Let's Talk it Out
43: Notes on Dialogue
Stories begin with a single frame, a word, or a concept. They zero into focus, filling in with color and clean lines. The images spread like spilled milk and cover a wide berth around the origin object. I observe the story as characters stroll in and start conversations, first as disembodied voices, then people with ginger hair, evil intent, or friends sharing a beer. I am transcribing these images as they form.
One spark that gets my scenes going, more often than not, is dialogue. The setting might not even appear before two people are chatting away about anything from lofty concepts to the painfully mundane. The advantage of dialogue is not just as a method of exposition without lengthy description, but revealing details about the people speaking. Is your character a jokester, perhaps an intellectual? A lot of who we are is reflected in the way we speak. Alternatively, someone’s true self might only be reflected in certain settings. They may code-switch1 at work but relax their tone at home or with friends.
I happen to really like writing dialogue. I have always been an observer and pick up on the way people speak, what they are likely to say, and their vocabulary. But psychology also has a lot to do with it. Whether it’s my status as a ruminator2 in recovery or tendency to obsess over what I think someone will say3, there is a natural inclination for dialogue to pop into my head, all fairly plausible.
While the usual result of imagining what others will say is breaking my own heart, I’ve tried to turn it around and direct it to fiction.
Here’s an exercise I am trying. There are four people in the following scene. See if you can easily follow who is speaking, what that individual is doing, and some personality traits. What setting fills in for you? Let me know if I’ve succeeded in making everything clear, or feel free to offer feedback. You can also let me know how you approach dialogue, whether with ease or scraping by.
“What’s your body count?” Lou asked.
“Jesus Christ…” Lawrence groaned, shaking his head as he glanced over to the kiddie slide far too small for his long-legged children.
“What?” Marcus stopped in the middle of his scoop of macaroni and cheese to glance up.
“Isn’t that bullshit people in their 20s care about?” Lawrence responded. He swiped through his Substack notifications and liked a comment from one of his readers, leaning forward to begin typing his reply.
“Say what now?” Darren approached and sat down with a beer that still had a fading puff of condensed air rising from its mouth.
“Body count.” Lou repeated. He crossed his legs and leaned back, eying his three friends.
“Nobody cares about that,” Darren scoffed with a wave of his hand.
“Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re married with preteens,” Lawrence said, turning off his screen.
“I’m just curious.” Lou said.
“Why, though? You hit up your wife at 18. We know your count is one,” Lawrence said.
“One and a half.” Marcus made a stroking motion.
The men traded smiles with Marcus the most amused of all. He and Lou had been roommates in college right around the time Lou had his first and last girlfriend in freshman year.
“Do you think the amount of people you’ve slept with makes you better in bed?” Lou continued.
“No. Some of the women I slept were hurt in an accident and should be entitled to compensation,” Marcus said in a stately tone, craning his neck and smoothing the front of his tee shirt.
“You sleep with a bunch of people for different reasons. Lust, mostly. But then you learn to listen, learn to stop distracting yourself. It’s not some arbitrary goal to bed the hottest girl or pretend sex is intimacy,” Darren said.
“Plus you and your partner actually enjoy it. Doesn’t have to be two hours in Pound Town. We used to clown on a guy who went for 10 minutes but honestly, anything too far after 20 is a waste of time.” Darren turned his head and scowled. He took a big glug of his beer.
“Seriously, the babysitter will be here in 10 minutes,” Marcus said.
“Seriously, I have to fertilize the garden,” Lawrence chimed in.
“Seriously, taxes are due tomorrow,” Darren said.
Lawrence beamed and held his hand over bright white teeth, muffling the guffaw that escaped.
“Oh come on, only 20 minutes?” Lou asked, crossing his arms.
“Bro, it’s 20 minutes of pounding after I made her come twice. We already did the foreplay thing. Little of this and that, you know… but anything after that is fucking time and half,” Lawrence said.
“Seriously, I’m due for a shave,” Marcus ventured.
“So back to the topic. Body count doesn’t matter because in the end, we didn’t even get what we wanted. Whatever we were looking for or trying to prove didn’t happen. But we all got lucky enough to marry beautiful, smart, sexy…” Darren started.
“Easy, now…” Marcus cautioned.
“… committed women who love us. We don’t have to do anything to be valued,” Darren continued.
“True, true…” Lou agreed.
“Bro, you ever cried in front of your wife? Like, not because your mom died, but because some shit really hurt you? That’s real. So all those hot girls we chased with the big booty, small waist, long hair or whatever… this shit right here is brass tacks.
“So when we say body count is bullshit, it’s serious. We on a new level, my guy. My daughter just had an orchestra recital. First chair violinist.” Darren snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“That’s what’s up.” Lawrence nodded.
“And it’s not to even to say marriage or kids is everything. I got friends who are still single and happy because they are not looking for anything. They have it. Remember Tariq? No lie, he knits like a motherfucker now.” Darren said.
“For real?” Marcus looked up again from his plate.
”On my momma. He sent my whole family matching sweaters,” Darren said.
“I get it. Just was thinkin’ about it,” Lou said sheepishly, shifting his weight which he masked as a sway to background music.
Darren stood up to toss his empty beer bottle and placed a hand on Lou’s shoulder.
“28.”
The men doubled over in boisterous laughs, high-fiving and nearly tipping from their chairs as Darren walked away smirking on his way for another beer.
How do you approach dialogue?
What’s next?
🤔
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You could look up the Wikipedia page which is pretty long, but the code-switching I’m talking about is that standard customer service voice we put on to answer the phone at work.
Again, long Wikipedia entry, but I get into negative cycles of thinking I’m trying to control. Ugh. It’s a bummer.
I find dialogue massively challenging to write. Which sucks, because I *love* to read it. I love what you did with this one- it felt like a movie for me. Taking notes over here :)