Writing dialogue can feel as innate (or as awkward) as having an actual conversation. Conversations convey information, carry ideas, and connect people to each other. They are do the same in a written narrative. So what is the best way to use dialogue for your story? And where can you develop it?
There are rules to using dialogue: use it to advance plot, reveal character, and avoid redundancy. But there are no rules with how you pace the dialogue inside the narrative.
Dialogue should be woven into the narrative. I think of it like a spice when cooking, too much of it can leave the reader overwhelmed or uninterested. It should be engaging and creative, giving the reader multiple layers of information at once. Conversations between characters reveal interiority and interpersonal dynamics while monologues are often the capstone of themes expressed through the whole piece.
The best dialogue is written with full understanding of your character. Is your character tight lipped, passive aggressive, or loquacious? Sad, excited, or repressive? You need to know each character, and each needs a voice true to them, including unique diction and underlying motivations. You can even go so far as capturing their phonetic accent, if you’re confident enough to do so.
Where do you get the dialogue from? The best writers are observant, so lift conversations from your life and repurpose them with meaning for your story.
Or you know those imaginary arguments you have in your head between you and a coworker or significant other, usually while you’re driving or in the shower? Those are perfect. Just make sure they turn out better than this.
Lastly, consider how your character would plan or respond in each situation. This approach will open your story to new possibilities instead of pushing your characters through the machinations of a plot.
Here are two examples from my own writing. One is real, one is entirely made up. The first is a toddler who is sad his mother left for work before he woke up. He is sad, and even as a child, he doesn’t explicitly say it.
He raced out of his room when he heard the garage open. His toddler feet pounding the floor faster than the rain outside hit the ground. Flicking open the deadbolt with his little forefinger, he collapsed on the Welcome mat just outside the front door. “My mommy. My mommy,” he cried as the red taillights passed by him.
Here, two golf course employees argue about going to get a cart. One is old, the other young. Their dialogue reveals power and class dynamics, potential, and missed opportunities.
“You gonna go get those carts?” Cole looked at Geoff then back down at his phone. Geoff continued, “I’ll meet you up there after this cigarette.”
“Why are you even here? Don’t you have a music store to run?”
“Why don’t you start working and quit being a lazy S.O.B.?”
“I’m working hard trying to find your music store on Google- or should I say ‘Joojle’? I mean, who spells Geoff with a ‘G’? Maybe that’s why you have to work here. Nobody can find Ge-off’s Music store. I’ll be at college in a week, and you’ll still be trying to find somebody to go get that cart.”
