Thoughts on Dialogue

Here's a theory about the way reader's judge fiction writing: If the story is compelling enough, the writer can be forgiven a plain vocabulary and so-so skills at setting scenes. Apparently a strong story can also earn forgiveness of thin character development, because thin characterization is everywhere in today's popular fiction. But a reader cannot forgive bad dialogue.

I think there are three main reasons: 1. Bad dialogue is distracting, just as it is in a movie. 2. Bad dialogue makes characters unrealistic or unlikeable or unrespectable, all deadly. 3. Bad dialogue makes us conclude that the writer doesn't know how to write. And as confidence erodes in the writer, the reader tends to go south on the whole project.

What is bad dialogue? The question reminds me of the senator's definition of pornography. "I can't explain it exactly, but I know it when I see it." Bad dialogue just sounds wrong; it doesn't ring true; or worse, it's howlingly bad, especially when read aloud.

Every writer has written bad dialogue, especially in first drafts. So the trick is improvement: making it ring true, letting it help develop characters, drive the story, and add to reader involvement.

The best single piece of advice I received was "read it aloud." Dialogue that appears passable on the printed page, especially to the person that wrote it, can sound bad, bad, bad when read aloud, even by the person who wrote it. Try pretending that you're the voice of an audio version of your work. Read aloud and read with inflection. The process is revealing, if painfully. If you can stand the possibility of loud guffawing (it happened to me!), ask someone else to read you aloud while you listen in.

Inexperienced writers tend to overwrite dialogue. We want to be sure the reader understands, so dialogue becomes explanatory. We try to do too much with dialogue, for example describing settings or characters.
- "Oh, Mary, a pink dress with a white scalloped hem looks perfect on you, especially here in the flower garden."
- "Thank you, Fran, and your beige business suit looks wonderful, too, it fits the image of an aggressive female executive perfectly."
- "Okay, now that the reader knows what we're wearing, and that I'm an aggressive businesswoman," said Fran grimly, "we can begin talking about who murdered Uncle Herbie."

I exaggerate, of coures, but it happens all the time.

Critiques of my early work talked about too many characters "sounding the same." Same phrases, swear words, figures of speech, etc. This means, of course, that I had done a lousy job clarifying the characters in my own mind. Once characters are "real," they'll begin behaving and speaking uniquely.

My early attempts to differentiate dialogue included trying to write dialect. For example, in early versions of Accidental Soldier's Tess Montgomery might say, "Why, Mista Johnson, ah...ah'm jus' overcome by the kindness ya'll are continuin' to extend."

A wise counselor convinced me that thick dialogue is hard work for readers and probably doesn't work anyway unless delivered by a true master writer. Better to grasp the expressions and cadence of, say, a southern belle, but only sprinkle the dialogue lightly with ah and jus'.

I believe the real key to dialogue is polish. Now and then, the polishing process will add to dialogue. Ninety-five percent of the time, at least in my case, dialogue is trimmed, sometimes in great big clumps. A scene reads unbelievably smoother when dialogue is crisp and clear. One of my favorite scenes, emotionally, takes place fairly late in Silent Hero. I won't spoil the story by giving the background, but here's the exchange between Glenn Sorensen and Amy Rivera:

Her expression reminded me of a witness about to testify: serious, apprehensive, but ready. But I wasn’t ready. Not even close. I asked, “Where are you staying?”
“At the Blackstone.”
“Why are you in Chicago?”
“To see you.”
“How did you find me?”
“I hired a guy.”
“Are you a whore?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“I need to think. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up at the Blackstone, in the lobby at seven.”
“Okay.”
I rose and slid into my jacket. “Goodnight, Amy.”
“Goodnight, Glenn.”

Note that description is minimal and attribution is non-existent after Glenn's first comment. Attribution is an ongoing question.
Tom said, "Where is the ball, Sue?"
"Spot ran away with it," Sue replied.
"For God's sake, you were to keep it away from him, remember?" Tom barked angrily.
"Oh, damn, I forgot," Sue said sheepishly.

Surely we don't need this much attribution. I'd argue that the scene works with:
Tom looked at Sue, eyes narrowed, jaw set. "Where is the ball?"
"Spot ran away with it."
"For God's sake, you were to keep it away from him."
"Oh, damn, I forgot."

But, if there is any chance that the reader becomes lost in dialogue, far better to pause for some attribution rather than create the annoying "who the hell is talking?" emotion.

Similarly, dialogue should stand on its own without explanation to the extent possible. It is surely not necessary to write:
-"You are the dumbest ass that ever lived," Tom said derisively.
Has anyone ever been called a dumbass underisively?

The scene might require:
-His boss stood, crimson rising at his color. "You are the dumbest ass that ever lived."
Because it's also possible that the context was:
-Tom grinned, shaking his head at a friend who had apparently fallen in love with a woman reputed to have slept with half the football team. "You are the dumbest ass that ever lived."

In either case, a well developed scene might have already perfectly explained the context of the comment, in which case it could stand alone. The key, I think, is less not more. To overwrite is to bog the story and to insult the reader.

Please visit me at www.BillCorbin.com