Tag Archives: writing

Writing Prompt – Dialogue

One of the most common worries my students have is dialogue, and it’s true that writing authentic dialogue is hard. It almost requires a different skill-set to crafting a story, because great dialogue begins with listening, in many ways a passive activity.

Three friends in conversation, their dialogue making them laugh together.

When we’re in conversation, we’re in the moment, responding emotionally and intellectually. We’re not psychopaths, not mentally recording people’s gestures and sayings as we engage with them. By contrast, when watching TV or streaming a series, we only listen. We don’t talk back. Kids, with their sponge-like brains, especially absorb how people talk on-screen.


Tuning Your Ear

Could this be why, as adults, when we come to write dialogue, our characters suddenly converse like they’re in a 1950s tearoom or at a 19th century ball? I don’t know. That’s a question for psychologists, but what I can offer is a writing exercise to help tune your ear in to real-world, present day dialogue.

Conversational Habits

Take your time over this prompt. There’s a bit of prep to do, so give yourself as much as a month overall. Firstly, ask yourself if there is a cashier you see regularly, perhaps in your local chemist or favourite cafe. (This may be trickier for big-city dwellers, but I’m certain there’s a vendor you visit often enough that they recognise you.) Do they greet you in a specific way? What are their verbal habits, by which I mean, do they start every sentence with ‘Well…’ or ‘Personally…’? Do they say ‘like’ all the time? That is all I want you to observe, one verbal habit and how the cashier greets you. Now, do the same for yourself. I’ll give my own examples. My greeting is very ordinary: I either say, ‘Hey, how are you?’ or, ‘How’s it going?’ For my verbal habit, (I have many, so I’ll choose one,) when I’m agreeing with someone, I don’t just say, ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ and when disagreeing, I say, ‘No, no, no.’

Writing Exercise

Hands breaking an egg into cake mix with a mixer on the side, all for a writing exercise.

For the writing part of the exercise there are two options: write a scene in which two characters are arguing, either over the best way to make a cake or the optimal route to a destination. The cake could be for their daughter, a friend or an exacting client. Or if you choose the journey option, they could be arguing over where to exit the motorway to get to a wedding, or in a foreign country and trying to find a train station. Give one of the character’s the cashier’s verbal habit and the other character your own. If it fits, use the greetings too.


That’s it. That’s the exercise. Write anywhere between 300-800 words. Have fun. Let me know in a comment what it does to your dialogue. And I’ll post another writing prompt next month.

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Can Creative Writing be Taught?

Well, teaching ‘creative writing techniques’ and learning ‘creative writing techniques’ are both tough propositions, for many reasons, but today I’m going to focus on one: invisibility. When writing is most effective, technique is invisible.

Classic, large, black, tall typewriter: imagine Faulkner tapping away, writing his novel, working on his masterpiece.


Invisible Force

Feeling gripped, carried away by a story, following the tribulations of characters we love, or love to hate… is like being compelled by an invisible force. To learn how to harness that force, we must deconstruct it. But how does one deconstruct something invisible?

Mystery

Some mystery remains as to why stories have the capacity to move us so deeply. The empathy we feel for fictional characters is distinct from the compassion felt for people suffering on the news. We semi-live, colive, if you like, fictitious experiences, and, as yet, academia is still striving to understand why. (If you want to read more on this subject, Monika Fludernik’s research into cognitive narratology is a great place to start.)

Harnessing

Add to this mystery the fact that every story, even a formulaic one, is unique, and it seems impossible to spot the traces left by such an elusive yet desirable invisible force. But spot them we must. The example I give my students is the following: Imagine a boy sitting on his own in a room, then a man walks in. It’s a meaningless scenario. We do not care about this boy or this man. Now, add the information that the button-nosed, anxious looking boy has never met his dad. This new knowledge immediately triggers questions, engaging the reader. Is this man the boy’s father? How and when information is revealed affects, even creates, that page-turning invisible force. In other words, plotting matters. So, can creative writing be taught? Probably not, but through reading, writing, discussing and playing we can spot the traces left by the invisible force that is storytelling, until we begin to harness that force ourselves.

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