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Hi, Paula,
Now That's Writing
In this issue of The Writing Show newsletter, we celebrate the snappy dialogue of screenwriter/playwright Aaron Sorkin. This tiny excerpt comes from the "Posse Comitatus" episode of the TV show "The West Wing."
JOSH and AMY are giving their order to a
WAITRESS.
AMY
Can I get an egg white omelette and some
toast that's badly burnt?
WAITRESS
Yes.
JOSH
Just coffee, thanks.
The WAITRESS exits.
JOSH
That doesn't give you cancer?
AMY
Burnt toast?
JOSH
Yeah.
AMY
They're not sure, that's why I have the
egg white omelette.
Burnt toast is the catalyst in this seven-line scene, which sheds light on the personalities of both Amy and Josh as well as the relationship between the two. It's pretty common these days for people to eat egg whites instead of eggs for health reasons, but not for people to desire burnt toast. So we know right away that Amy is an unusual person.
Josh's remark, "That doesn't give you cancer?" functions on two levels. It shows concern for her-and indeed he is attracted to her and cares about her-but it's also a bit of a dig, a questioning of her judgment. This push and pull between caring and competition pervades their relationship. But this is a caring moment: Josh casts his remark as a question rather than a statement. A question is softer and contains the possibility of genuine concern. If he had said, "You know, burnt toast gives you cancer," he would have come across in a more judgmental and meddling way.
But it's the punchline--"They're not sure, that's why I have the egg white omelette"--that gives us real insight into Amy's character: it showcases her dry sense of humor and demonstrates that she hasn't taken offense at Josh's question. It also shows us that while she's obviously an informed consumer, she doesn't take either what she reads or herself too seriously; if she did, she'd be more careful about her diet, and she might even lecture Josh. The punchline also just plain makes us laugh, gluing us to the scene as it relieves any tension we might feel about the relationship we're observing.
To sum up, Sorkin:
- Makes an unusual preference the catalyst for revealing character
- Softens an observation about that preference by framing it as a question
- Endears us to the character with the preference by demonstrating her sense of humor.
Now that's writing!
--Paula B.
Visit us on the Web at writingshow.com
Contact us at paula@writingshow.com
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| Writing Dialogue, Part 3: Mixing Dialogue and Narrative |
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In our last two installments, we examined the importance of tension and character agenda in dialogue. This time we turn our attention to structural issues: interweaving dialogue with narrative. We'll be sampling the advice of Gloria Kempton, author of Dialogue: Techniques and Exercises for Crafting Effective Dialogue.
We know that dialogue shows and narrative tells and that the standard advice to writers is "Show, don't tell." But you can get into trouble if you follow this advice too literally: by always showing and never telling, you fail to engage the reader at every moment.
That's right. I've come to understand, as Kempton explains, that you can't show all the time. Even in stage plays, which are written almost entirely as dialogue, there's action. That's because in real life, when we speak, we're always doing something at the same time, as well as before and afterwards. As Kempton says:
Most of the time, we want to balance our scenes using all three elements: dialogue, action, and narrative. This is one reason you want to put your character in a scene with other characters as often as possible. Scenes that are woven engage the reader at an emotional level so much more effectively than scenes that are only dialogue, only narrative, or only action.
This is not to say that you must always "weave," as Kempton calls the process. Sometimes you want to focus completely on one element-dialogue, narrative, or action-and not clutter the scene, slow the pace, or distract the reader.
In deciding whether to mix dialogue, narrative, and action, you're seeking a balance. You probably don't want to bunch a lot of the same elements together too much: a lot of dialogue with no description or description with no dialogue. Kempton offers some breakable rules of thumb:
- When the story is moving too slowly, add dialogue to speed it up.
- To get background in, use either narrative or dialogue, or mix them together.
- Use narrative to get into characters' heads, but balance that with some conversation to keep things interesting.
Let's look at an example. In Well-Schooled in Murder, mystery writer Elizabeth George offers up this passage. Her detective, Inspector Lynley, is questioning students at a boarding school about a missing boy:
"Was Matthew happy here?" He noticed the momentary cessation of Smythe-Andrews' pencil.
"Who's really happy here?" the boy replied. "We're here because our parents sent us. Matt was no different."
"But he was, wasn't he?" Lynley asked. Again, they didn't reply, but this time he saw Arlens and Wedge regard one another briefly. "Just look at what he hung on his walls."
"He was a decent chap." This from Wedge, like a protest.
"Who ran away?"
"Kept to himself," Arlens said.
"He was different," Lynley countered.
The boys didn't respond. Their determined reserve was its own affirmation. Matthew Whately had indeed been different, but Lynley guessed that the difference had gone far beyond the pictures on his walls. It sprang from his background, from the neighbourhood in which he had spent his childhood, from his accent, from his values, from his choice of friends. The boy had been out of place in this environment, and all of them knew it.
In this scene, George mixes it up. But what if she hadn't? With dialogue alone, the scene might look like this:
"Was Matthew happy here?"
"Who's really happy here?" the boy replied. "We're here because our parents sent us. Matt was no different."
"But he was, wasn't he?" Lynley asked. "Just look at what he hung on his walls."
"He was a decent chap."
"Who ran away?"
"Kept to himself," Arlens said.
"He was different," Lynley countered.
See what happens when we remove the narrative? We don't see that the boys' actions belie their speech. Nor do we know for sure that Lynley has figured out what's really going on.
By the same token, if we removed all the dialogue from the scene, we'd get something like:
Lynley asked whether Matthew Whately was really happy at the school. As he did so, he noticed the momentary cessation of Smythe-Andrews' pencil.
The boys said that no one was really happy there-that they were there because their parents had sent them. Matt was no different.
Matt was indeed different, Lynley argued. After all, he'd hung weird stuff on his walls. Again, they didn't reply, but this time Lynley saw Arlens and Wedge regard one another briefly. Wedge said that Matt was a decent chap. Arlens added that he kept to himself.
But Lynley wasn't buying it. Matt was different, he said.
The boys didn't respond. Their determined reserve was its own affirmation. Matthew Whately had indeed been different, but Lynley guessed that the difference had gone far beyond the pictures on his walls. It sprang from his background, from the neighbourhood in which he had spent his childhood, from his accent, from his values, from his choice of friends. The boy had been out of place in this environment, and all of them knew it.
This option doesn't work very well because it's so flat. We're so far removed from the scene that we might as well not be there. It's as if the characters are pantomiming, playing charades with us rather than being in the actual scene.
George has got it right. A mixture of elements makes the scene alive and immediate while providing enough background and filling in missing information so we can follow what's going on. Try removing one element at a time from your own writing, and you'll quickly see whether your mix is working.
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| The Writer's Voice |
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I'm becoming increasingly convinced that having a unique and compelling voice is the best-maybe the only-way to get published today. You may produce a manuscript that's technically perfect and a great story, but if your way of telling your story doesn't pop, you're not going to get the attention of agents and publishers. In other words, you need a signature.
A voice is a way of telling a story in a distinctive manner. Elements of voice include your vocabulary, phrasing, subject matter, characters, tone, ideas, angles, pacing, settings, and type of humor.
For example, these writers have distinctive voices:
Stephen King. Horror and religion often meld in the work of the world's best-known writer of macabre stories. He also comes up with weird and wonderful villains. I mean, the langoliers? Really!
Larry David. Whether he's writing "Seinfeld" or "Curb Your Enthusiasm," Larry David makes fun of social obligations and assumptions. Do you really have to tip? What happens when your best friend's new girlfriend hates your guts? Must you always stop to talk to an acquaintance you see on the street? It's okay to respect the dead, but can't you make an exception when they've appropriated your favorite golf club?
JRR Tolkien. Fantasy is always fresh and compelling in the hands of the master, who draws us into his world by taking us into his confidence and offering characters we can identify with and root for. Both Frodo and Bilbo are ordinary "people" whose vulnerability appeals to us as they battle evil and their personal demons at the same time.
Judy Blume. A kids' eye view, clear prose, and unabashed frankness are this writer's hallmark.
Bryan Fuller. This offbeat humorist who's created TV shows like "Wonderfalls," "Dead Like Me," and "Pushing Daisies," is obsessed with death (and life afterwards). He prefers young slacker female characters with guys' names and dudes and dudettes who drily bring death and destruction to friends and strangers.
Lemony Snickett. Successor to Edward Gorey and Roald Dahl, this elusive and reclusive children's author likes to scare little kiddies to death by subjecting them to Dickensian horrors.
Terry Pratchett. Pratchett is known for his hysterically funny fantasy satire in which he humanizes non-human characters.
What is distinctive about your writing? If the answer is, "Not much," think about what makes you you.
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| Capitalization, Part 4: After Colons |
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I always get confused about whether to capitalize the words after a colon, so I looked up the rule. Here's what you're supposed to do:
Most of the time, don't capitalize. However, do capitalize if the part after the colon:
- Includes more than one sentence, e.g., I knew I was in trouble: If I left him, I'd have no money. If I stayed, I'd have no life.
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- Is a formal statement, e.g., The sign was clear: No trespassing.
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- Is a quotation, e.g., We sang the lyrics at the top of our lungs: "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plan."
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- Is a speech in dialogue, e.g., Everyone knows the dilemma: "To be, or not to be."
Don't capitalize in cases like the following because they don't conform to the above rules:
- The store was overflowing with summer fruits: strawberries, peaches, nectarines, melon, plums, and raspberries.
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- I couldn't help it: he darted right out in front of me!
These rules come from The Chicago Manual of Style, 14th Edition.
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| Writing Show News |
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Upcoming shows:
March 9, 2008. "Fun with Foreign Language," with Elizabeth Little, author of Biting the Wax Tadpole.
March 16, 2008. "The Writer's Voice," with Paula B.
March 23, 2008. No show.
March 30, 2008. "The Writer's Muse," with Rita Schiano, author of Painting the Invisible Man.
April 6, 2008. "Writing Letters," with Samara O'Shea, author of For the Love of Letters: A 21st-Century Guide to the Art of Letter Writing.
Have a question or topic you'd like covered on the show or in the newsletter? Want to write for us or be a guest host? See mistakes in my writing? Let me know.
--Paula B.
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| Trivia Question: Allegories |
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Last month we asked:
Name two books by Canadian authors that have been made into films that have been nominated for or won Academy Awards.
Here are some correct answers:
Michael Ondaatje wrote The English Patient, which won nine Oscars and garnered three other Oscar nominations.
Malcolm Lowry wrote Under the Volcano. The film was nominated for Best Actor (Albert Finney) and Best Music, Original Score (Alex North) 1984
Mordecai Richter wrote The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz. The film was nominated for Best Writing, Screenplay Adapted From Other Material (Mordecai Richter and Lionel Chetwynd) 1975
Farley Mowatt Never Cry Wolf. The film was nominated for Best Sound, 1984
W.P. Kinsella Wrote Shoeless Joe, which was filmed as Field of Dreams Nominated in 1989 for Best Music, Original Score, Best Picture, and Best Writing, Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium
This month's trivia question: Name two allegorical narratives.
Answer next month.
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