop culture.)

Folks do still rent DVDs … but going to Blockbuster? That’s so 1995. And the manager of the local Best Buy told me recently that it won’t be long before the store—whose Sunday circular was once filled with images of the latest movies for sale—stops selling DVDs altogether. It’s all about downloading now.

Have you seen a phone booth lately? Neither have I. Or an ashtray? I can remember when every table in a restaurant had one. When ashtrays were given away as promotional items. Now you’d be hard-pressed to find one except in a junk store.

When was the last time you saw a telegram? In your mother’s scrapbook, perhaps. Western Union discontinued that service in 2006.

Details, details. These are the things that make every novel historical. (There’s a fine line to this detail business; I often encourage authors of “contemporary” fiction to refrain from specific references to pop culture—celebrities, songs, television shows, and so on—to avoid dating the book. It’s a different story altogether if we want to set the story in a specific time, in which case bring on the Billboard Top 40.)

I asked for a watch when I was about seven, I think—about the same age the Boy was when I gave him his first—and I’ve been wearing one ever since (which only means I’m probably the least cool person you know). But I had lunch a few days ago with two gentlemen, both in the biz, both a lot hipper than me (and, I should probably add, younger). They were also both wearing wristwatches, so authors should take note. The watch is back, baby!

Tweet: Details are what *make* a novel. And every detail counts.

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