Getting to Know You

To write believable dialogue you need to be a good listener.  Eavesdrop.  Notice how people really speak when they’re getting acquainted, and how it varies depending on the culture, income bracket, education, and age of the speaker.  This used to be easy—folks would chat on buses, while standing in line at the bank, just about anywhere.  But today people are texting or tuned in to their ear buds, and you hear conversations much less frequently.  It takes effort to find random snippets of dialogue.  Sometimes you’ll hear people visiting in a forced social gathering where it would be rude to pull out a cell phone or speakers, such as at a funeral, a bridal shower, or at a dinner party.  And, occasionally, you’ll discover folks who simply choose to be gregarious and get to know their seatmate on an airplane, or other shoppers in a market. 

            Watch how strangers get to know one another.  It usually involves one of two styles.  The first style is where people ask one another questions.  Where are you from, what do you do, how old are your children, how do you know the bride, have you ever vacationed here before, and so on.  We’ve all seen this and done this.  But the second style is the odd one I want you to observe.  It consists of people talking about themselves in a ping-pong style, asking no questions whatsoever.  Back and forth they carry on in this self-absorbed method of revealing themselves, unaware that they haven’t once expressed interest in the other person. Here’s an example of two women talking:

            “I love when it rains like this.”

            “Oh, not me.  I’m a sun girl.  Give me hot over cold anytime.”

            “Oh, I can’t stand the heat.  I love to wear sweaters and jackets.”

            “I was raised in Arizona.  I don’t think I owned a coat until I was 20.”

            “Oh my gosh.  I was an Army brat and moved all over the place.”

            “Not me.  I like a hometown where you can stay put.”

            “That would have driven me stir crazy.”

            Notice no one ever asks the other what kind of weather they like, or what kind of clothing, or whether they like moving.  But it’s offered up in “I” statements as a way of showing how they differ.  It could also reveal things they have in common:

            “This reminds me of Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

            “Hey, me too—that’s one of my favorite movies.”

            “I just love Audrey Hepburn.”

            “Oh, I know, right?  She was the best.”

            From time to time you’ll hear people tell about their lives and opinions in a series of competing statements of one-upsmanship, even escalating into a quarrel:

            “These are the best mountains for skiing, hands down.”

            “Oh, but they’re nothing like the dry powder in Utah.”

            “I’ve skied there, and I think the Alps have the best snow.”

            “Well, I’ve skied all over the world, and I’m telling you the best snow on earth is in Utah.”

            Many people don’t really want to understand, so much as to be understood.  They want to argue their position, be right, and then sit back, self-satisfied.  Making friends is not as important as making their point.  They could go months without asking another soul a question that shows real caring or interest.  Is it a good way to get to know people?  Not really.  But it’s the only way some people roll.  And knowing this will make you a better writer.  Your characters won’t all speak the same way, but the way that’s consistent with who they are inside.  And if one of them is self-centered, this is probably the way he’ll respond when trapped in a conversation with someone entirely new. 

No Free Rides

            In school we’re taught that the rules of writing are mostly grammatical.  And grammar is definitely indispensable.  But there are other rules that make it sing.  Just as a piano student can play mechanically, hitting the right notes and keeping the right tempo, it isn’t enough.  You have to know—and implement—the secret stuff they don’t teach in school.

            Today I’m sharing one of those bits of information and it’s this: No Free Rides.  Whether you’re writing a short story, a novel, a screenplay, or a play, you are taking on unspoken duties to your audience.  You cannot enlist their time and attention and  then sloppily let them down any more than someone can bang on a piano and call it a concert.

            You owe it to your readers to make every word, every scene, count.  Nothing should be included that doesn’t do one of two things:  Advance the Plot or Reveal Character.  Print out those six words and post them atop your monitor if you must.  Each day at the end of your writing, go back over it and see if you’ve included extraneous information or dialogue that doesn’t do one of those things.  If you have, those are Free Rides and must be eliminated.

            What happens if you don’t adhere to this rule?  You’ve seen it for yourself.  You’re reading a wonderful murder mystery and suddenly there’s a chapter describing the kitchen of a restaurant where the detective just ate.  On and on the author goes, describing food preparation techniques and even the cooks themselves—and then none of it ever plays into the story.  You have just wasted a whole chapter learning how to filet a fish and it never even mattered.  Who knows why it was included—probably the author is an avid cook, just took a cooking class, and wants to share his newfound knowledge—but it doesn’t belong in this story. 

            The detective never goes back to that restaurant, none of the cooks figure into the murder, and we don’t even learn why the detective eats there or what he ordered.  It could have—and should have—been edited out.  Not only would its elimination not have hurt; it would have helped by not stringing you along as you paid attention to what you thought were possible clues.

            You see it on television all the time, too.  An opening scene of a hilltop wedding will pull you in, you watch the bride and groom kiss, then the camera will pan to a nearby beach where the stars of this medical drama are reviving a person who nearly drowned.  Never does the storyline go back to the wedding, and you end up puzzled.  Was it the producer’s son’s wedding—an inside joke?  Was it just a pretty shot the director liked?  Huh?  The bride and groom didn’t cause the drowning?  Then why are they there? 

            Meandering, pointless dialogue is as guilty as the Free Ride scene— everything your people say should matter—and should reveal character or move the plot along.  This doesn’t mean your characters can’t mumble or tell ridiculous stories— sometimes that’s the point.  You may want to show how shallow or self-pitying or foolish they are.  But if they’re discussing the flight path of various airlines and nothing ever comes of it—that’s a free ride. 

            I know it’s tempting to include something you jotted down a few months ago that you really love—a great little snappy bit of dialogue, or a breathtaking description—but save it for another work if it doesn’t apply to the piece you’re crafting at the moment.  Move the story along or let us know more about your characters.  That’s how to make music people will pay to hear.