Mar 18 2009
WWW: Making the dialog sing
We are still on short stories. One of the interesting things about short stories is that much of what I’ll talk about is true for novels as well as short stories. However, the tactics for how you do things in a short story vs. how you work them in a novel aren’t the same. In a short story, as I mentioned last week, you need to set a scene briefly, but, in my opinion, more sharply than you do with a novel. A short story needs to have a sense of immediacy, yanking the reader in at once instead of easing them in as you can in a novel.
This is true of dialogue as well. As a character person, I’m really fond of dialogue. Perhaps too much. It is almost always the most effective way to get to know a character, listening to what they say and how they say it. But, as with setting, you need to get the most bang for the words you use. Each statement, each comment, should add to the story or the character. What’s more, you need to make how they say things reinforce the character every time they speak, much like the sound can reinforce the meaning of words in poetry.
If what they say and how they say are at cross-purposes, the reader will be confused or, worse, knocked out of the story and it’s hard to pull them back in when you only have a few thousand words to work with. Losing the reader in a short story is often unrecoverable.
So, how do you do that? Actions, words, attitude should all be in concert. From my short story, “Cauchemar “
“You had best move on, old man,” a fierce voice hissed from the tiny figure swathed in black. “You would do well to sleep further on this night.”
“But the road is open to all, child,” Marin said placidly in her rasping contralto, shuffling forward slowly to see better. “And the sun is setting.”
A bitter laugh escaped from the black-draped stranger. “None would know better than I when the sun sets, old man. All the more reason for you to make haste in leaving this place. You are not safe here.”
Marin’s seamed face broke into a smile. “Brave soldier,” Marin clucked reprovingly, resting her slight weight on a staff of rowan wood. “To stab an old man as he sleeps. In truth, there are few who would harm one of my clan, child.”
The figure in black pulled herself up to stand more straightly. “I waste no love on men,” she spat. “Even old men would do well to flee.”
The tone, words, syntax are distinctly different. Ideally, one can tell the difference between one character and the other by what they say, rather than the names we apply. An old fashioned way of talking can be reminiscent of old lore or tradition (useful in fantasy like I write). Youthful speakers are likely to use slang and unlikely to speak with good grammar or in complete sentences. In fact, most people don’t. However, having someone who does and speaks articulately, again, can emphasize characteristics and give a reader a good feel for someone right away. It’s an opportunity that should not be discarded.
Contrast:
“Where are you going?” she asked, eyes slit with suspicion.
“I am not going to tell you,” he replied hotly.
“I would like you to tell me. If you will not tell me, I will feel compelled to either cause you pain or report your behavior. You have not completed the chores assigned you.” Her voice was menacing and he had no doubt she meant it.
“What have you done to merit that information from me?” he asked more meekly.
With:
”Where do you thing you’re going?” she asked, eyes slit with suspicion.
“None o’ your business!” he replied hotly.
“You’ll tell me, boyo, or I’ll beat you blue or tell ma you left without finishin’ your chores.” Her voice was menacing and he had no doubt she meant it.
“Why can’t you let nothin’ be?” he asked more meekly.
By changing only the words spoken, without changing the meanings, I have completely changed the tone of the conversation. Originally the dialogue was stilted and unrealistic and there was nothing really to indicate anything about that characters. It was so unauthentic, the characters were not even characters. In the second rendition, however, they are clearly young, likely siblings, and there’s a rivalry and a secret. It’s not perfect, of course, but clearly better than what was done before.
Now, your assignment is to take this following exchange and rewrite it so that the individuals are made individuals, without changing the gist of the conversation or anything outside of quotes. Extra credit for trying it more than once and instilling genuine voices.
“What are you saying?”she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.
“I have deep feelings for you,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I’ve never cared about anyone like I care about you. I love you. I expect you’ll laugh at me or scoff, but I’m telling you, I love you very very much.”
Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “I appreciate your honesty. You and I both know why it can never be.”
I especially love dialogue and character studies in novels. They appear to be slow on the surface, but are really deep with heart and emotion. I’ll work on the assignment and get back…
Davida
Perhaps I could jumpstart this with an example or two:
“What do you mean?” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.
“I love you, Ms. Heather,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I love you more than anyone ever. I wanna be your boyfriend and not let you have nobody else. Mine, mine, mine!”
Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “You’re a good boy. Any girl your age would be glad to have you, but I don’t think it will work out between us. If I get married, it won’t mean I’ll stop loving you or won’t be here for you at Playland.”
Or, how about…
“What the hell?” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.
“I love you,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the last one I think of at night, first when I wake up. And I don’t want you here alone, for however long it takes, alone, when I could be here with you. Where I want to be.”
Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “Stubborn, noble, you don’t have to tell me, I know you believe this. But I can’t let you do it. You’re so damn wonderful, vibrant and alive. You deserve to be living, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air, untainted by antiseptics. You deserve a woman who has a future to give you, to share with you, not someone fading into darkness in a sterile cheerless room.”
Does that help?
Ooh, I thought of another one (OK, two).
“I don’t understand you,” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.
“I love you, Lola,” he said, dropping his eyes. “I don’t deserve you, but I need you more than anything. I can’t believe what I’ve done and I’m sorrier than I can ever say, but it doesn’t change the fact that, if you leave me, it will kill me.”
Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “It means something that you apologized. But you’ve hurt me for the last time. I deserve better than that. My daughter deserves a better future than the one I’ve been living, the example we’ve set.”
Or…
“I beg your pardon?” she challenged him, her eyes holding his own intently.
“I love you, Madame Hanlon,” he said, dropping his eyes. “It has plagued me for weeks and I’ve fought against these feelings, done everything I can to set them aside. I know you are not free, would never betray…and I would have thought I would never do so either. But to see you everywhere, I die a little every day. Can I see you daily without knowing your unhappiness, that you are trapped in a loveless union that was never of your choosing? When I can make you happy? You have but to take my hand, and I will give up all, my name, my fortune, my honor, to have you with me.”
Her hand was gentle on his cheek, but he didn’t look up. “I’m glad you told me, but it can never be. Whatever the circumstances, I have made my vows and he has done nothing to deserve the censure of the world if I should break them. Nor should I feel better by ruining you, not when that is the last thing I should wish to do. Yet, I am selfish enough to treasure your declaration and shall hold dear the realization that I have not gone through my life unloved or that my own love has been in vain.”
And sometimes simple is best. And effective. Especially in a short story.
Okay, I was going to write ONE version, but I had a few minutes:
Version 1:
“I don’t get it,” she snipped, popped her gum loudly, and sniffed, looking around the hallway. Students were stuffed in there, nudging each other into two lanes, one going each way. No one looking, thank God.
“Missy, I think you’re the one,” Jim whispered, pushing up his glasses with his middle finger, like always. Missy looked away, but he kept on going, “I dreamed about you last night. I thought about you when I was brushing my teeth this morning, and when my mom drove me to school. I think about you more than my chemistry homework.”
Missy smacked her gum again. Clint was coming down the hall, football jersey shimmering under the fluorescent lights. “Gross,” she sneered, turning away from Jim and towards another cheerleader just in time. They popped their gum in unison, just to prove a point.
Version 2:
Patrice stared at the large black poodle, a faint growl rumbling in her throat.
The black poodle whined meekly, pawing the ground. When Patrice turned toward her own yard, the dog followed after her, sniffing at her tale, whining. Only when she’d reached her own porch did he stop, sit back on his haunches, and howl.
With a clipped bark, Patrice chased the intruder out of her yard.
Version 3:
“Huhnh?” Emme barely managed, her eyes still glued to the television. Her soap still had three minutes. Clint had come too early today. She’d get to him in a minute.
“I mean, like, I’m getting real into you…” she thought she heard Clint trail on, but she wasn’t really listening. Alora and Zane were just about to kiss, after months of hiding their love from each other. But Ben was in the back room. He could come out any minute. They needed to hurry it up! Emme glance at the clock. Only two minutes left, and the last minute would be scenes from the next show. She could hear Clint still murmuring something, but she wasn’t about to miss this. Zane had a hand on Alora’s arm, and the way he was looking at her… ooh…
“What are you doing?” Ben called. The music rose, and the scene faded as Ben and Zane faced each other.
“Damn!” Emme cried out.
“What?” Clint’s voice sounded hurt. “You don’t want to?”
“Want to what?” Emme snapped. “Look, could you stop talking? I’m trying to watch this.”
The trailer looked good. Seemed Ben and Zane were going to fight over Alora in the next episode. But when Emme finally turned off the television, Clint was gone. Emme just rolled her eyes, turned back to the television, and flipped on Days of Our Lives.