Contemporary Fiction

A friend and I have committed to co-authoring a novel this year. We are in our early stages of writing, mainly having some fun coming up with characters and themes and so forth.

So this week I thought we could write contemporary fiction, which is really another term for writing about people and society as you see them in the present.  

What can you do?

Think of a person in your life who you could easily transfer to a character in a story. Let the image of that person waft around in your mind. Consider:

What is their personality?

How do they treat other people?

What is their attitude to life?

What are their disappointments and goals?

Now, imagine this person in a situation that represents the essence of who they are at this point in time. They may be frantic like my character below, chilled out in the face of danger…

Just go with the first thing that comes to mind and free write a scene with this character in it.

An example

Olivia pulled out of the driveway in her new BMW and immediately put into the stereo her Deepak Chopra meditation CD. She knew it was unwise to meditate while driving, but time was scarce, and boy did she need to meditate. Deep breath in, throw away the thought of the divorce papers filed on me today. Concentrate on my breath. 50/50, he’s got to be kidding. I‘m looking after Sophie. She's studying for her exams for goodness sack!

Olivia catches Deepak’s voice and repeats “I hold infinite possibilities within me. I am the source of my own happiness.’ Her chests puffs up like a peacock and  she nods her head deliberately in agreement. She yells it out loud with great pride. I hold infinite possibilities. And louder still, looking to the other cars, shouting out her mantra forcefully for the driver in the passing car to see. He is startled by her, snarls and hurries past. Olivia, chuffed with herself for a second, breathes deeply into her nostrils and switches off the car stereo hastily, slumping into the steering wheel. But 50/50. That bastard! I will not accept anything less than 70/30. My way!

Olivia enters the driveway of her lover’s apartment block and parks the car in the visitor’s car space, thankful for a place to park for free in the middle of the city. James is returning tonight from another overseas jaunt to China, checking his manufacturing factories apparently. He makes and sells thongs to chain supermarkets like Coles and Big W. He has a huge rubber thong sprawled across the lounge room.

She takes out the key he gave her and unlocks the door. He will home in 30 minutes and that gives her some time to freshen up. She plonks her bag on the kitchen and takes out her make- up. She looks around. The view of the harbour is particular exquisite today. Ferries pull into Circular Key and people constantly flow up and down the passageway to the Opera House. She notices an empty bottle of Cognac on coffee table. She goes to investigate. Two glasses are on the floor. She wonders, but dismisses the uncertainty with the promise of a logical explanation.

In the bathroom, Olivia takes out her make-up and spreads it out on the bench. She slips off her clothes, admiring her underwear as it's revealed and scrunches her breasts up into a more flattering cleavage. She moves her face to the mirror, lifting the side of her eye to eradicate the fine lines. She smiles falsely and notices the folds in the skin under the eye, then she unsmiles and smiles again, disappointed in the image in front of her. She looks down at her chest and sees folds of skin. She picks her arms up and squeezes the flabby bits. Then she looks at herself in the mirror and sulks, feeling a dread lurking from inside her. An unlovable dread.