writing dialogue

[Jo Zebedee]

So, we had Hex's emotions thread, which I found really useful, and we have a thread elsewhere that's touching onto dialogue, and I wondered if something similar for dialogue might be good. I like writing dialogue, but I do struggle to give distinct voices..

I thought I'd keep it really general, so that if people wanted to they could use voices from their wip if that made it easier, or they can do something completely new. (or ignore it)

So what I thought was a dialogue based piece around 3 characters (cos I think it's harder to get the ascribing clear when there's more than 2) where one is revealing something in their past? And in the great tradition of I've started, so I'll... here goes:


Pete sat at the table, stretched for his glass and nodded over at Bill. "So, do you want to tell us what that was about?"

"No." Bill shrugged. "Since you asked, I'd rather not."

"I think," said Jess, "since we're the ones who just bailed you out, we should know why someone's trying to knock seven shades out of you."

Bill leaned his head back, and looked at the ceiling, as if for inspiration. "They know me, that's all. From the past."

This was ridiculous. There seemed to be a pretty good chance they'd step out of here tonight, and get themselves flattened. "Now, Bill," said Peter. "Or we'll leave you to it."

"Right, right," said Bill. He took a long drink, swallowed, looked between the others. "When I was a bit younger, I was in their gang. And then they asked me to hold some stuff for them - "

"What stuff?" asked Jessica, leaning forward so she could hear him over the music.

"I don't know, I didn't do it," said Bill. "Thing is, they don't seem to think I'm allowed to quit." He paused, and his eyes flitted around the bar, as if checking the dark corners. "And I don't know what the hell to do about it."

 

[Kylara]

Ooooh dialogue, I love dialogue...tricky to make it without anything to work from...I'll nick a bit from my WiP which needed doing...not sure if this was what you meant springs...

'Sit down you idiot!' Deya hissed at him, 'and sheath your sword. You don't want to fight Shebar. Especially when you lack a magic.' she looked at him irritably but then smiled quickly, jumped up and ran towards the imposing faerie. The tall faerie frowned as she rushed up to him then smiled fleetingly and embraced her with a laugh like hers, only his was tenor instead of soprano. Still laughing she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to their table, his magic in tow.
'This is my brother Shebar. He's been away in the forest reserve finding magics for those searching for them. He also stops all those brainless people from being attacked as they try to find themselves a magic without telling anyone. His magic is one of the largest ever caught and I helped him find it; just as I am going to help you find yours Lyx.' as she paused in her appreciation of her brother he spoke,
'Greetings. My sister has not told you of her exploits in the forest by the looks on your faces,' he hesitated briefly, 'I see that you still don't seem surprised by anything Tay. You have new companions I see, I take it you grew tired of the others?' he smiled regretfully, 'I quite liked the young man with that ridiculous sword and, if I remember correctly he always refused to ride a horse.' Deya interrupted,
'No brother, the man who wouldn't ride the horse was before that I think. Am I right?'
Tay nodded slowly and Zander spoke quickly to Shebar,
'I knew an old man with a ridiculous sword when I met Tay's group. He died during my first winter with them...he tripped over that stupid sword of his and broke his neck.' Zander paused and looked at Tay as he spoke, 'I didn't know that there had been anyone else with Tay before him; he looks so young, he can't be older than I am.'
Deya's brother shifted uneasily, 'Yes. Of course. Tay does look young. I didn't realise that I hadn't seen you for so long...a whole man's lifetime gone whilst I was roaming the forest...' he sounded regretful but suddenly smiled again. His moods seemed to be as swift and fleeting as Deya's.


Still needs a bit of work really...

 

[Hex]

Three's tricky. Apparently I don't do it very often.


Dark slime dripped from the wall onto Dominic's uniform. "I refuse to be drawn into a ridicul--"

"Shut up, posh-boy." Garth stepped forward, his boot crunching on something small and bony.

"I refuse-"

"Hey." Hera now, no happier than Garth. "Didn't you hear him? Or isn't 'shut up' part of your vocabulary?"

"How dare you? I-"

"Shush." She put a finger to her lips. "Lis-ten-ing skills. Listen to this and answer oh-so-carefully: why did we just fight five hairy scary bad guys?"

"I do not-"

"No." Her voice was cool, aimed half at Dominic himself, half at Garth who'd jerked towards him with a face full of thunder and lightning, and maybe a passing jet for good measure. "I think, Dominic, the time has come for you to tell us what's going on. Tell us or we'll leave you here."

He glanced around the dripping alleyway, swallowed. "I cannot, I-"

"Bloody hell. You arrogant bast-"

Hera spoke over Garth. "'Can't' beats 'won't'." She pulled the wadded t-shirt tighter round her arm; blood seeped through the dirty fabric. "Tell us. Now."

"I... I reclaimed an object."

"Reclaimed? You mean you stole it?"

"No! It was mine -- it is mine. They were the thieves."

"Right. What?"

He drew the shining length of Orchrist from his backpack, and watched their eyes go wide.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

My current WiP is a cosy mystery so I won't share it. This is my favourite three way interaction. It is still very rough and first draft. (the punctuation is also appaling as I wrote it before I worked on improving it). The story is an urban fantasy set in Blackpool in the 1980s; Gus is an archaeologist/author/wizard, Jason is his adopted son and Johnny is his newly discovered grandchild. Iris is a woman he had a one night stand with in the 1940s and she left the B&B pregnant.



'Grandpa, I can't sleep.' A tired little boy appears rubbing his eyes, 'I like it here, can I stay?'

'Of course you can stay Johnny, but your Granny is going to be fine. I spoke to her last night while you were asleep.' Gus gets up and grabs a side plate, 'What do you like?'

'I like egg, sausage and beans.' He sticks his tongue out, 'Black pudding is kind of yucky.'

Gus smiles, 'OK.' he gives Johnny one of his eggs, a sausage and some of the beans.

'This looks good thanks. May I have some bread, please?' Johnny looks at Jason.

'Sure kid can you butter it yourself?' Jason offers him the plate with the bread on.

'Thank you very much.' Johnny takes it and places it next to him. 'Can I have another side plate? It's just Gran would want me to behave properly.'

Gus grins and fetches three side plates. He hands one to Jason.

'What the hell is this for, Dad?' Jason eyes it suspiciously.

'That isn't a nice word.' Johnny says and takes one putting his bread on it.


Gus snorts, 'Well if I have my way Iris is going to be a fixture in my life. May as well get used to table manners.'


Jason takes it off him and grins, 'I think I maybe glad I have a room at the hospital.' He puts his mound of buttered bread on the plate, 'Want some juice, Johnny?'

'Please.' He holds out the glass Gus has given him, 'Where did Grandpa get you from?' he asks Jason.

Jason snorts out his juice, 'Well until I was six, I lived in a place called Guatamala with my Mum. She was part Mayan.'

'Oh like the pyramid people in Grandpa's books?'

Jason grins, and looks at Gus, 'He really is yours isn't he.' He leans over to Johnny, 'Yes my ancestors built them. Something happened to my Mum like she was possessed, she just wasted away.' He looks down, 'I don't remember much, but Dad got us to a hospital. It was too late, she was becoming trapped inside her own body, she asked Dad to look after me. We go to visit her once a year, but she doesn't even see us.' He takes a big gulp of his juice, 'It's why I became a doctor. I want to find out how to free her.'

'Did you have a dad?' Johnny places his fork down, forgetting his food.

'Apart from Gus no.' Jason


'Dad's aren't all that. Don't like mine, he hurt my Mum.' Johnny bites his lip determined not to cry again.


'You've had a rough time of it haven't you, kid?' Jason reaches over and ruffles his hair, 'I'm going to the Sandcastle this afternoon, want to come with me?'

Johnny beams, 'Granny couldn't take me. Said it was too expensive. Would be great if I could tell everyone at school I'd been. Is it as good as the adverts?' He looks at Gus, 'Can I go Grandpa? I packed my trunks but they are at the B&B.'


'We'll get you a new set, with a towel and swimming bag.' Gus grins, 'I'll give Jason some money. And because I know what a skinflint he can be I'll give you the money for a McDonalds afterwards.' He stands up and goes to the kitchen drawer and gets out a brown purse with a Cornish pixie on it, 'This was Jason's you can have it. The pixie is for good luck.' Gus gets his wallet out and put's in a ten pound note. 'I think my boys should be spoiled this afternoon.'

Jason stands up and carries his dishes to the sink he puts them in the soapy water, 'OK everyone I am doing dishes now, then I need sleep.'

Johnny mops up the sauce on his plate with his piece of bread, 'That was really good Grandpa.'

 

[Abernovo]

Hi, springs. I'm not sure if this is what you were after. I basically rewrote the scene with different viewpoints and plot. It felt kind of like I was doing a 'cover version'.


Jacob joined them at the table. He sipped his drink before looking over at Sam, eyebrow raised in query. "So, are you going to tell us what that was all about, out there?"

"No." Sam kept his face blank. "I'm not."

"Look," Izzie told him, "you're not the only one with a stake in this. If we're going to work together shouldn't we know what the hell's going on? Next time, they might decide to kick seven shades out of one of us."

Sam grimaced--his nose felt broken--and nodded. "They're just some guys I used to know. We had a bit of a falling out and they seem to be holding onto it. I'll get it sorted."

He knew it was not enough, knew he owed them the truth. They were right. They deserved to know what they'd let themselves in for. If, for no other reason, than it was highly likely that a return match was almost certainly going to be scheduled in the near future.

Jacob was not satisfied with the answer. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you either tell us everything or I'm out of this. I don't know about Iz, but this isn't what I signed up for." He was rattled, understandably so.

Sam sat back and took a deep breath before looking across the table at the waiting faces. "Okay, fair enough. You might want to leave anyway, once you know. We served together, back in the day. After we all got out, they came to me with an offer to join them in private enterprise, if you know what I mean."

"And did you?" asked Izzie, her voice hard, a cop's interrogation training coming to the fore. "Tell us the truth, Sam. This is important."

"No, I walked away and, without me on board, the deal fell apart." He paused. "Problem is, they seem to think I owe them. They heard about what we've got on and they want a piece of it." He blew out a breath. "Sorry, guys. I think I might have dropped us in it, here. These are not the sort of guys to take no for an answer."

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Dang, Aber, that's why we don't have cover versions, that's way better. Wanders off muttering to herself. They're all so different, I always find it so interesting to see what others do differently.

 

[Kylara]

Hmm I think I'll make a comment on a couple of things: springs, your dialogue reads well, but I have a little issue with the tags...to me I felt there was a lot of Bill this Jess that and it pulled me out a little...tags are always hard, but then again tagless dialogue is pretty hard with more than two characters, especially if reading an excerpt.
I once wrote a script (shock horror!) and was delighted by how easy it was to work out who was speaking. I then tried the same thing with a piece of dialogue, and put in action around the dialogue (still in script form) then I played around with needing tags, and where to put them and translating angrily/quietly/with look of despair stage directions into relative tags and visible emotions. I still read funny, because I then had to fix the dialogue back to prose, but it was surprisingly helpful...

 

[prizzley]

And another 3-way conversation!

Having set dinner in the oven, she went to check on the twins’ progress. They were sitting on Ander’s bed amid a welter of their possessions.

She picked up a wooden cart that had two wheels missing and a loose handle. ‘Why do you keep junk like this?’

‘It’s not junk. We were going to repair it for Ilda, but there’s not much point now.’

‘Don’t say that, don’t you dare say that! She’s coming home and she’ll be glad to have a cart for her favourite doll. You can paint it.’

Ander was clutching the doll, stuffing leaking from a split seam. ‘I did this,’ he said. His voice was muffled, as if he was trying not to cry.

‘Then you’d better mend it, hadn’t you?’

‘I can’t sew.’

‘Oh? Perhaps you’d better let me do it then. Don’t be daft, Ander, that doll has been coming apart at the seams forever and it needs a wash.’

‘You’d better mend it first, or the rest of the stuffing will come out in the wash.’

‘Thanks, Annic, I would never have thought of that.’

The twins’ laughter was slightly hysterical but it was better than tears.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m sewing and you two are repairing that cart.’

‘What about tidying the room?’ Annic asked.

Tasia cast one despairing glance around. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘Do what you usually do, kick everything under the beds.’

The twins waited until she had gone in search of the sewing box, before exchanging grins and a hand slap.

 

[kshRox]

This is an excerpt from an sf story I am writing.
I want to create sexual tension between the Captain and the 2nd Lieutenant underlying the formality of their respective commissions.


I also want the characters to project strength and confidence in a manner reflective of their genders.


The current situation provides an interesting interlude as they are inspecting the seals on cryogenic tanks housing genetically engineered combat troops.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


Then the shivers, these things make no mistake are deadly. Regardless of the expression this mix engenders, it is expressly designed for maximum efficiency; efficiency at murder, mayhem and destruction. There is little need for reasoning or other such nonsense which takes place primarily in the frontal lobes.

Speaking of which, the frontal lobes, or modern brain and primary senses, sight, hearing and smell, are hardwired into an enhanced reptilian brain. Most of what they need to know is already programmed into the databank at the back of the head which makes for an interesting combination.

Ask them to plot a course through unknown terrain for optimal efficiency or build a bridge capable of supporting heavy machinery from available raw materials and the solution begins taking shape before you finish uttering the words. Ask them why people sometimes lie and you could potentially put them into an inert stupor or a blinding rage. Handle with care – always.

"Sir, if they’re sterile, why do they still have sexual organs?", Carol grimaced slightly glancing at the target of her comment. She then tilted her head up at an angle to lock my eyes on her own, her face guileless.

"Lieutenant," I replied schooling my own face into a neutral mask, "males of all species have more use for genitalia than simply reproduction. Besides, the sterility effects only the production of sperm, not the physical attributes housing the mechanics, so to speak."

"To invest in completely removing the physical characteristics would have required non-essential time and resources.", I finished thinking I'd dispatched this conversation with laudable professional decorum.


To my slightly amused discomfort however, Carol persisted, "Why don’t they at least clothe them in the tanks?"


I was beginning to wonder who was really in command of this conversation as I replied, "Lieutenant, the cryogenic fluids would cause conventional material to become potentially hazardous to the organic material."

"Well, couldn’t they at least create some kind of harness to cover their . . .", she paused, a slight frown creasing the otherwise smooth skin of her forehead.

"Lieutenant", I smoothly interjected, "to manufacture an appropriate material to mold into a harness for the purpose of covering their genitals would require –"

“non-essential time and resources” she echoed with me. This is after all, the unofficial slogan for all enclave sponsored projects.

"Well", she suggested with a straight face, "perhaps we could tie them in a loop and use them for swings." I could swear an amused twinkle danced somewhere hidden in the depths of those beautiful blue eyes.

I heard myself say, "as you were Lieutenant.", thinking to myself, perhaps this will turn out to be an interesting command.

 

[Dante DiBenedetto]

Detective Flynn slammed the phone book into the back of Dieter's head. Captain Ramirez leaned back in his chair and stared into the young man's eyes.

"Again?" asked Flynn. The captain shook his head no.

"I used to be a tough guy like you, cabrón."

"Then what? You became a pig?" Dieter asked. The young man chuckled, daring the detective to hit him again.

A sinister grin crossed the captain's face. The scar running from his mouth to his left ear twisted strangely, and for the first time since the interrogation started, Dieter felt uneasy. The young man heard a familiar clicking sound just before the captain rested a switchblade against his cheek.

"I ran into someone who showed me just how tough I really am."

 

[J Riff]

Re: Tags. If you read some comix books, or graphic novels, you see 3 things happening. The narrator voice at the top of the panel, the character word balloons, and the picture.
Often if it's well-written you may notice that if the picture is removed, the narration/dialogue still makes sense, with no tags at all.
That's something to aim for, and theres a few tricks, like working the character names and location into the dialogue that make it clear who is speaking, which can make it all read a bit easier.

 

[Susan Boulton]

More than three here. Rough, but I hope it's clear who is speaking.


“Is that it, Sir?” Richard asked, knowing that it was not.

“No, but I think we deserve a brew first. Turner, you do the honours.”

Turner got to his feet and walked over to the Heath-Robinsonesque blower oven. He lit a small fire in the bottom of the blower and began to crank the handle that powered the wheel driven fans. The thin metal of the beaten Klim tins that the blower was made of pinged loudly,as the fierce heat generated quickly boiled the water in the pot sitting on top. He carefully added four spoons of dried tea and a large dollop of condensed milk to the water before taking a thick rag, carefully lifted it off the blower and carried it to the table.

Doctor Russell reached behind him and took off a shelf a number of mugs, also made out of Klim tins, and placed them on the table.

“Sugar anyone?” Group Captain Dawson asked.

“Do you have some left?” Munroe said, expectantly.

“Not a cat in hell’s.” Dawson replied.

“Or a cat in the camp if those Red Cross parcels don’t arrive soon. The lack of meat in the men’s diet….” Doctor Russell said shaking his head.

“What about the Goons’ rabbits? Couldn’t we…. Least for the chaps in the hospital….” Turner said, sitting down again. He took hold of his mug of hot tea and cradled it, warming his hands.

“The Goons have put a guard on them day and night. They love their rabbit stew. One of the army lads got nabbed trying to take one on his way back from a work detail. He is currently doing a stint in solitary,” Dawson replied trying very hard to keep his face straight. “Now, having discussed the current meat shortage can we get back to business?”

“Which Goon or Goons?” Flight Sergeant Conway asked. It was the first time the man had spoken and he was ignoring Dawson’s request to, ‘get back to business.’

“How the hell do I know, Mark. Do you think I draw up the goon’s duty roster?”

“It might help if we did know; those hutches are close to the north-west corner of the wire. With a guard sitting there day and night it's going to cause problems down the line, isn’t it.” Conway said, as he looked at Turner.

“You might think that, Mark, but I am bloody not going to confirm anything.” The Escape Officer replied.

“As I said….” Dawson began.

“Tea break over then, sir?” Munroe asked then took a large swig of his tea, wiping the wet ends of his moustache on the back of his hand.

“Yes.”

 

[Tracer01]

Dialogues is always a tricky part. Sentences can be long when character explaining things and getting shorter, when he's giving orders and arguing with someone.

For me, it is twice as difficult. English is shorter in syllables than Russian and also have different grammar structure. You have no idea how hilarious dialogues in Russian performed by English-speaking actors in video games, for example. And it is not because of an accent. This is why writing my story with the assistance of native speakers, but I have only one assistant so far.

 

[Tracer01]

A piece of advice, please?

How does this dialogue look like?

----------------------------
“So, you with the Home Fleet too? I am glad. Our frigate took a beating during the last patrol and now we are waiting for new assignment. Message can come any minute now. I’ve been told that it will be a destroyer this time.”

“In that case, it will be one of four. ‘Khrushchev’, ‘Kennedy’, ‘De Gaulle’ and my beauty.”

“Oh and what if…” She didn’t finish. Her communicator on her wrist gave a signal, and she extended the screen to read the message. And Commander already knew what this message was about, because his communicator went of the same moment.

Standard procedure for junior pilots did not require any interview with CO during assignment on new ship. In fact computers in HQ have been doing this, informing all related persons simultaneously.

She raised her eyes and looked at him. Now she was a bit confused.
“It’s the ‘Dönitz’…sir”, said the young lady pilot.

“Welcome aboard, then. What’s wrong? You wish to give me the formal report?” Shade was kidding, but she took it seriously. Girl got on her feet and saluted.

“Camilla De Rossi, Ensign. Former Second Engineer of the ‘Chaser-7’, a patrol frigate. Assigned to the ‘Dönitz’. Reporting for duty.”

Now she was serious.
“..And permission to come aboard is also granted. At ease, Ensign,” Schade replied. “Have you packed your luggage?”

“Yes, sir. It is packed and sent to the Cargo Traffic Service.”

“Well, it means that you have two hours of a free time. CTS already redirected your locker to the ‘Dönitz’. She will be departing in sixteen hundred hours. Thirty minutes to settle in and make the final systems check. What’s wrong with you? Sit down already”.
-----------------------------------------

 

[J Riff]

It looks like it needs a bit of editing.

How does this dialogue hold up under scrutiny?

----------------------------
“So, you are with the Home Fleet too. I am glad. Our frigate took a beating during the last patrol and now we are waiting for a new assignment. A message could come in any minute now. I’ve been told that it will be a destroyer this time.”

“In that case, it will be one of four. Khrushchev, Kennedy, De Gaulle, or My Beauty.” (?)

“Oh and what if - ” She didn’t finish the sentence. The communicator on her wrist beeped, and she enlarged{?} the screen to read the message.
Commander already knew what this message was about, because his communicator went off at the same moment. (why would he know?)

Standard procedure for junior pilots did not require any interview with CO(?) during an assignment on a new ship. In fact, computers in HQ have been doing this,(what?) informing all related persons simultaneously.

She raised her eyes and looked at him. She looked a bit confused.
“It’s the Dönitz… sir.” said the young lady pilot.

“Welcome aboard, then. What’s wrong? You wish to give me the formal report?” Shade was kidding, but she took it seriously. The girl stood and saluted.

“Camilla De Rossi, Ensign. Former Second Engineer of the Chaser-7, a patrol frigate. Assigned to the Dönitz. Reporting for duty.”

She looked serious now.
“And permission to come aboard is also granted. At ease, Ensign,” Schade said. “Have you packed your luggage?”

“Yes, sir. It has been sent to the Cargo Traffic Service.”

“Well, that means that you have two hours of free time. CTS already redirected your locker to the Dönitz. She will be departing at sixteen hundred hours. Thirty minutes to settle in and make the final systems check. What’s wrong with you? Sit down already.”

Hard to know what is going on, but use italics for ship names etc.

 

[Tracer01]

Oh, I forgot the rest of the dialogue:

----------------------------
De Rossi sat and smiled, humbly.
“On the second thought, I liked you more, when you were tense and official. Maybe it is good idea, to keep you that way? Kidding, kidding”, Schade said.
And now she was smiling freely.
“By the way, you have ordered almost nothing. Forget about diet, this patrol will take about two months, and there will be only space rations.”
“Oh, really? It is because of our conversation, sir. I am very interested. Then…what you can tell me about service on destroyer?” Ensign asked.
“You will see everything yourself. You’ll have plenty of time to learn, see, meet new people and miss home. I gotta go now. See you in the Bay Four.”
---------------------------------------

 

[Jasc]

"Damn you, Carter!"

"Hey **** you Benny. You would have done the same thing if you were-"

"Look, could you two save this for after the-"

"Shut-up!" (unison)

"All I'm trying to say is that we have a conference in two minutes and if you two don't pull it together we'll never get funding."

"We're not getting funding James! Mr. Waters is not about to give three hundred thousand dollars to the bozo he caught ******* his wife!"

Silence

"What if you guys said I was sick. Very, very sick."

"You're already here, you fool. The receptionist saw three men in suits walk in."

"So? She's not going to say anything."

"She's his wife."

"Exactly."