Sometimes My Characters Talk to Me

From deep inside Chester, something bubbled up. Something she had never felt before. It was like the apple that made her mouth water for more, like flying away from Ur'dea, watching the black planet grow smaller, like gasping for a breath of fresh air on that planet with the blue sky and not choking.

Like seeing Jaak's smile and knowing he'd do anything for her.

"It's called hope," Lelea said.

"What?"

"What you feel. It's hope."

"Hope?"

Lelea nodded. "Always choose the option that makes you feel like this."

This last line has been on my mind lately. I've been making some tough choices about my career, my writing, my life, my family, and I hear Lelea whispering in my ear.

A couple weeks ago, some friends advised me to look for a publisher for one of my stories. I had planned to self-publish. But weighing my options, I realized that one road made me feel heavy, empty, and dark while the other gave me hope. My heart lifted at the thought that gave me this hope, and I knew which road was right for me.

Lelea, with her crazy eyes and her innocent smile, is my better, wiser self. Or maybe the better, wiser person I wish I was. She is certainly a great friend, helping me to find my way.

Excerpt from my Current Story

My days have been filled with editing. Even in my dreams, I swim through the words. Sometimes they threaten to drown me, but I will conquer them yet.

Here's an excerpt from the story I'm currently working on:

"Girl, you're insane."

Lelea looked up at him as a tear fell from the corner of her eye. "If only I were."

Ahern stared at her. Her eyes were deep and sad. So deep that he couldn't stop looking into them, like those dark pools hidden in desert caves where the water went down into the deepest, darkest reaches of the earth. It was better when her eyes were wild, he decided.

"Please trust me, Ahern," she moved closer to him and put her arms around him. She was so close that he could feel the curves of her body and the softness of her breast pressed against him. "I won't lead you wrong. I promise."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and reminded himself that she was crazy. "What are you doing?"

"I'm hugging you." She smiled at him, her eyes back to childlike madness.

He pushed her away. "I don't need hugs."

"Yes, you do. You just don't know it yet."

Guilty of Dreaming

I am currently reading Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card and came across this quote:

"You had the examination ready," she said. "You were all set to go. You knew that you'd let me do it all along."

He shook his head. "I hoped. I believed in you. I wanted to help you do what you dreamed of doing. As long as it was something good."

She would not have been Nivenia if she had not found one more poisonous thing to say. "I see. So you are the judge of dreams."

Perhaps he didn't know it was an insult. He only smiled and said, "Faith, hope, and love: these three. But the greatest of these is love."

"You don't love me," she said.

"Ah," he said. "I am the judge of dreams, and you are the judge of love. Well, I find you guilty of dreaming good dreams and sentence you to a lifetime of working and suffering for the sake of your dreams. I only hope that someday you won't declare me innocent of the crime of loving you."
-- Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card

Note: I am actually reading this as a book on tape in my car, so these typed words are from dictation. The punctuation and name spellings may be different from what is in the actual printed book.

Pippo was questioning her motivations, forcing her to expose the very core of who she was, and out of that came some powerful dialog. And very intense. You can feel the characters' hatred, fear, anxiety. Card does an excellent job playing up the struggle between the two characters.

I wanted to share every word of this scene here in this blog. Partially, to analyze the dialog from a writer's perspective. But mostly to consider the wisdom of what was being said. Card seems to really be a philosopher at heart, and he's using his story to share something very profound with us without falling into exposition.

Dreams. Something that I crave to follow. And it is my hope in my writing to push people to find their dreams, to follow them, to give them hope, to reach into an empty place deep inside and make that place ache with longing for something more than this world has yet offered.

Which is the very thing that this sentence did to me: "I find you guilty of dreaming good dreams..."

So I want to ask you what Card's character Pippo was asking Nivenia: who are you?

"What I wanted to hear," said Pippo softly, "was the name of what you are rather than all the things that you are not. What you are is the Hive Queen. What you are is the Speaker for the Dead. It is a very small community—small in numbers—but a great hearted one. So you chose not to be part of the bands of children who group together for the sole purpose of excluding others, and people look at you and say, 'Poor girl, she is so isolated.' But you know a secret. You know who you really are. You are the one human being who is capable of understanding the alien mind because you are the alien mind. You know what it is to be un-human because there has never been any human group that gave you credentials as a bona fide homo sapiens."
-- Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card

Dialog. Short, Sweet, & Pungent.

Sometimes, it's good to break rules, shake things up a bit. Sometimes, bad grammar, fractions, run-ons, and the like are necessary in order to create an affect that transcends the ordinary. The rule that I shared yesterday is another rule that was made to be broken.

Here is an example from my story Dreams:

"Debris incoming," the computer interrupted.

"The scrolls, dragon," Lelea said with a sigh. "We found the scrolls." She smiled at him, her eyes empty as though she wasn't really seeing him. Ahern felt chills run down his spine, and he shuddered.

A dull thud—like the fall of a dead body—sounded against the ship's hull and echoed through the cockpit.

"Computer," Lelea said, "retrieve the scrolls and open the hatch."

"Negative. Dysfunctional."

Lelea hit a few buttons. "Both the hand and the hatch are now functional."

"Preparing to comply."

Those eyes looked at him again. "Ahern, I'll need your help to pull in the body."

"I thought you said it was the scrolls."

"He is."

Some of these responses are actions, reactions, thoughts, and feelings, all rolled up into one. "I thought you said it was the scrolls," Ahern said. There is emotion in those words: frustration, annoyance, disbelief, jealousy. Those words are practically torn out of him.

Her response—"he is"—is also action, reaction, thought and feeling. It's as though her words have stabbing power. They punch him in the gut. They have impact. Short. Sweet. Pungent.

That's the time when I drop all the gluing prose—the reactions and feelings and thoughts—when I want the words to stab.

Here is another example from the same story. Ahern puts the "scrolls" on a bed and then watches the kid wake up. The resulting conversation isn't very friendly:

The white-haired boy stirred and moaned. "Where am I?" he muttered.

"Good question."

"At least you could answer it."

"Suppose I could."

The boy stared at him, a smile spreading across his face. "You remind me of
someone I know."

Ahern cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You do not like me, do you?" the kid asked.

Gluing Dialog Together with Prose

A story that only contains action lacks depth. A story that has little to no action lacks plot. It is the job of a write to blend the two seamlessly. One of my favorite writing books Manuscript Makeover by Elizabeth Lyon describes a formula for balancing action, thoughts, feelings, responses, and description into well rounded prose. The formula goes like this:

Action --> Reaction --> Thoughts / Feelings --> Action

Dialog is action, and good dialog deepens tension between characters. To intensify that tension, add reactions and thoughts / feelings. It makes the story more realistic because when we talk to people we react, we have feelings, we think. Many times, what goes on inside is nothing like what's on the outside.

Consider this excerpt from my book Infiltrate:

"Where's Lelea?" Jaak demanded, looking around. "She's the one that scares me. She's the one that'll get us killed."

Jadon wadded her hands into fists and leaned across the table. Jaak turned white. "Lelea knows what to do," Jadon growled.

She wasn't going to admit that she had her doubts too. Sure, Lelea could do the mission in her sleep, but that didn't change her sister's strange behavior. And it wasn't the chip in her brain that made her so unstable. Jadon had run diagnostics on it many times over the last year. No, there was nothing wrong with it...

She sneered at the scub cowering in front of her. "She's been training for missions since she was two, but you haven't even made it through Lunk. Remember, scub?"

Action: Jaak accuses Lelea of likely getting them killed.
Reaction: Jadon wads her hands and leans forward.
2nd Reaction: Jaak turns white.
3rd Reaction: Jadon growls and defends her sister. Arguably, this could be an action, but in this case, I used dialog as part of her reactions to Jaak.
Thoughts / Feelings: Jadon considers whether Lelea really is up to the task.
Action: Jadon throws Jaak's inadequacies back in his face.

All rules are made to be broken. There are times when dialog should be back to back with nothing in between. When do you break this rule? The answer is coming tomorrow.

Writing Powerful Dialog

I was having an IM conversation with a friend of mine about his job situation. He had been unemployed for some time and was looking at a possible job offer that he wasn't sure he really wanted. I could understand that this job offer took him away from his dreams, but I was concerned about the hopelessness I'd seen in him lately.

So here is how the conversation went:

whoever: i really have no comment on the matter just yet
whoever: i can't know how they treat people, aside than to see that most people have been there for some time
whoever: with the exception of the direct manager i'd report to, who's been there for 3 months
Rita Webb: i think i agree with your father.
Rita Webb: to move forward cautiously, but i'm not so sure you should turn it down.
whoever: i'm not either, really. but as i said, i don't know.
Rita Webb: i mentioned earlier that i was worried about you stagnating.
whoever: mmmm, you've said that
Rita Webb: so anyway, i hope it all goes well for you.

My last line really didn't fit with the rest of the conversation. Obviously, my mind was churning on something. (Basically, I thought I said too much and was back-pedaling.) Mr. Whoever laughed at me and said that if I had put that in one of my stories, he would have ripped it apart and told me to start over.

The problem was that the glue which holds the dialog together was missing.

So here is a possible rewrite, making that conversation story worthy:

"I really have no comment on the matter just yet," he said. His face was sour as if his job prospects tasted like lemons. Quiet for a moment, he looked out the window. He was brooding.

I fidgeted, just wishing I could reach in and fix the whole thing. Finally, he turned back to me with a bitter smile. "I can't know how they treat people, aside than to see that most people have been there for some time. With the exception of the direct manager I'd report to, who's been there for 3 months."

I chewed my lip, trying to figure out what to say. I wanted to say the right thing. Something that would give him hope and courage and help him down his way. It had to be more than just "get a good job so that you can be secure." He and I both knew that was foolish advice and led you nowhere. How long had it been since we'd been laid off from that company that sold us down the river? Not even six months.

But at the same time, he had been growing more and more hopeless. More and more bitter. "I think I agree with your father," I finally said. My words were tentative, testing his reactions. "To move forward cautiously, but I'm not so sure you should turn it down."

"I'm not either, really. But as I said, I don't know."

I shut my eyes and let out a deep breath. Should I say it? I had said it yesterday—about his stagnating and my worries—but had he listened? I swallowed before I opened my mouth. "I mentioned earlier that I was worried about you stagnating."

"Mmmm, you've said that."

I felt like kicking myself. It was more of a dismissal than an acknowledgment of what I had said. I should have just kept my mouth shut. This really wasn't my business, what he did or didn't do. "So anyway, I hope it all goes well for you."

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See the difference?

Got any interesting dialog from your stories to share? Please post.

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Coming over the next few weeks I will write about how to create powerful dialog in your stories by filling out the following topics:

Short, Sweet, & Pungent
Realistic Voices
Unique Dialog of Unique Characters
Gluing Dialog Together with Prose