This is definitely not about dialogue
Though, actually, it is…
I intended this week to explore an aspect of dialogue in writing craft. I planned to start with an engaging statement, something along the lines of:
Here’s a thought: Good dialogue is as much about what you the author are saying to the reader, as it is about what the characters are saying to each other.
I was going to expand this into a meditation on what sort of conversation a writer has with their reader, through the vehicle of dialogue. How a writer can use dialogue to express how the characters are feeling. How the writer colours in the characters for the reader’s benefit, through their word choice, their reactions, the way they reach for humour or anger or some other emotion. How the writer can tell the reader much about what’s really going on, not through what is said, but what is being left out. How dialogue is a way for the author to explain where the power and vulnerability lies in a story.
I thought it would be handy to insert this Youtube video of the diner scene from the film Heat (trigger warning: salty language), where Al Pacino’s cop and Robert De Niro’s criminal meet face-to-face for the first time, surprising themselves with how much common ground there is between them, and how wedded to their destructive destiny they feel.
The scene is a compelling demonstration of how much us prose writers can learn from scriptwriters, about creating opportunities to converse with the reader/audience. Every second of these six minutes is a masterclass of tension, characterisation, and an exploration of the said and the unsaid.
But honestly, I ran out of steam. It wasn’t quite enthusing me enough. I didn’t feel that passionate about writing about this aspect of writing craft in that moment. It was a struggle to type.
What I would normally do, in these circumstances, is stick at it. Persist. Because perseverance is 90 percent of being a writer. Especially when you need to make some coin, and are trying to build a writing community here on Substack. But sometimes, even when you have a good idea, and a compelling reason to get it out there, and a deadline to make you focus, it’s not enough. There’s something missing that will mean you end up with a piece of writing that lacks real heart.
On some days, the tap of good writing on a particular project has been disconnected from the boiler room of your mind, and no matter how much water runs through, it ain’t gonna get hot.
And that should be okay. Except, I find it really difficult to accept. It feels indulgent. Surely, my critical inner voice said, it’s better to write something than nothing. Surely, the inner critic continued, crossing its arms and shaking its head, you’re just caving into a dose of lazy author syndrome? Usually, I would agree. Even when you out of sorts and wordless, you can still do something to push forward your work-in-progress. A sentence. Some notes. Editing one scene. Making a passage of dialogue or description that little bit tighter, more focused.
The inner critic had a point. There was a long pause, a cup of tea made and drunk. Counter arguments formed and discarded. And then this occurred to me. I believe that as a creative writer, you need to be open to following tangents. You need to be willing to veer off down a side-road. So that’s what I did. I swerved onto this side-road and found that this exploration of not writing, gave me the enthusiasm to write something else.
Rather than not writing anything - which is what many of us do - we can pause, let go of the pressure, and, instead, write what we are honestly feeling in the moment, even if that seemingly has no connection to anything else.
It worked. As soon as I let go of the thought that I had to push on with my craft discussion of dialogue, then words begin to flow. I felt enthused, the side-road I took proved scenic. Most importantly, I was being true to myself, by writing something that had an energy to it, that engaged my enthusiasm.
All this puts me in mind of an article in the Huffington Post I found while researching information on dialogue between the writer and the reader, by poet and creativity coach Melanie Drane:
Real dialogue is predicated upon the capacity for empathy: the will to hear and respond to another's experience and perceptions–and thus, to acknowledge the fundamental humanity of another. As an act of mutual inquiry, conversation expands our awareness of what [18th century Scottish philosopher David] Hume called ‘the conversable world’ beyond the self. At its best, writing creates that intimate connection with a reader. When it succeeds, both writer and reader are less alone.
It's funny, and fascinating, how the mind works. Maybe this piece is about dialogue, after all. In part, because it is about those tricky conversations a writer has with themselves about what they should be writing and why. Doesn’t matter what genre, doesn’t matter what form. We all go through it.
But also, this article is about another kind of dialogue, because what has enthused me to commit to these words and put them out in the public domain, is wanting to create an intimate connection, over my struggle to write, with you.