Writing Exercise: Dialogue Tags

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Dialogue Tags

Should you do it or not?

I’m talking dialogue tags.

What on earth were you thinking?

Debate rages in the writing realm. Some point out that “he said”, “she said” has no real effect – people are trained just to glance over these cues of who is speaking. So we may as well go back to using them. Whereas for the last couple of decades “said-isms” have ruled  – muttered, sputtered, growled – but these start getting annoying after awhile.

I am from a totally different camp entirely. I like to write short, which means every word counts. Why would I use words people just glance over and do not contribute to my story. And for the longer works, again, why add something annoying or invisible when I can use description to enhance the dialogue. A writing weakness is keeping scene description and dialogue separate; once a writer gets in one mode, they tend to stick with it. But using the scene description to provide the dialogue queues instead of dialogue tags, the two required writing tools do double the work in half the time.

WRITING EXERCISE: So this month’s writing challenge is write a scene – likely you will need more than 100 words. Make the scene about the dialogue, but without dialogue tags (both saids and said-isms). The reader should clearly be able to tell who is talking. An example is below.

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Clifford & Rozetta 2

“Oh God, Clifford, why are you here?”

The man jerked, spinning around to see his wife. “Roz!” He crumpled the racing form and stuffed it into his shirt.

She pushed her way through the lines around the betting booths. “You promised!” Tears formed in her eyes, but the panicked edge to her near-screams were what made the crowd give them room. “You were doing so well with the 12-step.”

“Roz, Rozzie, Rozetta, it is okay hon. Just this one time. I have a sure thing.”

“NO!” Her voice broke. “No more.”

Clifford reached towards his wife but she stepped back. “It’s for us sweetie. A way for us to get our house back.”

“The house was lost two years ago.” Roz’s mascara ran in streaks. “We just got back on our feet enough to stop living in the cars.”

“Yeah, got really lucky last month.” A proud smile crossed his rugged good looks.

Her voice dropped to a hush, still audible in the crowd because everyone was quietly trying to ignore the couple. “How long have you been betting again?”

“After two trips to the Y, I realized only losers are part of the program.” The man grabbed the shoulders of her tread-bare coat. “We are winners, you and me.”

“You Lied To Me?!?” Her quiet accusation carried to the front of the line while they unconsciously moved forward as the betting lines continued to be processed.

“Honey, you weren’t ready yet.”

“No, no more lies.” She shook him off. “No more luck, no more sure thing. We’re done. I’m done.”

The last person in front of them cleared. Cliff pulled the betting form out of his pocket. “Give me a second honey.” Smiling, he turned to the window.

Roz screamed. Even the bored cashier paused pulling Clifford’s form and cash through the drop slot.

“Don’t come home. No, do come home to that shithole apartment. Me and the kids will be gone.” She stalked off, the betting lines parting like the Red Sea before Moses. Crazy beats obsessive.

Clifford shook his head in exasperation. “It is a sure thing.”

The cashier nodded his head.

“She’ll be back when I am rolling in the dough.”

(Words 366 – first published 2/19/2015; republished new blot format 8/23/2016)

Flash: Worth the Risk

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The bell attached to the doorsill rang as yet another stranger entered the busy coffee shop. Shirley eyes were drawn irresistibly to evaluate the new entrant. She really hoped this was worth the risk she had taken. The most recent arrival was a teenager who had no business being in a coffee shop except as an employee.

Frank had come across her on Facebook a year ago today. On the anniversary of the contact, they were going to meet again for the first time. His wife had died of cancer a while ago, so his long-distance electronic support when her husband died a few months back was exactly perfect.

The bell chimed again and this time it was Frank. Less hair than before, but the trim frame built for track and soccer matched the pictures on his Timeline. People can lie so easily on the web, she sighed into her coffee to see he was as handsome as she remembered.

His brown eyes scanned the room. They settled on each single occupant table for a moment before coming to rest on her. He mouthed “Hello” like they used to do in high school when they dated. After placing his order, Frank came over to join her.

An hour of laughter and earnest talk followed. Then he walked her to her car and kissed her hand, saying goodbye for now. Starting her Cadillac, Shirley made her way back to the Interstate. Definitely worth, the risk, she thought to herself.

Her husband had been a fat, lazy coach potato so no autopsy was done after his apparent heart attack. With his body cremated and ashes scatted, no one would ever know better. Frank might end up being a disappointment, but it was worth the risk to try to find love again.

(299 words – first published 11/21/2012; republished new blog format 8/7/2016)

Writing Exercise: Dialogue and Scene

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Dialogue and Scene

A strange phenomenon I have discovered while editing is writers usually have scene and dialogue well integrated for the first few chapters of a manuscript, but after a while the integration fails, switching to scene description and talking heads like they were writing a screenplay. When writing the first pass, such weaknesses are acceptable, but only if the author goes back and corrects them. Many self-published book glaringly suffer from this problem. The first step is recognizing it is an issue, unless you are writing a screenplay, and the second step is fixing the situation.

Below is a generic example of the phenomenon.

WRITING EXERCISE: Try to blend the two, or go through your present WIP (work-in-progress) and see if you have a scene or two suffering from this failing and adjust. If you fix the below, please post your version to the comment section.

Don’t read other people’s versions until you do your own.

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Clifford & Rozetta 1

The Student Union’s vaulted ceiling crisscrossed with ancient beams, smoke-darkened from hundreds of fires before central heat was installed. The marble floor was newer, replaced in the Roaring Twenties when the college was flush with donations, but was showing wear tracks along the paths most often used by students treading the maze of comfortable, but disintegrating furniture, begged, borrowed, stolen, and abandoned by their predecessors.

Rozetta’s and Clifford’s favorite sofa was a food-stained, soda-stained, sweat-stained, and don’t-ask-stained lump from the seventies that started life most likely a bright mint green. At least, when the guaranteed to clean anything fabric cleanser had been applied to one arm as a test, that was the intense color returned.

A lead-glass project from a forgotten art student filled the center window, breaking rainbows across the room. Every year Alpha Sigma Sigma would sacrifice their pledge class to climb a 30-foot ladder to clean the fifty some prisms and glass animals. Roz moved her hand back and forth through one of the rainbows residing mid-air over her accounting book.

“You still don’t get quantity variance.” Cifford admonished. “Finals are tomorrow.”

“If I haven’t got it by now, I am not going to.” Roz replied.

“You could at least try.”

Roz shrugged. “I tried and tried and tried. At least with the homeworks, projects, pop quizzes and mid-terms, the worst grade I can get is a C+ according to the rubric the teacher handed out … and that is if I get a zero on the final. And I am not going to get a zero.”

“So did you calculate my grade yet, my lady luck?”

She said, “18% of the grade. Best case, with a 100, is a B+, worse with a zero is a C-. Zero means losing your scholarship and having to drop out.”

“It was that damned paper. Who puts a paper in an accounting course?”

“Told you just follow the rubric, but no, you missed half the required points.”

“Thought the teacher would let me slide,” he said. “She likes me.”

Roz laughed. “Ms. Catcher, letting someone slide?”

“Hey, I get lucky sometimes.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Like tonight, after you understand quantity variance.”

“How about before I understand quantity variance, but after pizza. I’m buying.”

“Deal.”

The two packed up their books and left the Union and rainbows behind.

(words 389 – first publication 2/12/2015; republished in new blog format 7/26/2016)

Flash: Daisies are Happy Things

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The daisies were wilting.

I stared at the bundle.

I guess I should put them in water, but that means I will see them again. And think about it.

On the other hand, what did the daisies do? Is it fair to them? I mean they died for this bouquet.

But they had died before he bought them. It’s not like he grew them in his own garden for me and cut them just to bring them here. They had to be store bought.

I felt sorry for the daisies. Roses I would have trashed in an instant. I don’t know why there is a difference but there is.

I really can’t stand looking at them any longer.

I grab the handful and stalk out my door. Maybe if I drop them in Mrs. Lin’s composting pile I won’t feel guilty. I pick up the little compost bucket I keep outside my door, just to make the trip look more legitimate, and start walking down the street.

Passing the bus stop, I see Jeremy. He is huddled under all-weather shade our neighborhood association erected for riders. I expect someone will be calling the police soon to run him off again. He liked hanging around here because our neighborhood backed up against a small woods overrun with blueberry bushes and raspberry thorns; the location gave him a safe place to sleep as well as food part of the year since only the truly determined made their way through those brambles.

Plus me and Mrs. Lin, being single, often had extra food about to go bad we would toss his way when we could. It kept him alive, if not healthy.

“Hey Jeremy.”

He looked up from where he was wilting as badly as the daisies because of the late afternoon heat. “Chris, how is it going?”

“Weirdly.” I nodded. “Yep, weird. Hey, would you like some daisies to sell?” I offer him the bundle. When Mrs. Lin trimmed her forest, she always gave him some to make a couple bucks so no one would think it strange for him to have flowers out of the blue in time for the evening rush.

“They’re nice, don’t cha want to keep them?” he asked, taking them.

“They are part of the weirdness. But you sell them good. Daisies are happy things.” I turn away to continue to Mrs. Lin’s place.

(words 397 – first published 7/24/2016)

Flash: No More Cheeseburgers

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Rating: Mature (Language)

“Mom, it’s the end of the world!” Gilbert charged into the house, slamming doors behind him, shedding books, backpack, papers, and electronics in his wake from his day of college classes.

His mother looked up at her teenage son from the oven where she just pulled out a sheet of baked French fries. “Of course it is.”

“No, I mean for real! It’s all over the news.”

“Uh-huh.” His mother nodded moving the fries to a serving platter. “Would you like a cheeseburger or hamburger?”

“Why is that even a question?” Gilbert put his hands on the back of a kitchen charge, shaking in his urgency. “A meteor is about to hit Earth!”

“Correction, the meteor will hit Earth in a little over nine months.” His mother tsk’ed. “Please do not exaggerate.”

Blinking at the calm his mother produced, entirely at odds from the explosion of opinions on campus when the news was released a couple hours ago, Gilbert shook his head before whining, “But the world is going to end.”

“But not today or tomorrow, and I am assuming you are hungry now.” His mother nodded to the sizzling burgers. “So tell me, cheese or no cheese.”

“Cheese, please.” Gilbert muttered weakly, pulling out the chair before sitting down. He planted his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands.

After placing Swiss cheese slices on the ground meat patties and returning the cheese to the refrigerator, Heather brought over fries platter and ketchup. “Where is my kiss?”

Dropping his hands to the table, Gilbert kissed the cheek his mother presented.

“Much better. Now make yourself useful and get out the drinks.” Heather returned to the stove. “I’m your mother, not your waitress.”

“Yes mom.” Gilbert got up again and started setting the table for dinner. “I just don’t understand why you aren’t bothered. The news says there will be anarchy, looting, lawlessness.”

“Well it’s not going to happen in this house.” Heather said firmly. “People who do that are the stupid ones, and you and your sister are not stupid.”

Gilbert’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown while putting the glasses out. “I … what?”

“Oh, for the love of goodness.” Heather pulled the toasted buns from the oven and placed them on the table beside the lettuce leaves, onion slices, and tomatoes. “Anyone who goes the panicked mob route is just asking to die. The president already declared marshal law, and the National Guard has been deployed. She promised to bring on-line the draft for both men and women, and veterans should call in to the nearest post according to their last name.” Sliding the cheeseburger patties on a heated plate, Heather joined her son at the dinner table. “I got to call in at the gadawful hour of three a.m.”

Heather bowed her head and her son followed suit. “Dear Lord, during this time of trouble, please give our leadership the strength and wisdom they need. Give us the endurance and intelligence to be able to help them. Always remind us to look first to you for guidance.” Gilbert winced at the very pointed comment. “And bless this food unto our bodies. In your name, Amen.”

“Amen.” Gilbert echoed before grabbing a warmed bun. “So you are getting called up again?”

“What else did you expect?” Heather squirted some ketchup on her bottom bun, leaving the top of the bun on the serving platter since carbs were her biggest enemies in her ongoing battle of the bulge. “Though it’s likely only for the initial check-ins since hospitals will be a priority staffing issue.” His mother’s nursing career spanned three deployments overseas and half a decade stateside since she quit the army to raise her children after her civilian husband died of cardiac arrest.

“So I don’t even get to see you before it all ends.”

Heather pointed The Finger at her son. “Okay, stop that negativity right there. I raised you better than that. Heck, your father, bless his black heart, raised you better than that. What are the solutions?”

In the middle of biting into the burger when the question was asked, with mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, and meat juices dripping onto the plate, Gilbert chewed and swallowed before answering. He wasn’t going to risk his ears getting boxed for talking with his mouth full. “The meteor is going to hit the Earth. It’s too big to move. The news says it’s nearly eight kilometers.”

“Try again, that is not a solution.” The military officer grilled her son.

“Whatever.” Gilbert picked up a fry and considered it, slipping into programming mode. “Okay, there are three states to this equation. First we do nothing and continue as we are.”

His mother nodded. “With the minor change of controlling the anarchy and any idiots who use disruption to become petty dictators.”

“Scat, Dad would have loved this.” Gilbert’s dad taught high school history and ran the debate team most of his life, in between serving local political offices and as an adviser for state and military offices wherever they had been stationed.

“Focus.”

“All right, so option two is we try to move the rock and option three is we dig in and make an ark.” Everyone at the college figured the politicians didn’t release the news until they had the ark option all set up for their families and are already hiding underground.

“That is my conclusion as well.” After scooping some more onto her plate, his mother offered her son a half-filled platter. “More fries?”

Gilbert dumped the rest on his plate before smothering them in mayonnaise and ketchup. At nineteen, his appetite still hadn’t found a level between his track and his soccer scholarships and his continuing growth. Six foot would be in the rear view mirror in a few months, if he lived through the end of the world.

Heather steepled her fingers. “So the first step is control the lunacy and the second step is to direct our energies to humanity’s survival. Which option do you prefer?”

“I don’t see how we are going to move that rock, so I guess the ark is the best bet.”

“Hide instead of act.” Heather shook her head. “Well, half of humanity is conservative and half is action, which is how we survived so far. Diana takes more after me and you take more after your dad.”

Gilbert protested. “When action will accomplish nothing, using your brain is the best option. In fact it is always the best option – use the brain before acting. And in this case, the brain says a conservative reaction is best.”

Shaking her hand side to side, Heather responded. “Yes and no.”

“Right. So your turn.” Gilbert started on his second burger.

“Well, first we need to get everyone concentrating on the rock instead of panicking. We can go back to our petty bickering later, just like Africa did once Europe left. I think the U.N. is already working on that, though I expect some of the extremist groups to respond poorly.” Heather’s face hardened. “I also expect the kid gloves will come off and we will stop pussy-footing around with what is ‘humane’ and ‘civilized’ during this time.”

Gilbert smirked a moment, then took great delight and saying a word his mom constantly used on him for the last five years since she returned from overseas. “Focus.”

Heather’s brown eyes sparkled and a wry grin crossed her face before she started speaking again. “The problem with the ark solution is the limited amount of what can be saved. Therefore moving that stupid rock into the sun or at least off orbit is the better option.”

“I realize most of humanity will still die, but that is the trade-off for the ark. It is the more viable solution.” Gilbert tucked the last of the burger in his mouth.

Heather stood up and began to pick up the empty dishes. “There will be no more cheeseburgers.”

“I know that mom, but it’s okay; I’m full.” Gilbert stood up to help her load the dishwasher.

“No, Gilly, what I mean is there will be no more cheeseburgers after the ark. The cows won’t fit.”

Gilbert froze, glass in hand. “No more cheeseburgers?”

“Yeah, even if you get chosen for the ark because of your brains, brawn, genes, and youth, and don’t get all big-head on me, but you would be a prime choice, but cows take up too much landscape to raise so there will be no more cheeseburgers or steak.”

“Well, fuck that. We need to move that rock.”

His mom smiled evilly. “Why don’t you get on internet and get your friends on it. SpaceX has a rocket going up in two days and needs number crunchers to figure out density programs for their sensors. They advertised the crowd sourcing just before you came home.”

(Words 1,478; first published 7/17/2016)