Writing dialogue

I was reading a great book recently and I came across the phrase – “I knew him at school.” X bared his teeth. . . .

Now, the average teenage girl would probably not be struck by the originality of this phrase but, as this book (like most books I read) was not about werewolves or vampires, I was. (It was actually a story about two couples wanting to raise the same child, just to put the ‘teeth’ into context).  It told me everything I needed to know about how the charater felt regarding the person he was talking about.  The problem was, I then read the same phrase (or a variation, ‘he said through bared teeth’) four more times and it rather lost its impact.  That’s not a criticism of the book.  Had I ever used the phrase myself I probably would not have noticed it once, let alone five times.  However, it did bring home the ‘less is more’ truth regarding writing.  When you find a powerful set of words keep them for the right occassion – and, if possible, use them only once.

On the other hand:

“I’m bored,” he said. 

“So am I,” she said.

“Stop talking about being bored, please,” they said . . .  yawn.

At some point in every writing course I would set my students this challenge: write a decent length dialogue avoiding the – often boring – word ‘said’ altogether.  See how many alternative words you can find – minimum of a dozen.  Afterwards, go back and see if ‘said’ would actually be better in any instance – with an interesting adverb to cheer it up.  Limit of ‘saids’ is two!

If you feel like having a go, post your favourite line of dialogue with your ‘alternative to said’ word, and also one of your chosen adverbs to accompany ‘said’ or a ‘said’ alternative here.  There’s a virtual ‘high five’ as a prize to the best submission (or even a virtual hug).

There’s a bonus for body language that negates the need for a ‘speaking’ word altogether.

They went through to the study where Masgor signalled to his pupil to be seated before excusing himself briefly.  Fabiom took out and opened the history he had been studying, Chronicles of Lincius, Prince of Morene.

“Did you enjoy it?” Masgor, returning, inquired.  Fabiom grimaced.  “Not too well,” Masgor guessed.  “Nevertheless it is instructive.  No?”

“Yes,” Fabiom agreed, wondering if the moment had come to broach the matter on his mind yet not able to judge Masgor’s mood well enough.

“You have a question,” the tutor guessed.  “Out with it, lad!”

Fabiom grinned, his earlier discomfiture forgotten.  “I do,” he admitted, “about Lincius’s wife.  She was a Silvana.  Ever young, ever lovely.  Was she happy, do you think?  Were they happy?”

Masgor rubbed his chin and regarded his pupil sternly.  “You are rather young to be considering marriage, Fabiom.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Fabiom protested.  “Though I am coming to an age when I might. . . .”

“Sixteen,” Masgor nodded.  “Tell me then: Why do you ask, if not for your own sake?  It is hardly a question pertinent to the study of politics or history.”

  “It’s not important,” Fabiom muttered.  “I just wondered.”

Something in his voice made Masgor relent.  “I should imagine that they were happy enough.  I have rarely heard of a man who won a Tree Lady for bride who was not happy.  As for the Silvanii themselves, it seems to be their nature to be cheerful for the most part; if you exclude those who haunt yew trees and the like.”

Fabiom shivered involuntarily, “Yes, we will exclude those.”

“Yet I would not have you getting ideas,” Masgor continued, “for every man who wins such a wife there are three destroyed in the attempt.  If you have studied the first chapters of the Chronicles properly, Prince Lincius’s early exploits should have led you to expect that he would make the attempt; his talents and his charisma made it unsurprising that he should succeed.  He was a quite extraordinary individual.”

“I know,” Fabiom agreed quietly.  “That I know.”

From Silvana - book 1- The Greening