Raising voices
I'm often uncomfortable in social situations, when the need to make small talk is great and I feel an obligation to contribute something interesting to the conversation. Mostly I sit and listen, nod and smile when appropriate. However, a good conversationalist can propel almost any exchange forward into interesting or entertaining territory whereas in these situations I'm better at following than at leading. Honestly, I enjoy solitude -- maybe because at my job I spend so much time talking to people in class, at the Writing Center, in meetings with faculty and administrators, and, if the truth be known, even to myself -- but I also enjoy listening to people, even if it's just eavesdropping on the couple at Jack in the Box while I'm eating a Spicy Chicken Sandwich. While I'm aware of my own shortcomings as a conversationalist, I've learned a lot over the past few years about what conversation should look like on the page. Whether in fiction or nonfiction, the conventions of dialogue are the same as are the mistakes that can lead to stilted, awkward, and sometimes unrealistic speech.
Dialogue, which is simply a verbal exchange in which characters speak their own words instead of the narrator speaking them, is often my favorite part of books -- Huck's and Jim's dialect in Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn , William Least Heat-Moon's exchange with an ugly Nevada prostitute named Tiffany in Blue Highways , or Spoon and Can o'Beans arguing as only animated inanimate objects can in Tom Robbins's Skinny Legs and All . Good writers make dialogue so natural, uninhibited, and fluid that I'm often left feeling that the author was simply transcribing something overheard. Student attempts at writing dialogue, however, frequently remind me just how difficult it is.
Occasionally a student who has never written dialogue before won't recognize the importance of distinguishing the narrator's voice from the characters' voices. This results in writing that is meant to be dialogue but is not:
The mother asked her son, “Where he had been?”
Here the writer used indirect discourse -- paraphrasing what the character said instead of letting the character speak for herself -- but put quotation marks around it so that it looks like dialogue. Clearly, the mother would not phrase the question to her son as it is above but instead like this:
The mother asked her son, “Where have you been?”
In order to write effective, realistic dialogue, you need to be able to speak not just in your narrative voice but also in the voices of your characters as they speak to each other.
Another aspect of dialogue that poses problems for the inexperienced writer is the attribution , which attributes words spoken to a specific speaker. It always contains at least two things: a noun or pronoun that identifies the speaker and a verb that shows how the speaker speaks. The most common attribution is “He said” or “She said,” but the speaker can be identified in other more specific ways, such as “Clarence said” or “Shannon, the freckled waitress, said.” Similarly, our choice of verbs can change Clarence's and Shannon's tone, clarity, or volume in order to reveal their emotional or physical state. Clarence might shout or whisper, growl or chirp, pontificate or mumble, and Shannon could sing or wail, coo or announce, proclaim or stutter. Just remember to choose verbs because they do the work that needs to be done, not because they spotlight your ability to use a thesaurus.
Inexperienced writers typically make several common mistakes with attributions, all of which are easily avoided. They often think that every line of dialogue demands an attribution so the reader knows who's speaking:
“I thought you said you'd be home by 11:00,” Evelyn said.
Her son Glen said, “I didn't say that. You did.”
“So why didn't you get home until 3:30?” she said.
However, the speaker can also be identified -- and much more vividly -- without an attribution by providing some details of the character's appearance, action, or thought:
“I thought you said you'd be home by 11:00.” Evelyn stood at the stove with her back to Glen.
He glowered at her and slumped into a chair at the table. “I didn't say that. You did.”
Evelyn turned and shook the spatula at him, small bits of scrambled egg shooting to the floor. “So why didn't you get home until 3:30?”
When no attribution is attached to the words spoken, the speaker is assumed to be the character in the same paragraph whose actions, expressions, body language, thoughts, or memories are provided. It's not that it's incorrect to include the attribution along with the details; it's just that the details usually make the attribution unnecessary.
Unfortunately writers sometimes think that introducing dialogue with expressions such as “The two men started talking” or “Evelyn soon continued with the discussion” is a way to provide interesting details. However, there's no need to tell us that characters “started talking” or “continued the discussion” when their dialogue makes it evident that they're talking or have continued their discussion. Simply put, narrating and dramatizing the same thing is redundant.
Sentence variety is a key to readability and also affects the reader's perception of style. Because attributions can be moved to different locations in a sentence, they can be enlisted to contribute to sentence variety in dialogue. For example, imagine that our character Roy says this:
“Let's unload the hay before you go pick a fight with Clarence.”
Obviously, the attribution can come first:
Roy said, “Let's unload the hay before you go pick a fight with Clarence.”
This is a good location since the reader knows right away who's speaking, but the attribution can also be moved to the end of the sentence:
“Let's unload the hay before you go pick a fight with Clarence,” Roy said.
While this makes the reader wait until after what's spoken to find out who said it, in the midst of a conversation in which the characters involved have already been established, it can work just fine.
A third option is often available in compound and complex sentences and in sentences that contain other grammatical opportunities for interruptions.
“Let's unload the hay,” Roy said, “before you go pick a fight with Clarence.”
In this example -- a complex sentence -- we can place the attribution between the independent and subordinate clauses.
Writers also have options with the syntax of attributions. Whether the subject is a noun (Glen or the new ranch hand) or a pronoun (he), it can always precede the verb (said, exclaimed, growled, etc.) regardless of its location in the sentence:
Glen (or the new ranch hand or he) said, “I'll knock him right out of his boots.”
OR “I'll knock him right out of his boots,” the new ranch hand (or Glen or he) said.
OR “I'll knock him,” he (or the new ranch hand or Glen) said, “right out of his boots.”
Similarly, both proper and common nouns can follow the verb if they follow or interrupt the dialogue:
“Just make sure he can get back in them,” growled Roy.
OR “Just make sure,” growled Roy, “he can get back in them.”
OR “Just make sure,” growled Glen's boss, “he can get back in them.”
Putting the verb before the noun in an attribution that precedes the dialogue is awkward, however:
Exclaimed Roy, “Just make sure he can get back in them.”
OR Exclaimed Glen's boss, “Just make sure he can get back in them.”
The same holds true for pronouns: placing them after instead of before the verb draws excessive attention to the writer's effort to do something different, all of which is likely to distract the reader from the story:
“I'll teach him to call me a momma's boy,” said he.
OR “I'll teach him,” said he, “to call me a momma's boy.”
OR Said he, “I'll teach him to call me a momma's boy.”
Clearly we understand what each of the above means, but the unconventional syntax of the attributions contributes little but self-consciousness to the narrative voice.
Sometimes in order to quicken the pace of an exchange it makes sense to drop all attributions and leave out details so long as the speakers have already been established and details of people and place have been provided. When characters' excitement or anger results in a rapid-fire exchange, the speed of the exchange can be increased by focusing only on characters' voices:
“All I'm saying is don't go doing anything stupid.”
“Maybe you should've told Clarence that before he shot his mouth off.”
“What's done's done, Glen.”
“But it sure as hell doesn't excuse it.”
“I'm just sayin' --”
“I know. But kicking his ass would be far from stupid.”
And just as stripping down dialogue to only the characters' voices speeds the pace of the exchange, an awkward or thoughtful silence can be created and held by drawing the reader's attention to things other than the characters' voices. In the midst of the silence, other sounds -- unnoticed during the noise of the conversation -- can be brought forward to emphasize Glen's and Roy's quiet:
The pickup rocked across the ruts in the lane leading to the corral, and on the radio Willie Nelson's wiry voice crooned, “You were always on my mind.” The smell of wild hay drifted through the open window, where Glen's right arm dangled, his knuckles thumping against the outside of the door in time to the music.
Roy pulled the truck near the fence, pushed it in park, and swung the door open.
As you can see, this is a far more dramatic and interesting way to convey silence between characters than to simply tell the reader that Roy and Glen were silent for a time.
Like attributions and other details, paragraphing also helps readers keep track of who's speaking because each time the focus shifts from one character to another -- whether in action, description, or speech -- the writer should begin a new paragraph. Notice how the absence of paragraphs in the following passage, even though attributions are often present and the punctuation is correct, can leave one confused about who's speaking:
Roy pulled open the end gate of the pickup, the box stacked six high with hay bales, and stepped first on one end of the bumper and then on the open end gate. He reached above his head, pulled down a bale, and set it in front of the scuffed pointed toes of his boots. “He's got a lot of goddam nerve to talk like that.” Glen grabbed the bale by the twine, slid it off the end gate, and carried it to the hay bunk built into the corral fence. He dropped the bale and kicked it so that it set snug against the bunk. “Clarence has always been like that -- saying whatever it takes to get under somebody's skin.” Roy dropped another bale on the end gate. “He might be 20 years older than you, but he's quicker than shit.” “You think he can take me? That leather-faced old fart?” Glen spit as he walked back to the pickup.
Here's the same passage but with paragraphs inserted each time the focus shifts from Glen to Roy or vice versa:
Roy pulled open the end gate of the pickup, the box stacked six high with hay bales, and stepped first on one end of the bumper and then on the open end gate. He reached above his head, pulled down a bale, and set it in front of the scuffed pointed toes of his boots.
“He's got a lot of goddam nerve to talk like that.” Glen grabbed the bale by the twine, slid it off the end gate, and carried it to the hay bunk built into the corral fence. He dropped the bale and kicked it so that it set snug against the bunk.
“Clarence has always been like that -- saying whatever it takes to get under somebody's skin.” Roy dropped another bale on the end gate. “He might be twenty years older than you, but he's quicker than shit.”
“You think he can take me? That leather-faced old fart?” Glen spit as he walked back to the pickup.
And remember that paragraphs in dialogue can be any length, from several sentences to a single word:
Roy gazed across the empty corral, beyond the barbed wire fence, and into the dense cover of mesquite, nopal, yucca, and huisache.
Glen slid the bale from the end gate. “Like hell,” he grumbled and slung the bale in place next to the first.
“No, I don't think so,” Roy sighed.
Glen turned and looked up at Roy's face, shaded by the brim of his straw hat. “That's what I figured. When it comes down to it --”
“I know so.”
Notice that only two of the five paragraphs contain attributions but that there's no confusion as to whom is speaking because we know that only two characters are involved and that each time we start a new paragraph we've switched to the other character. And there is no mandatory length required for paragraphs in dialogue; in fact, the paragraphs in this brief exchange vary in length from 27 words to just three.
Punctuation also plays a pivotal role in how readers hear dialogue between characters. First, attributions that precede dialogue -- whether a statement, a question, or an exclamation -- are always followed by a comma, which appears before and outside the quotation mark, as in this example from the previous exchange between Roy and Glen:
Roy sighed, “No, I don't think so.”
If the attribution follows a statement in dialogue, the comma again appears before but now inside the quotation mark, which is then followed by the attribution:
“No, I don't think so,” Roy sighed.
If the attribution follows a question or an exclamation in dialogue, the question mark or exclamation point appears inside the quotation mark and no comma is used:
“You know what ?” Glen shot back.
Because characters often address one another by name (Glen), by terms of endearment (dude, kiddo), or by derogatory labels (dumb ass), writers need to know how to present direct address on paper. In general, direct address is always separated from the rest of the dialogue with a comma or commas, depending on where in the sentence it appears:
“Dude, I know a fool when I see one,” Roy laughed.
OR “I know a fool, Glen, when I see one,” Roy laughed.
OR “I know a fool when I see one, dumb ass,” Roy laughed.
Tag questions , which also commonly appear in dialogue but typically not in narrative, follow statements and are intended to provoke an answer from the listener to find out if he/she is listening and/or understands.
“You think that's funny, don't you?”
Since the statement is in the positive, the tag question is in the negative, but if the statement is in the negative, the question is in the positive:
“You don't know what you're talking about, do you?”
Tag questions are always separated from the statement with a comma, and because tag questions are questions, they're followed by a question mark:
“Clarence needs you to watch out for him, doesn't he?”
Sometimes inexperienced writers try to indicate interruptions with ellipses (...), but ellipses only indicate that the speaker's voice trails off or that something has been left out. Instead, when the speaker is cut off by someone else, use a dash (--) to show where the interruption occurs, and then let the interrupter's line start with speech, not an attribution, as in this example where Glen cuts off Roy:
“I'm just sayin' --”
“I know.”
Some inexperienced writers think that readers need to be guided through an interruption and, as a result, over explain:
“That's what I figured. When it comes down to it --”
Roy cut in, “I know so.”
Inserting the attribution “Roy cut in” is unnecessary since it explains (or tells) what the dash already indicates (or shows); besides, it's what Roy says that interrupts Glen, and as a result, his speech -- not the attribution -- should immediately follow the dash.
Less common though nonetheless still useful is the quote within a quote . If one character quotes another, the writer needs to indicate this by placing regular quotation marks (“ ”) around the main quote and single quotation marks (‘ ') around the quoted quote:
“Clarence never said, ‘Glen's a momma's boy,'” Roy explained.
Notice that when the quote within the quote appears at the end, the comma goes inside both the single and the double quotation marks. However, where to place a question mark or an exclamation point depends on which part of the sentence the punctuation applies to. For example, the question mark might apply to the quoted quote, in which case the question mark goes inside the single quotation mark:
“Clarence never said, ‘Is Glen a momma's boy?'” Roy explained.
However, if the main sentence is the question and the quoted quote is a statement, the question mark goes outside the single quotation mark but inside the regular quotation mark:
“Did Clarence really say, ‘Glen is a momma's boy'?” Roy asked.
While somewhat unusual, a lengthy speech that runs more than one paragraph can also result in mistakes by inexperienced writers and in potential confusion for readers. If what a character says isn't interrupted by narrative or another character and if it logically requires separation into two or more paragraphs, then the closing quotation mark is not used until the speech is over, not even at the end of the first paragraph:
“Clarence was sitting at the bar in the Red Rooster Saturday night,” Glen explained, “alone like usual while me and Daryl -- the guy from the Feed Mill -- were having a beer and shooting eight-ball. Well, Shannon was working, but every time she went back to the bar he'd talk her ear off until she picked up her tray of drinks and headed off to one of her tables. Then, Clarence would look over at us with that shit-eating grin of his.
“Well, I didn't think much of it, figured he'd just had too much to drink. But this kept going on, so when Shannon came over to pick up our empties, I asked her what he was talking to her about.”
The first paragraph isn't closed with a quotation mark because Glen isn't finished talking; however, the second paragraph is reopened with a quotation mark to indicate that he's continuing and then closed at the end since that's where Glen finishes what he has to say.
Another common error that students make in dialogue (even if they don't in narrative) is creating comma splices . A comma splice is a form of a run-on that results when two independent clauses are pushed together with only a comma between them. While characters are apt to speak in fragments, they don't speak in comma splices. Here, for example, is a comma splice:
“She wouldn't say, she just asked if we wanted another beer.”
Because what precedes and what follows the comma are both sentences, it makes sense to punctuate them as such:
“She wouldn't say. She just asked if we wanted another beer.”
OR “She wouldn't say; she just asked if we wanted another beer.”
Another symptom of inexperience when writing dialogue is avoiding contractions , often because the writer recalls a composition teacher instructing students never to use them in writing because they're too informal. This is simply bad advice. Try asking a question in the negative without using one: Did not he go, too? Is not she Glen's girlfriend? Does not Evelyn know what he did? As you can see, dialogue without contractions also often feels stiff and unnatural. Here are two lines of dialogue, first with contractions:
“I'm not a kid anymore,” Glen said softly.
“But you've always told me where you're going,” Evelyn sighed, “and when you'll be home.”
Now compare these to the same two lines without contractions:
“I am not a kid anymore,” Glen said softly.
“But you have always told me where you are going,” Evelyn sighed, “and when you will be home.”
While the absence of a contraction in Glen's line makes him sound more emphatic -- something that can be further emphasized by using italics (“I am not a kid anymore,” Glen said softly). By contrast, Evelyn's speech just sounds stiff and unnatural because in everyday speech “you have,” “you are,” and “you will” probably would all be contracted; there's no sense of anger or emphasis created by spelling out these three.
Beware, however, of thinking that contractions or clipped endings or phonetic spellings will always make your characters sound natural. Instead, this can result in distracting dialogue that makes them sound like stereotypical hillbillies:
“But you've always tol' me where yer goin' and when you'll be comin' home.”
Similarly, misspelling words commonly used in dialogue but not in narrative can make your characters sound foolish. For example, people often say “yeah” instead of “yes,” but even “yeah” can be misspelled. Some students spell it “ya” or “yah,” both of which can make a Texas rancher sound Norwegian:
“Yah, there now, you betcha, Glen.”
I've also seen “yeah” spelled “yea,” which makes our rancher suddenly sound like an apostle:
“Yea, verily I say unto you, Glen.”
Generally unconventional spellings are unnecessary since readers will hear the relaxed pronunciation even without strange spellings such as “doncha” for “don't you,” “woncha” for “won't you,” “gonna” for “going to,” “wanna” for “want to,” “shoulda” or “should of” for “should've,” or clipping the ends off words by replacing with an apostrophe the -g in any word ending with -ing (“goin'” for “going”). Don't rely on punctuation or phonetic spellings do the work that careful word choice and content should do in developing your characters' voices.
Like real human beings, fictional characters sometimes need to use profanity . However, from the writer's point of view, several questions arise concerning the inclusion of expletives in fiction. First, should they be spelled out or should the writer avoid offending readers by using blanks (sh_t or f__k) or asterisks (sh*t or f**k) and leave it to the reader to fill them in? Blanks and asterisks are the written equivalent of the TV censor's bleep. We all know what was said, but the exclusions draw attention to the narrator's prudishness or to what he or she perceives to be the reader's sensitivity and excessive innocence. If someone must swear to remain true to his or her character, have the courage to let the character say what needs to be said and the respect for your reader to assume that he or she will appreciate the necessity of the profanity and not giggle about it like a third grader whose teacher, when he discovers that a ball point pen has leaked all over the inside of his shirt pocket, inadvertently says, “Shit,” in front of the class.
Second, should the writer use milder oaths in place of the real thing, such as “dang” instead of “damn” or “freaking” instead of “fucking”? The answer is again, of course, no. Such substitutions, particularly when they occur in serious, dramatic situations, often feel comic. This is the sort of distracting thing that happens when network television broadcasts an R-rated movie and we see a character's lips say, “goddam” while the voice over says, “golldarn.” Not only is this kind of substitution unrealistic, especially if it's a brutal, cold-blooded killer who speaks, but it lends a comedic atmosphere to the scene and changes the tone of the entire movie. The same thing happens on the page in fiction. Assume that your readers are mature, intelligent adults who understand that in the real world people use language like this.
Third, how much profanity is too much? Keep several things in mind when trying to answer this question. Profanity loses its power and ability to shock the more frequently it's used. Since profane language doesn't advance the story but only reveals character, frequent profanity doesn't make a better or more realistic story. Similarly, character is most often and most effectively revealed by what characters do and say and to a lesser degree by how they say things. Profanity is part of the latter; it's simply a vulgar way of conveying anger, surprise, frustration, fear, and sometimes even joy. Think of it this way: the speech of a character who habitually swears can be effectively portrayed by intermittently using profanity in his or her dialogue, particularly if in contrast to other characters in similar situations an occasional expletive emphasizes the character's vulgarity. Intelligent readers who want a story, not a narrator who draws attention to him- or herself, will recognize that a single instance of the word “fuck” in a character's speech actually represents several instances of such language. When readers perceive that profanity is included simply for the sake of using profanity, then it becomes gratuitous and detracts from rather than contributes to the story.
Some writers have difficulty deciding where a conversation should start and either forget or don't realize that good dialogue must do at least one, but preferably both of, two things: develop character and advance the story. As such, dialogue is not normal, duplicated speech but speech that is condensed, molded, shaped, and polished so that what we hear does as efficiently and memorably as possible what needs to be done for the purpose of the story. Nothing is wasted and nothing included that doesn't serve a legitimate, necessary purpose. In the end, we play God in our fictional worlds and often feel like parents to the characters we raise in our stories, characters who become so real that we sometimes feel that they speak through us and to us, raising their voices over our own and over the clamor of our editorial concerns of how to write dialogue.
( Randy Koch teaches English and directs the Writing Center at Texas A&M International University .)
