DIALOGUE: THE MUSIC OF SPEECH (I)
The art and craft of dialogue
"Writing good dialogue is art as well as craft," says Stephen King. As craft, dialogue serves several functions in any scene. It plunges us into the moment. It reveals character. It moves the plot forward. As art, good dialogue has as much to do with the sound of music as the meaning of words.
But good dialogue isn't simply putting words in your characters' mouths and then adding "he said" or "she said". Nor is it having characters conveniently dump background information into the story—with quote marks around the words. And what's considered good dialogue today is a far cry from what even the most beloved writers of other eras produced. Readers in our hurried, distracted times will not sit through long, involved speeches, for example, and their inner ear will recognize "believable dialogue" even if they haven't a clue what it is.
Like any craft, mastering good dialogue requires patience and practice, practice, practice. Like any art, no one can teach you, but we can point you in the right direction.
The illusion of speech
The first thing to remember is that good dialogue is all illusion. We want to suggest the way people speak, not mimic it. Real speech is often rambling, hesitant, repetitious, and punctuated with "ums", "ers", "you knows", and other meaningless filler. Out of fear or politeness, many people never say what they mean. Often, we're so busy thinking of what to say next that we don't even listen to the other person. Just as often, we may utter just about any remark to keep from looking dumb, discourteous, or disinterested. Then again, some people say one thing, and mean another. Other times, words fail us or the wrong ones burble out. It's a miracle anyone communicates at all.
As a writer, your job is to turn all this to your own purposes. By understanding how real speech works—with its half-spoken phrases, false starts, interruptions, and misdirection—you can begin to play dialogue like an instrument. Sometimes your characters may speak without listening, with interesting possibilities for plot. Or maybe someone is enraged, her words saying one thing, but her tone revealing another. Or another character may barely know what he feels or means, and you might make him inarticulate on purpose. The results can be either comic or tragic. Either way, let your dialogue reveal character and advance the plot.
To develop an ear for the music of speech, one great exercise is to spend time paying close attention to other people's conversations. Try to get a feel for the ebb and flow, the rhythm, the counterpoint of speech. There was a time I actually went around listening in on strangers in restaurants, on buses, and in other public places while I furiously and surreptitiously tried to scribble it down. In private, I reconstructed these bits as well as significant conversations from my own life, figuring out what to keep, what to leave out, and how to rearrange the lines for best effect. I was also interested in how dialogue reveals emotion, but that's another discussion.
In one interview, Eudora Welty described often using overheard dialogue in her novels and stories. "Once you're into a story everything seems to apply," she said. "What you overhear on a city bus is exactly what your character would say on the page you're writing." She went on to recall one hilarious exchange:
"What? You never ate goat?" one person asked another.
"Goat! Please don't say you served goat at this reunion. I wasn't told it was goat I was served," the other person replied.
"Well, you can do a whole lot of things with vinegar," was the first person's parting shot.
It seems you can do a whole lot of things with overheard dialogue, too.
Another fun exercise is to take some brief exchange you've overheard and spin it into dialogue, creating characters and drama out of whole cloth. Even if all you've got are a few lines of empty small talk, see if you can make it crackle with underlying emotion or conflict. Here's a hopelessly boring example:
"Can I call you Phil?"
"Sure."
"You can call me Vivian."
"Thanks, Mrs. Regan."
Now, see what Raymond Chandler did with it in The Big Sleep:
She laughed suddenly and sharply and went halfway through the door, then turned her head to say coolly: "You're as cold-blooded a beast as I ever met, Marlowe. Or can I call you Phil?"
"Sure."
"You can call me Vivian."
"Thanks, Mrs. Regan."
"Oh go to hell, Marlowe." She went on out and didn't look back.
We can't all be Raymond Chandler, but when you find a master of dialogue, learn from him.