"That's understandable." He raised an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'd care to drive to McCall with me next Saturday. There's plenty of snow in the mountains and the lake may still be frozen over, but the roads should be in good shape. We could go up, have lunch at the lodge, then drive back before dark." "You own a car?"
The tone here is lush, filled with emotions and details, just right for two people making contact during trying times.
Of course, the mood in any scene can change, and your dialogue can signal that. The key is to vary the cadences in keeping with the tone.
5] It Sounds Just Right for Each Character
Once you establish a character, the dialogue must sound right for him. There are four primary aspects to consider here.
• Vocabulary. The sort of words a character uses tells us a lot about his background. A character who knows such words as expatriate and deleterious has a good education. Someone who has dropped out of school early probably won't know as many five-dollar words.
• Favorite words and expressions. Peer and professional groups have pet expressions or lingo they like to use. These undergo change, of course, so keep that in mind
Cops no longer talk about "gats." Surfers no longer "hang ten."
You need to keep up on the latest expressions, via Internet slang sites and talking to people who represent the group.
• Regionalisms. Such as the "Ayuh," that pops up in Stephen King characters from Maine. In Texas, you don't just talk to someone, you "visit."
"Supper" sometimes means "dinner." And so on.
• Dialect and syntax. Writing out dialect phonetically is frowned upon these days. Don't try to recreate the sound of a thick accent. Instead, a word or two for suggestive purposes will help the reader catch the sound. Don't
have a character say, "Wah ah jus' luhv't when a yung'n lak y'sef sets'n dan bah the far."
Preferred would be: "Why, I just love it when a young'n like you sets on down by the fire."
The one phonetic word, young'n, gives the major clue. You can set up a thick accent simply by saying so in the narrative—He spoke with a thick southern accent—and then writing dialogue like the above. On occasion you can point out how a specific word sounds: "Why, I just love it when a young'n like you sets on down by the fire." The last word sounded like far.
Syntax is about the order of the words, which is a good way to indicate that someone's native language is not English.
How might someone from Japan, learning English, say the following?
Can you tell me where the bathroom is please?
Might be:
Please, where is bathroom?
In his novel End of Story, Peter Abrahams has a dishwasher in a New York restaurant who is recently from Eastern Europe. He says to a character who is a writer, "How is going the writing?"
Later he says, "I myself have idea for novel." The writer answers, "You never mentioned that." "You are never asking," he says.
6] It Isn't Real-Life Speech
One mistake many beginning writers make is to try to recreate real-life speech on the page.
Fictional dialogue must have the suggestion of real speech, but every word is purposeful. Real-life speech is filled with hesitators (um, uh, y'know) and tangents. And small talk, to fill space.
While there are times you may choose to render dialogue with hesitators, do so only when it's integral to the character or scene. A character may say y'know when nervous or trying to hide something.
7] It Is Compressed
In the past, bloated dialogue was tolerated in fiction. Here, for example, is an exchange from Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy (the narrative portions have been omitted). In this exchange, Clyde, a young man of about twenty, is trying to get Roberta to give herself to him sexually. She is from a conservative Christian background.
[Clyde]: "It's getting cold, isn't it?"
[Roberta]: "Yes, I should say it is. I'll soon have to get a heavier coat."
"I don't see how we are to do from now on, do you? There's no place to go any more much, and it won't be very pleasant walking the streets this way every night. You don't suppose we could fix it so I could call on you at the Gilpins' once in a while, do you? It isn't the same there now as it was at the Newtons'."
"Oh, I know, but then they use their sitting room every night nearly until ten-thirty or eleven. And besides their two girls are in and out all hours up to twelve, anyhow, and they're in there often. I don't see how I can. Besides, I thought you said you didn't want to have anyone see you with me that way, and if you came there I couldn't help introducing you."
"Oh, but I don't mean just that way. Why wouldn't it be all right for me to stop in for a little while? They wouldn't need to know, would they? There wouldn't be anybody there now, would there?"
"No, no, I can't let you do that. It wouldn't be right. I don't want to. Someone might see us. Somebody might know you."
"Oh, who would be likely to see us anyhow, at this time of night? There isn't any one around. Why shouldn't we go there for a few moments if we want to? No one would be likely to hear us. We needn't talk so loud. There isn't anyone on the street, even. Let's walk by the house and see if anybody is up."
Compare that to this exchange from Robert Crais's Hostage:
The Watchman held the phone to Talley's ear again.
"Jane?"
"What's going on, Jeff? Who are these people?"
"I don't know. Are you all right? Is Mandy?"
"Jeff, I'm scared."
The Watchman took back the phone.
"That's enough."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Can we let you go? You past your shock and all that, we can turn you loose and you don't do something stupid?"
"You can let go."
These days, the more compressed the dialogue, the better. Unless a character has a strong reason to give a speech or run off at the mouth, strive for crispness in word choice.
On those occasions where you do have a speech or extended monologue, find ways to break it up for the reader. You can do this by cutting to thoughts, action beats, and interruptions.
"Four score and seven years ago," the president said, "our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and ..."
Oh no, thought Jasper. He's going to make a speech.
"... the proposition that all men are created equal."
Jasper kicked a dirt clod. Equal my foot.
"Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure."
"Excuse me," Jasper shouted. "But what does this have to do with the price of tea in China?"
The president paused, glared at Jasper, then gave a quick nod. Two blue uniformed soldiers grabbed Jasper's arms and wrestled him to the ground.
"We are met on a great battlefield of that war," the president said.
"I got your battlefield," Jasper shouted. "Right here!"
8] It Is Rich With Subtext
In great dialogue, what is unsaid is as important as what is spoken out loud. In Reading Like a Writer, Francine Prose writes:
When we humans speak, we are not merely communicating information but attempting to make an impression and achieve a goal. And sometimes we are hoping to prevent the listener from noticing what we are not saying, which is often not merely distracting but, we fear, as audible as what we are saying. As a result, dialogue usually contains as much or even more subtext than it does text. More is going on under the surface than on it. One mark of bad written dialogue is that it is only doing one thing, at most, at once.
In any given exchange there is the tip of the iceberg (what is being said "onscreen") and the part underneath the surface.
The underneath, while it can't be seen, manifests itself above the surface, subtly, adding layers that the reader absorbs subliminally.
The layers below the surface consist of story, character, and theme.
What has happened in the story so far will affect the present. This can be what has been presented, or part of the backstory (whether presented or not).
For example, in the early scenes in Casablanca, we don't know why Rick is so mysterious about why he's running a saloon in this part of the world. When Renault, the French captain, asks him the question, Rick says it's for his health. He came to Casablanca for the waters.
"Casablanca is in the middle of the desert," Renault says.
Rick replies, "I was misinformed."
Only later do we learn about that part of the iceberg, that he was dumped by the love of his life.
In the character layer is the character's entire life story. Again, this doesn't necessarily have to be presented on the page. The character acts a certain way because of what happened to him long ago. Maybe he says some strange things.
Later, you can reveal what it is that makes the character say and act the way he does.
In J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, we learn bit by bit about Holden's growing up. He tells us at the very start that he doesn't feel like "going into it," but all of that obviously affects him in the present.
Know your character's deep background—the events that shaped her from childhood on. This will result in subtle shades and colors in present moment dialogue.
In the noted film noir Born to Kill, the character played by Lawrence Tierney goes crazy with anger sometimes, and kills. Why? He keeps saying things like, "Nobody's gonna make a monkey out of me." We get the idea there's something in his background that caused this, but the film never explains what it is. It doesn't have to, however, for it to render effective dialogue.
Finally, there's theme. Many writers say they don't know what their theme is as they write that first draft. It only emerges later. If that's true for you, once you discover a theme, you can go then back and work that into the dialogue.
In an early scene in Ross Macdonald's The Underground Man, Lew Archer is talking to a married woman in their apartment complex. The woman's estranged husband has just berated her and left with their son.
Archer, who hasn't been hired by anyone, asks the woman questions like he would with a client. He keeps going. But she's not a client. At least not yet, anyway.
Later we discover how lonely he is. That explains the scene, why he kept her talking, and gives it poignancy in retrospect.
That is what subtext does. It deepens and enlarges the canvas, but in soft tones, supporting the surface music.
12 TOOLS FOR GREAT DIALOGUE
Now you know the essentials of great dialogue. Here are twelve nuts-and-bolts techniques that will help you write it.
1] Orchestrate Exchanges
Good dialogue begins before a single line is written. It begins when you first start to develop your cast of characters.
Orchestration means you create characters who are sufficiently different from each other to allow for conflict and tension. Since dialogue is best when it is an extension of action, you give your characters different agendas in a scene, and the dialogue almost takes care of itself.
The movie City Slickers is a good example of orchestration. Billy Crystal, Bruno Kirby, and Daniel Stern play three friends who leave New
York because of various crises in their lives and go on a cattle drive in the west. Much of the comedy comes from the interplay between the three friends. They are very different.
Crystal is the wisecracking ad man who tries to get out of things with charm and wit. Kirby is the macho guy who wants to fight and prove he's a man all the time. Stern is just a loser who can't make anything go right in his life.
There's a scene early on where Crystal is trying to learn how to throw a lasso. He can't get it right. Kirby chides him. Crystal says it's not a competition. Kirby disagrees, saying life is a competition, everything is a competition. Then Stern wanders over and the two friends ask him what he's been doing. "Just watching them castrate a horse," he says.
The lines fit and become funny because the characters are different. The dialogue helps in the characterization.
2] Assign Roles: Parent, Adult, Child
In his book Writing Novels That Sell, Jack Bickham included a helpful tool adapted from the school of psychology known as transactional analysis.
Now, I know nothing about this school, except that it was founded by Dr. Eric Berne and popularized in a book called Games People Play. So this tool is perhaps best described as being "loosely suggested" by transactional analysis.
The idea is this: In any interaction between people we tend to inhabit a role, and speak and act consistent with that role. The three roles are parent, adult, and child:
• The parent (P) is the seat of authority, the one with the power. P lays down the law. What he says goes. End of issue.
• The adult (A) is the most "objective" role. The rational and even-tem-pered one who can see things as they are. "Let's be adult about this," she's likely to say,
• The child (C) is not rational but emotive. He's selfish and "wants what he wants when he wants it."
What I find helpful about this model is that in any given scene you can put the characters into one of these roles—or give them shades of any role— and create tension between them.
I create, either on paper or in my head, a little grid:
I decide which role Character 1 will be (primarily), and which role Character 2 will be (primarily). Obviously, the transaction with the least amount of conflict is this one:
Now we have potential for conflict. P wants to teach, direct, and guide A. A will resist, for good and rational reasons.
P may then take things a step further, getting frustrated with A for not bowing to authority. The dialogue or action heats up.
Now these roles aren't static. A character, for reasons associated with his goal in the scene, may try to assume a different role while the conflict is going on.
A, for example, may be drawn into a conflict by assuming more of a P role. Then it's like two rams butting heads. Or, A may try to gain sympathy by pouting like a C. Or throwing a tantrum.
There's an infinite variety of permutations, based on the intensity with which the characters feel their roles and the changes that can happen within a scene.
For example, in Neil Simon's The Odd Couple, Felix Unger (the neat freak) and Oscar Madison (the slob) have just seen the weekly poker
Why? Because adults are the most even minded and able to "get along." But what if we have:
game break up. It happened because of Felix and his fussiness, though he is oblivious.
Now Oscar is ready for the fight that's been building. When this part of the scene opens, Felix is the A. He's analyzing the situation and discussing it rationally.
Oscar is in no mood to be an A. He's a C. The scene continues:
FELIX: That's funny, isn't it Oscar? They think we're happy... [he starts cleaning up]
OSCAR: I'd be immensely grateful to you, Felix, if you didn't clean up just now.
FELIX: It's only a few things.
In the movie, Oscar then says, "I'm not through dirtying up for the night," and throws some cigarettes on the floor—a very childish thing to do.
Oscar then points out the irony that, "Unless we come to some other arrangement, I'm gonna kill you. That's the irony."
Felix asks what's wrong, and Oscar begins a rant. He lets it all out. In the middle of it Felix straightens out a picture on the wall. Oscar says he wants it crooked, it's his picture! So he makes it crooked again.
At this point, Felix changes tactics. He becomes childlike and moans, "I was wondering how long it would take."
He begins to pout. Oscar now assumes the role of A, trying to get him to stop pouting.
On it goes, back and forth. It's worth watching that scene in the movie to catch the dynamics of P, A, and C on dialogue.
Try it a few times, and you'll see great possibilities emerge you might have missed.
3] Drop Words
Leaving off words
is a favorite technique of dialogue master Elmore Leonard. By simply excising a single word here and there, he creates a feeling of verisimilitude in his dialogue. It sounds like real speech, though it is really nothing of the sort. All of Leonard's dialogue contributes, laser-like, to characterization and story.
Here's a standard exchange:
"Your dog was killed?" "Yes, run over by a car." "What did you call it?"
This is the way Elmore Leonard did it in Out of Sight:
"Your dog was killed?" "Got run over by a car." "What did you call it?" "Was a she, name Tuffy."
It sounds natural, yet is lean and meaningful. Notice it's all a matter of a few words dropped, leaving the feeling of real speech.
As with any technique, you can overdo it. Pick your spots and your characters. Your dialogue will thank you for it.
4] Cast the Character
Dialogue for me never really comes alive until I can see and hear the character.
If I don't have a visual and a voice, my dialogue comes out generic. It sounds a lot like me as if I were playing that character.
So a quick way to get that sight and sound is to cast the character in your mind. Here you have a great advantage. You may use any actor in history, or anybody you know personally, and the reader will never know that's who you had in mind.
And yet the dialogue will come out fresh on the page. Another twist to this exercise: Just to see what happens, try casting your character with an actor of the opposite sex. What would your male truck driver sound like if played by Grace Kelly? You might be pleasantly surprised. If not, don't use it. That's the fun of being a writer.
5] Act It Out
Before going into writing, I spent some time pounding the boards as an actor. I took an acting class in New York, which included improvisation. Another member of the class was a Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright. When I asked him what he was doing there, he said improvisational work was a tremendous exercise for learning to write dialogue.
I found this to be true. But you don't have to wait to join a class. You can improvise by doing a Woody Allen.
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