Mo Fanning - British writer and comic

Dialogue

Dialogue in the age of Covid

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Dialogue in COVID times

Have you ever heard of Freecycle? It’s a website where you post messages about stuff you no longer need but don’t want to just throw away … because they might be useful to someone else. It’s brilliant if – like me – you have the most awful habit of deciding you’ll have a crack at something for which you’re hopelessly under qualified – such as plastering a ceiling or rewiring a bedroom.

I mention the site because today I was getting rid of seven large sheets of plasterboard (slightly damaged) following an ill-thought-out way to disguise an artexed ceiling. I posted them online. Within hours they were snapped up, and the fellow who came to collect them was a chatty chap who was more than happy to spend awhile talking as I picked his brains on various home improvement projects. His advice on the whole was don’t bother, just paint it. It was only after he left that I realised I’d worked a flabby muscle. I’d been talking to someone I don’t already know for more than a minute. It was liberating, I tell you. Being able to talk about something with a stranger who has no skin in whatever mad game I have planned for 2022.

If you have anything cluttering up a room (or garage in this case), I highly recommend giving it away to a stranger. And maybe add you expect a decent conversation in exchange. Just to weed out time wasters.

Writing dialogue

Because I ought to bring all of this back to the subject of writing, it kind of makes sense that having these conversations matters. In days of yore, I sat on buses and trains, ears pricked for the type of chatter that could find its way into my pages. In each office I hotdesked, I tuned into people, hoping they’d share a story I could use. After all, I wrote a book about dialogue, and one big tip relates to listening in to those around you.

Sparkling dialogue

It worries me Covid is impeding conversation and communication. Sure, we can Zoom into anyone’s living room or home office, but the chats we have are often edited. The body language hidden. It’s hard to maintain eye contact when the eyes in question are three inches under your camera. I do wonder if the stories we write in the next few years will sound different because of this. I’m watching ‘Offspring’ on Netflix right now. I recommend it as total binge fodder. The dialogue sparkles and people are forever hugging, touching and being together. In a world where we’re lucky if we see families in the same room, will we lose that ability to write such believable words? And what are believable words, anyway?

I’m still unsure if the stories I write now ought to consider Covid. Should my characters wear masks? I’m opting for setting everything in 2018, but that limits some cultural references. The other option is to set them in the here and now and pretend it’s all normal, but then you lose the Zoom meetings or plastering your hands in alcoholic gel to enter Tesco.

I wonder how you’re all cooping with this?

Happy new year to all my readers.

Phoning in the dialogue

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I’ve never claimed to be anything but an ill-informed Luddite when it comes to mobile phones. Or phones, as I believe the youngsters insist on calling them, refusing to believe there was ever a day when we tied them to a supporting wall with wires. Or that ‘the house phone’ once lived on a special table; one with space for the telephone directory … and a tin to hold coins left by neighbours when they came to borrow your ‘party line’.

But I digress.

It’s editing season on ‘The Toast of Brighton‘ and that means chapters where I skimmed scenes (in the hope inspiration might strike later). It’s later now … time to plug the gaps with sparky conflict-building dialogue.

I often find it helps me if I write any new exchange independent of the draft itself. I open a blank email and begin the exchange, leaving out dialogue tags and actions, hearing only what two (or more) people have to say. A short edit later, and it’s ready to drop in.

A hidden dialogue assistant

Well, blow me down, if I didn’t stumble on the dictation feature on my phone this week. On a wobbly bus into Brighton, my thumb bounced and a pop-up message asked if I wished to let technology do the typing.

I didn’t need asking twice.

To be clear, I waited to get home before acting out a fight between a reformed alcoholic and her cheating husband … but being able to let rip in character was amazing.

Amazingly productive.

Sure. My phone mishears the odd word. If I don’t edit right away, it’s a struggle to make sense of things. Unless in the habit of saying ‘full stop’ out loud between characters, you get one long Molly Bloom soliloquy. But the freedom of being able to play your characters and talk as they talk is so freeing. I imagine this would help any writers who get told different characters sound  alike.

Maybe I’m the only one blown away by this. Has everyone else has been doing this forever?

 

Ban ‘real life’ dialogue – My first act as leader

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Time to talk writing. In particular, tips for writing dialogue. One of my first acts as leader will be to ban ‘real life’ dialogue.

It’s something I cover in ‘Talking out loud‘ – a guide to writing sparkling dialogue – there’s an extract below.

What is ‘real life’ dialogue? I will use the phrase a lot. So get used to it.

It’s my mission to correct any idea you might have that dialogue on the page should reflect the conversations you have or hear every day.

When I first started to write, I was sure of one thing.: my characters would speak like the people around me. They’d um, err and repeat themselves. They’d talk nonsense and occasionally get things wrong.

‘Hi,’ Andy said.
‘Hang on, I’m erm, just finishing off this email, I . . . yep, that’s about it. Right.’ Kieran looked up from his keyboard. ‘What can I do you for, kind sir?’
‘OK, so listen. Say no if you don’t want to, but you know, I was just thinking, and God knows, I don’t do that often enough, but, would you, err, like to look after the new girl?’
‘Oh, erm, right, yeah, well, urm, sure, yeah, but, erm. Well, I’m not sure I’ll have enough time, like because this report is kinda urgent, but you know . . .’

Soon enough I learned that if the written world sounded exactly like a real life conversation, I’d got it wrong.

Writing dialogue

Writing dialogue isn’t about reproducing real life, it’s about creating an impression of it – and let’s be honest, making it better.

Just like when you write a book, you cut scenes that don’t progress the plot, the same should apply to conversations between your characters. Work out what matters and what moves the story on. Show conflict (or collusion) and boil down your dialogue.

Talking our loud - writing tips

Real-life dialogue quickly becomes unreadable.

Journalists have it in their power to make their interviewees look dumb by printing what they say word-for-word. And while they might be tempted where they find their subject boring and unpleasant – or where they turn up three hours late – these journalists know it won’t make for sparkling copy. Or repeat business.

As writers, we want our characters to carry the story; they need to come over as real. But real people are weird. They don’t always talk about important things. They pass comment on the weather or tell you what they binge watched last night on Netflix. And unless you’re writing a particularly niche story, this probably isn’t what your readers want.

Read more in ‘Talking out loud‘ 

 

Who’s doing the laundry?

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I’ve not done one of those ‘writing tip’ posts for ages, so I thought I’d wade back into the waters with a pop at the heinous crime of laundry list writing. You’ll find more tips on writing great dialogue in ‘Talking out Loud‘ – one of those ebook things that I’m flogging on Amazon as we speak.

‘Laundry lists’ refer to writing where the author has tried to ram in as much detail as possible. Often because someone told them they needed to add ‘more description or setting’. You see it most when a new character wanders onto the page:

‘Ellie is tall, tanned, slim and very very blonde with big blue unblinking eyes that peer into your soul. She has such perfect skin and an obvious love of boho chic. Today, she’s paired grey Ugg boots with black shiny dance tights and added a pink ruffle skirt, topped off with a graphic print shirt. The overall look is of someone who got dressed in the dark. Her voice is raspy like someone who smokes many cigarettes, and she breathes heavily.’

Worse, it’s deployed when setting up scenes in new locations:

‘The cafe was dark and unwelcoming, the windows smeared with fingerprints. The rickety tables had seen better days. None of the chairs matched, and the floor was scuffed. Dog-eared menus sat between grubby salt and pepper shakers and the air was thick with the smell of greasy bacon. The counter itself was littered with yesterday’s free newspapers and in need of a good clean. A coat stand in the corner was overloaded with jackets. Red, blue, green, black and grey . . .’

In both cases, the reader is likely to lose interest fast, become overwhelmed and (most likely) have the writer pegged for a rank amateur. Or approach the authorities in The Hague and ask about what exactly constitutes a war crime.

Writing how you speak

When you talk to your friends, you don’t take a deep breath and deliver a blow-by-blow account of your day … unless you’re in an absolute fouler of a mood, then you might.

That’s how you need to think when you write.

Let’s get one thing clear. Writing authentic dialogue isn’t the same as being able to scribe word for word what real people say. You’ll get no credit for jotting down that interesting conversation you overheard on the bus into town.

We pepper real life dialogue with conversational ticks. And they should never make it into your story.

‘Hello,’ she said, as Monica sat.
‘Hello.’
‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks, you?’
‘Great.’
‘Fabulous, right, so shall we get started?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Great, then . . .’

What if you have a bunch of stuff you want to tease out in conversation? Again, the written word needs to work differently to the real world. In a story, dialogue should move on the story, create or confirm conflict, and (above all) keep the reader engaged.

Monica and her friend’s greetings told us nothing, moved the story nowhere and as pleasant as it all may sound, I tuned out fast.

How about if things took a different turn?

Monica sat.
Katie nodded a stiff hello. ‘How are you?’
The obvious answer was Katie felt awful. She hadn’t slept. She’d dreaded this meeting, but the truth wasn’t an option.
‘Fine,’ she said.
Monica shuffled official-looking papers. ‘Shall we get started?’

By adding in some action, a smidge of inner monologue and suggesting what lies beneath, there’s a story to be told.

Tuning out the ramble

In real life, when you talk to people, they’re likely to respond to the first thing you say rather than the last. People latch onto initial words (or arguments) and prepare their answers. They tune out the rest of the ramble. It’s human nature.

In fiction, things work differently. Like I said above, dialogue exists to carry your story. And the writing needs to reflect this.

The average reader carries the last words they’ve read into the next sentence, so rearrange the words spoken to allow each character to respond to the last line delivered.

That’s not to say you can’t have a character machine-gun ideas. It creates stress, tension, a sense of urgency:

Dan met me at the front door, his eyes already wide. ‘We need to clean the kitchen. Mum will hit the feckin’ roof. Have you seen the bedroom? You need to make the bed and fluff the pillows. You know how she gets. Who let the bloody dog in the dining room, anyway? She’ll go ape.’
‘Dude,’ I said. ‘Slow down. One thing at a time.’

Writing with a purpose

Did I mention before in one of these tip blogs that dialogue should always help move your story along? I’m fairly sure I did, because it’s the golden rule.

It adds depth to your characters and conveys information. When your writing reaches the editing stage, ask yourself if every conversation adds to the story. Would it be missed?

‘I saw Glenda at the beach,’ Tilly said. ‘Walking her dog.’
‘I didn’t know she had one.’
‘Yes, it’s a golden retriever.’
‘Fancy.’

Unless Glenda’s dog will play a vital role in a later scene, this sparkling exchange might need to go.

Talking our loud - writing tips

Talking out loud

I’ve compiled a whole load of tips on writing dialogue into an e-book, and you can buy it online through all the usual places. Happily, it’s not one of those stuffy things that preaches the living soul out of you, so give it a go. It might help. It might make you smile.

Tell me how you write dialogue. I love to learn.

Buy the Book

 

Writing great dialogue: Word of mouth storytelling

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Storytelling dialogueInexperienced writers tend to rely on dialogue to deliver the story. It’s an absolute no-no. Victoria Wood satirised this best in her mock soap ‘Acorn Antiques’:

“Apparently, being spiteful and having lots of extra-marital affairs could bring back my jaundice, so I’m going to be really nice from now on.”

The fancy word for this is ‘exposition’. Dialogue that exists for the supposed benefit of the reader.

‘John’s dead,’ she said.
‘John, our grandfather? The man who brought us up single-handed after our parents died in that terrible plane crash? That John?’

There’s no reason why your dialogue can’t help to set up the character of whoever it is who’s speaking, but when they’re filling in the reader, it doesn’t work.

‘I blame it on my upbringing. If my father hadn’t been abandoned by his mother at the age of six so she could go on a round the world cruise, I can’t help thinking things would have been very different,’ she said.

Show don’t tell and other dialogue dogma

The temptation to do this comes from another age-old writing rule: show don’t tell. Inexperienced writers imagine that by showing someone talking, they’re not telling. They’re wrong.

Ask yourself if anyone would actually deliver the line you just wrote.

Are they saying what they’re saying because you want to fill in detail?
And actually, there are times when you need to have a character recount the plot. Police procedurals are rife with it, but even then, it can come over tired.

When characters first meet they know nothing of each other. Unless you’ve set it up (which you could well do), the first time they talk, there’s no back story. They only know of their immediate situation.

As the scene unfolds, you can tease out a story, but trust your reader to pick up things you leave unsaid. You can add in story around the spoken word. Often you don’t need your characters to know everything about each other or the situation, but the reader may be getting an insider view.

‘I blame it on my upbringing,’ she said.
When he didn’t react, she found herself explaining how her parents split. How her father struggled to bring her up when her mother booked herself on a round the world cruise.

Rules for writing great dialogue

  • DON’T have characters tell each other things they should already know, never let them remind each other about things that happened in the past, just so the reader gets it.
  • NEVER have characters explain everything in horrible detail.
  • DON’T have characters tell each other how it makes them feel – or worse why (especially if it’s because of that awful thing in their past).

I’ve compiled a whole load of tips on writing dialogue into a free e-book, available to anyone who signs up to my mailing list. Or you can buy it online if you’d rather feather my nest with your hard-earned cash.