Seger | Rainey

P E RF O RM IN G A RTS / F ILM & VID E O / SC RE E N W RITIN G $1 9 .9 5 USA / $2 5 .9 5 C A N

Unlike the chitchat of everyday life, dialogue in stories must

You
express character, advance the story, suggest a theme, and

You talkin’ to me?

include a few quotable lines. Here, Dr. Linda Seger—one of
screenwriting’s foremost experts—and screenwriter John Rainey

talkin’
provide superlative guidance to script writers, novelists,
playwrights, and anyone who works with dialogue.

“A powerful resource for writers in any genre.”

—Susan Wiggs, bestselling novelist

“Terrific … shows how dialogue informs

to me?
character, plot, subtext, and backstory.”
—Treva Silverman, Emmy Award winning sitcom writer

“Astute… invaluable techniques for

making people sound like people.”
—Robin Swicord, Oscar and WGA nominated screenwriter

Dr. Linda Seger, acclaimed for her books Making a Good Script
Great and Creating Unforgettable Characters, has consulted How to Write
Great Dialogue

How to Write Great Dialogue

on over two thousand scripts, including over 50 produced
feature films and over 35 produced television projects.

John Rainey has been a script consultant and screenwriter

since 1989; three of his more than 25 screenplays have been
produced, and three more are currently in production.

MICHAEL WIESE PRODUCTIONS | WWW.MWP.COM Linda Seger | John Rainey

 Praise for You Talkin’ to Me?

“Linda Seger’s skill as a writer and teacher are on full display in her latest
work, cowritten with John Rainey. This is a powerful resource for writers
in any genre, at any level of their craft, whether they’re just starting out
or are seasoned professionals. Their insights into what makes for com-
pelling dialogue are spot on.” —Susan Wiggs, bestselling novelist

“While story details from movies I’ve watched can flatten and fade, great
lines of dialogue remain grooved in my mind for years. What makes
great dialogue so memorable? Seger and Rainey have astutely analyzed
its essential qualities, and they suggest invaluable techniques for grap-
pling with the elusive art of making people sound like people.”
—Robin Swicord, Oscar nominated and WGA nominated screenwriter

“Is there any aspect of writing not affected by dialogue? Apparently not,
according to this terrific new book. You Talkin’ to Me? analyzes how, why,
and when people talk, showing how dialogue informs character, plot,
subtext, and backstory. It’s so complete I was (pardon the joke) ren-
dered speechless.” —Treva Silverman, Emmy Award winning sitcom
writer, WGA Award winner

“Finally a book on dialogue that has it all: examples, rewrites, explana-

tions, and inspiration. For novelists and screenwriters alike, Linda Seger
and John Rainey not only tell how to write great dialogue, but why it’s
the foundation of any well-told tale. Aspiring writers, read this book to
succeed. Established writers, read it to stay on top. One of the best . . .
Bravo.” —Rebecca Forster, USA Today bestselling author

“Everybody knows great dialogue when they hear it, but if you want to
write it you’re gonna need this book. Yeah.” —Ellen Sandler, author,
The TV Writer’s Workbook; co-executive producer, Everybody Loves
Raymond

“Find your writing voice by tuning your writer’s ear. Listen up. You Talkin’
to Me? is talking to you.” —John L. Geiger, coauthor, Creativity and
Copyright
“Indispensable . . . this a great companion to any filmmaker, and also a
great read.” —Dave Watson, author, Walkabout Undone

“Discover dialogue as the art form it truly is. This book will inspire you
to be intentional with the words your characters speak and to craft dia-
logue with great care, becoming a better storyteller as a result.”
—Tom Farr, writer, teacher, Huntsville, TX

“A clear, practical guide that focuses its laser-like attention on one of

the more significant aspects of writing a screenplay: how to craft great
dialogue. This is the type of reference book that students of great writing
will find themselves returning to again and again.”
—Roy Finch, assistant professor, Chapman University

“Drastically overdue. Lessons learned from this excellent volume have

already helped make my script better, and they will help you, too.”
—Brendan Davis, producer/partner, International Troublemakers, Inc.

“Whether you’re writing a screenplay, novel, or short story, you can

make it substantially more interesting. You Talkin’ to Me? is loaded with
tips, lessons, and some good ol’ common sense on dialogue that will
make you a stronger writer.” —Forris Day Jr., cohost, Get Real: Indie
Filmmakers podcast; contributor, Hitch 20 video series

“Excellent. Especially valuable is the final chapter—‘Avoid Red Flags’—

which lists the most damaging dialogue blunders . . . and how to avoid
them.” —Murray Suid, screenwriter; author, Movie Quotes to Live By

“A bible of writing for the screen . . . any writer of any genre will find it
invaluable.”—Doreen Orion, author, Queen of the Road

“A thoroughly delightful, clearly constructed, and information-packed

must-read. Not only insightful, but hilariously entertaining.”
—Alexis Krasilovsky, author, Great Adaptations
You talkin’
to me?
How to Write Great Dialogue

Linda Seger | John Rainey

Published by Michael Wiese Productions
12400 Ventura Blvd. #1111
Studio City, CA 91604
(818) 379-8799, (818) 986-3408 (Fax)
mw@mwp.com
www.mwp.com
Manufactured in the
United States of America

Copyright © 2020 Linda Seger and John Rainey

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in

any form or by any means without permission in writing from the
publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This book was set in Arno and Gotham

Cover design by Johnny Ink. johnnyink.com

Interior design by Debbie Berne
Copyediting by Karen Krumpak and Ross Plotkin

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Seger, Linda, author. | Rainey, John Winston, author.
Title: You talkin’ to me?: writing great dialogue / Linda Seger &
John Winston Rainey.
Description: Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 2020. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019047027 | ISBN 9781615933136 (trade
paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Dialogue. | Fiction—Authorship. | Motion
picture authorship. | Playwriting.
Classification: LCC PN1551 .S46 2020 | DDC 808.3/96—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019047027
 DEDICATED TO

Katie Davis Gardner,

Linda’s wonderful assistant
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks from Linda and John to our readers: Chuck Benson,
Page Clements, Devorah Cutler-Rubenstein. Debra Engle, Janice
Day, Glen Gatenby, Jean Maye, Anna-Maria Petricelli, Matthew
Purifoy, Lindsay Smith, Pamela Jaye Smith, Claire Elizabeth
Terry, Kathie Yoneda;
And to: Dan Laudo, owner of Script City, who sent us many
a script quickly as needed; Sue Terry and Matthew Purifoy, our
researchers; Katie Gardner, Linda’s dear assistant, who sat by
Linda’s side and laughed with her, corrected her sentences, and
let Linda and John know when they were on track and when they
were way off base; Riley Quinonez who filled in when Katie was
on vacation; Cindy Ahlgrim who is helping to market the book;
Peter Le Var, Linda’s husband, who has supported both of us and
who bought the champagne!
And thank you to all the anonymous writers who allowed us
to play with their scenes to get across the point in the chapter.
 CO N TEN TS

Foreword by Mark L. Smith 

 1
Introduction 5


1 Defining Great Dialogue  9

2 Revealing the Character  25
3 Establishing the Unique World  47
4 Stating the Intention  58
5 Exploring the Conflict  79
6 Communicating the Theme  108
7 Writing Subtext Beneath the Lines  136
8 Using Sensory Images  152
9 Communicating Through Dialects and Accents  176
10 Shading Dialogue with Poetic Devices  199
11 Writing Dialogue for Animals, Aliens,
and Other Critters  219
12 Avoiding Red Flags  233

 About the Authors 252

 

FO REWORD BY MARK L. S M IT H

Writer of The Revenant (nominated for 12 Academy Awards;

won 3), The Overlord, produced by J.J. Abrams, and Good
Morning, Midnight, directed by and starring George Clooney

When John and Linda asked if I’d be interested in writing a fore-

word to their book, I have to admit I was hesitant. Not because
I didn’t have things I’d like to say on the subject, but because I
couldn’t rely on either of them to help show me how to write it.
John was the first person other than my wife to read anything
I’d written. For years, my process was finish the script, print
the script, send to John, wait for his many thoughtful notes, do
a rewrite . . . then rinse and repeat until the script was where I
wanted it to be. He has a unique ability to spot the smallest mis-
cue which, if left uncorrected, might cause larger issues down the
line.
Linda has written some of the bibles of screenwriting. When
doing anything from providing maps to structure and story to
developing the most interesting characters possible, I use her
words as my guide. I pored over both Making a Good Script Great
and Creating Unforgettable Characters before I wrote a single word
of my own. The knowledge she passed on gave me a confidence
and understanding of what I was attempting to do.
For the past twenty years, I’ve carried their lessons with me.
And now, you fortunate readers will get to share in all the secrets
I’ve known for so long. Especially regarding dialogue.
Good movie dialogue is like air. We don’t really notice it unless
it stinks. There are, of course, the few outliers, like Tarantino and

1
 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

Sorkin, who turn the spoken word into an art form of its own, but
for the most part, dialogue has one key necessity: to sound the
way real people speak. There are other valuable elements as well,
but whether it’s a Western filled with a mixed array of languages,
a postapocalyptic drama about a dying man and a young orphan,
or a sci-fi gangster flick, the characters need to come across as
authentic to the world and story they inhabit.
My earliest scripts were filled with colorful dialogue com-
ing out of every character’s mouth. I’d write the lines and smile
proudly . . . I couldn’t wait for others to read it and see how clev-
erly I could turn a phrase. Then I’d continue the process I men-
tioned earlier and send the finished product off to John, who
would usually return it with something like, “Stop trying to be
clever. People don’t talk like that.”
That was my first lesson in understanding the responsibility of
dialogue. It isn’t there just to sound good. Dialogue’s obligation
is to express character and move the story forward in the most
interesting way possible. It might come in a flourish of words or
in a single syllable. It’s all dependent on story and character. Mad
Max rarely speaks, while Deadpool rarely shuts up. Both are great
heroes. Hannibal Lecter has lines that will be repeated for gen-
erations. No Country for Old Men’s Anton Chigurh likely doesn’t
have a single line of dialogue you remember, but he’s still just as
fascinating a villain.
Dialogue exists to support the story and characters, not to
restrict them. If every character speaks in quick-witted bursts, all
your characters will begin to sound alike. At the same time, if all
your characters speak in simple and straight expositional terms,

2
 FO R E WO
 RD

they run the risk of being boring. If one of your characters asks
another, “What color is the sky?”, don’t have the response be
“Blue.” That’s what the cameras are for. Have them answer, “Don’t
be a jerk, you know what color it is,” or “The same as it was before
you left,” or “Nothing like it was at home.” — whatever helps fur-
ther define them, their relationships, and the story you’re offering
to the audience.
Dialogue gives the audience a glimpse into the souls of the
characters. It not only helps us understand who they are, but also
what we’re supposed to be feeling as we watch their story unfold.
It can scare us, make us laugh, make us cry. That’s all up to the
writer. It just has to be believed.
Everything above I was first taught by Linda and John. Their
lessons are the ones I carry with me into every script I write.
That’s why I can’t imagine a better pair to author this book.

— Mark L. Smith

3
 INT RODU CTION

Linda:
I had long wanted to write a book on dialogue. I knew this was a book
I couldn’t write by myself because I’m not a screenwriter; I’m a script
consultant. I put this idea in the back of my mind for over ten years,
waiting for the right co-author to magically appear.
I had heard of John for many years but didn’t meet him until 2014
when we were both working on the same script — he as the screen-
writer and I as the script consultant. The producer and John came
to Colorado to work with me for eight days. I wondered how John
would respond to me, since he was also a respected and knowledge-
able script consultant. What I discovered was a terrific, creative rela-
tionship based partly on a shared vocabulary and partly on long years
of experience working with scripts. We both had master’s degrees in
drama. We both had professional experiences in drama, including act-
ing, teaching, and directing. We eventually learned that we were also
both pianists — which meant that we not only had a sense of rhythm
and tone and style, but when we took breaks, we could play piano
duets. After all, good writing is like music, and it’s supposed to be
fun as well. After working on several scripts together where I was the
script consultant and John was hired as the screenwriter, I asked John
if he would like to co-write this book. He gave me a hearty, “Yes!”

5
 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

John:
Although I’m not a book writer, per se, I was elated and humbled
to be asked by Linda to co-write a book on dialogue with her.
After all, she was this famous writer of screenwriting books and a
notable script consultant who virtually single-handedly invented
the profession, which has since become a flourishing cottage
industry. As we worked together on this book (quite compatibly,
I might add), we became close friends as well as professional col-
leagues, and not just because we could both play piano. I continue
to be honored to have my name associated with the great teacher,
lecturer, mentor, and writer that is Dr. Linda Seger.

Both of us:
Dialogue is dialogue, no matter where you may find it. In this
book, you will read many examples of dialogue, some of which
come from classic films and novels, some from television, and
some from plays. In all cases, we tried to find the best examples
of the point we’re making, so some examples are old (Yes, there’s
even a touch of Shakespeare!) and some examples are new (Amy
Sherman-Palladino, who created The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel;
Shonda Rhimes, who created Grey’s Anatomy; George R. R.
Martin, who created the world of Game of Thrones). If the writer
of the dialogue isn’t credited, John made that bit of dialogue up.
In this book, we will explain all the techniques to build the
skills necessary to write great dialogue. It doesn’t matter if you’re
a screenwriter, a playwright, a novelist, or a nonfiction writer who
might need to tell a story with dialogue to illustrate a point. Even
poets use dialogue — poets like Robert Browning, who wrote the

6
 INTRODUCTION

dramatic monologue poem “My Last Duchess,” or Edgar Allan Poe,

who wrote “The Raven” (wherein the raven croaks his one word of
dialogue, “Nevermore,” over and over again).
You will use some of these tools every time you write. Others will
inform your writing even if the specific technique may sit at the bot-
tom of your proverbial toolbox for some months or years. We hope
this book will act as a catalyst that inspires you to create dialogue that
conveys character and tells a great story.
At the end of every chapter, we created a case study where we take
one to two pages of a scene with dialogue, usually from a client’s script
(with their permission, of course). They chose to remain anonymous,
partly because we took liberties to make our point. Nevertheless, we’re
extremely grateful for their generosity. For each case study, Linda
gives script consulting notes and John rewrites it so readers can see
how to apply the principles in that chapter to improve their writing.
A cursory reading of this book won’t make you a great dramatic
writer, although it will make you a better one. But if you pursue the
ideas herein, you will find that growing your dialogue-writing craft is a
glorious, never-ending journey. Let your eyes grow wide with wonder
at how terrific great dialogue can be. Bon voyage!

7
 CH AP TE R 1

Defining Great
Dialogue

Dialogue is communication and expression. Usually, dialogue

is a verbal exchange between two or more characters. The word
“dialogue” comes from Greek. Di means “two” and log means
“speak,” or “two-speak.” In ancient Greece, dialogue was used to
debate opposing philosophical ideas. Eventually, the definition of
dialogue evolved to mean conversation, especially in works of fic-
tion like movies, television, plays, and novels.
The communication in dialogue can be true, deceptive, or an
outright lie. It might hide a secret or tell a secret. It might reveal
information, but that information can be delivered maliciously,
or innocently, or manipulatively, or according to any number
of character-driven agendas. The best dialogue rarely states the
obvious. The best dialogue comes from a character’s need to
obtain something from another character. The choice of words,
the attitude behind the words, and the decision to say the words
all reveal character.
Generally, dialogue is a vocal exchange between two beings
who are human — but not always. It may be between a person

9
 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

and an alien who doesn’t speak the native language, such as in the
movie Arrival. It could be between a person and a responsive dog
who barks, growls, whines, howls, whimpers, huffs, yelps, or yips.
It might even be between two animals, like in the film Babe.
It can include any interchange of human sounds, such as
responsive “oohs” and “aahs” between two lovers, or grunts and
groans between two prehistoric people. Some characters create
their own special primitive language. In Quest for Fire, Rae Dawn
Chong out-grunts the Neanderthals and shares her fire-mak-
ing skill. Even without conversation as we generally think of it,
there is still interaction through vocalizations in those films that
lends a sense of communication and shows the nature of the
relationships.
But dialogue can also be used for individual expression, as in
a monologue (a monologue being a long speech by a single char-
acter either to another character or to themselves). People talk
to themselves. Sometimes, characters scold themselves, as if two
internal parts are talking to each other. Andy Serkis as Gollum
in The Lord of the Rings series found himself creating two voices
for one character. Characters compliment themselves in mir-
rors or kick themselves in private for some public faux pas. Al
Swearengen in Deadwood carries on one-way conversations with
a Comanche chief ’s severed, rotting head in a wooden box on a
shelf. Tom Hanks talks to a volleyball in Cast Away.
Characters talk to gods and angels, fairies and trees, nonre-
sponsive deer and crows, gnus and boxing kangaroos. Writers
have to write the phrases and critter sounds, even if the mythical
beings and descendants of passengers on Noah’s Ark don’t seem
to care what is being said.

10
 D E FI N I N G G R E AT D I A LO G U E

Dialogue spoken out loud between two or more characters

is known as outer dialogue. A monologue can be inner dialogue
when a character shares thoughts and feelings out loud or holds
an imaginary conversation with someone who isn’t present.
Dialogue can also include the character’s thoughts through stream
of consciousness. For inner dialogue, movies use voice over; plays
use soliloquies; novels often use italics. This broad definition of
dialogue expands the possibilities within your writing.

W HAT D OES DI ALO GU E DO?

Dialogue advances the story, reveals character, builds images, and

expresses the theme. Good, competent dialogue does its job.
Great dialogue comes across on the page as the actual voices
of the characters in a story. Great dialogue goes far beyond com-
petence — it adds layers of subtle meaning, musicality, rhythm,
images, and poetry, all while being entertaining. Great dialogue
is memorable. How many of us have quoted Dirty Harry, “Make
my day!” or remembered Rhett Butler saying, “Frankly my dear, I
don’t give a damn!” or looked in the mirror like Travis from Taxi
Driver, saying, “You talkin’ to me?”
Great dialogue bounces back and forth between characters
like a ping-pong ball. In screenplay writing in particular, the ball
never stays on the same side of the table for more than the time it
takes to sail, slice, or slam it back to the opponent. Other forms,
such as novels and plays, can sometimes contain blocks of dia-
logue (or, if you’re James Joyce, you can write hundreds of pages
of first-person dialogue, as in Ulysses).

11
 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

C A N YOU L EA R N TO W R I T E GR E AT DIALO G U E ?

There are many who say that dialogue can’t be taught. We don’t
believe that. It’s true that it helps to have an excellent ear for
how people talk. Dialogue uses the same elements that we find
in music — sound, rhythm, dynamics, themes, and countermel-
odies or counterpoints — as well as language tools — grammar,
punctuation, and syntax. If you can walk, you can learn to dance.
If you can talk and listen, you can learn to write dialogue. If you
can write a letter, you can learn to write a novel or a screenplay.
It’s a craft that can be developed and, as with any craft, you can get
better and better. Art evolves with the perfection and eventually
the transcending of craft.
To write great dialogue, you must persevere and keep looking
for the right word or phrase, even if it takes ten or twenty drafts.
Great writers strive to make dialogue sound like casual conver-
sation. But no conversation in dramatic writing is casual to the
writer. Through constant honing, dialogue can become poetry
in the mouths of characters. Great dialogue writers like David
Mamet, Harold Pinter, Samuel Beckett, and Toni Morrison,
among others, work to minimalize dialogue while delivering the
essence of the character. In their cases, they subtract and hone
rather than add and expand: Less is more.
In the novel Beloved, Toni Morrison gets to the point real fast:
“Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t love at all.”
Harold Pinter deliberately makes the actor stop and let the
words sink in for the audience. He is known for his pauses and
his silences and for saying a lot with very few words. It’s all in the

12
 D E FI N I N G G R E AT D I A LO G U E

subtext and how it’s delivered. In his play and movie Betrayal,
Jerry and Emma slow down the dialogue to allow time for the
emotions of the moment.

EMMA: You know what I found out . . . last night? He’s

betrayed me for years. He’s had . . . other women for years.

JERRY: No? Good Lord. (pause) But we betrayed him

for years.

EMMA: And he betrayed me for years.

JERRY: Well, I never knew that.

EMMA: Nor did I.

Of course, then you have loquacious writers like Paddy

Chayefsky, David Milch, Aaron Sorkin, Tennessee Williams,
George Bernard Shaw, and even William Shakespeare himself
who go on and on.
Read aloud this famous speech from Chayefsky’s film Network.
Notice the repetitions, the rhythms, the building anger. You
might want to look at the entire speech, but this will give you a
good idea of the difference between two approaches to dialogue.

HOWARD
I don’t have to tell you things
are bad. Everybody knows things
are bad. It’s a depression.
Everybody’s out of work or scared
of losing their job. The dollar
buys a nickel’s worth. Banks are
going bust. Shopkeepers keep a

13
 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

gun under the counter. Punks are

running wild in the street and
there’s nobody anywhere who seems
to know what to do, and there’s no
end to it . . .

Well, I’m not gonna leave you

alone. I want you to get MAD! I
don’t want you to protest. I don’t
want you to riot — I don’t want
you to write to your congressman,
because I wouldn’t know what to
tell you to write. I don’t know
what to do about the depression
and the inflation and the Russians
and the crime in the street. All
I know is that first you’ve got to
get mad. (shouting) You’ve got
to say: “I’m a human being, god-
dammit! My life has value!”

So I want you to get up now. I

want all of you to get up out of
your chairs. I want you to get up
right now and go to the window.
Open it, and stick your head out,
and yell: “I’m as mad as hell, and
I’m not gonna take this anymore!”

Howard Beale has a lot to say. However, unlike with amateur chit-
chat, the “on and on” of great writers actually goes somewhere!
With careful crafting, these writers make sure the reader or viewer
will take the journey through their sea of character chatter.

14
 D E FI N I N G G R E AT D I A LO G U E

HOW D O YO U L E A R N TO DO I T ?

Listen to people in conversation, especially people in conflict.

Write down what they say and then see if you can rewrite the
dialogue to strengthen it. See if you can find the rhythm of how
people talk, how they interrupt each other, how they change their
intentions to reach their objective, how they disguise their agenda
in order to lead, mislead, persuade, manipulate, seduce, cajole,
charm, contradict, demand . . . all to fulfill some inner need.
Keep file folders to store dialogue you hear and love. You might
need it in a story later on. This might be children’s dialogue, teen
speak, or a humorous line your spouse says in a moment of levity.
Keep your smartphone handy at all times and ready to push
the record icon. You never know when you might meet some-
body who speaks with a certain vocabulary or dialect or rhythm
that you want to capture for a character you’re writing now or a
character you may want to write in the future.
Whenever you write dialogue, read it aloud. This will help you
discover places where the rhythm is slightly off, where it doesn’t
flow, or where it isn’t easily spoken. This is true with novels and
short stories as well as screenplays and plays. Even if you’re read-
ing silently, the mind feels the rhythm and articulation of the
words and phrases. When that mental flow is interrupted, the
reader’s experience with the story is interrupted.

15
 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

BE REA DY TO ME E T T H E C H AR AC T E R
OF YO UR D RE A MS

Linda once met a woman on an airplane from Atlanta to Los

Angeles who had such a flavor to her speech that Linda learned
much about dialogue just from listening to her.
She was almost a Jane Fonda look-alike, the last person to
board the plane. She was frazzled as she sunk into the seat next
to Linda.
After ordering a bourbon on the rocks (it was 7:00 a.m.), she
started talking. With her Gone with the Wind Southern accent, she
held up her glass to Linda.  “Lubricayshun,” and tossed its con-
tents back like a sailor on leave. She turned to Linda.

“Ahm goin’ tuh Los Aaangeles to see a faymus actuh Ah met

in an Atlaaanta baahr . . . ”

And her upward lilt lifted the plane another thousand feet . . .

“ . . . wheahr ahm shur aah’ll be usin’ lubricayshun of a

diff’rent kahnnd.”

She smiled, tittered, and fluttered her mascara-laden eyelids. If

Linda had been a screenwriter, this woman would be a godsend!
“Scarlett” ordered another bourbon on the rocks, which seemed
to melt away any remaining modicum of mystery regarding her
private life. She had such a specific style of speech that these
five hours of flight (one bourbon per hour), would have laid the
groundwork for quite an amazing character.

16
 D E FI N I N G G R E AT D I A LO G U E

“Ah havve fouund that wheyan engagin’ ah promenint mayan

of his statuah, yew must be evah so demuah in public, but
yew must . . . ”

She lifted her amply endowed chest toward Linda . . .

“ . . . become the whore ian thuh beyahdroom.”

More tittering, followed by a lusty chuckle.

However, instead of using all this elaborate spelling to convey
an accent, it’s best to use a parenthetical (Savannah accent) and
let the vocal coach and actor work it out.
You, as a writer, can ask the person for permission to record
her particular style of speech. You can always say, “I’m writing a
major motion picture (or the Great American Novel), and I’m
writing a character who is very much like you. I’m hoping Renée
Zellweger will play you in the movie” (or choose another favorite
movie star that you know will flatter her).
If she gives you permission, you can ask very generalized ques-
tions, such as, “Where do you live?” or “Tell me about your job.”
(You’re just trying to get a flavor of the speech; you don’t really
need all the specifics . . . unless her story is better than the one
you’re working on.) You can then rewrite your character’s dia-
logue, adding in the feel of your model’s dialogue.
If the person doesn’t give you permission to record them, just
excuse yourself every once in a while, go to the bathroom with
your recorder, and speak some of the rhythm and style of the dia-
logue you just heard so you’ll remember it.
As the bourbon flowed on Linda’s flight, she realized she
could have gotten any information she wanted or needed for a

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character. She asked the woman how long she was staying in Los
Angeles and the woman replied, “One naaht.” She added proudly,
“And Aaah’m payin’ maah own way.” There were loads of subtex-
tual details there. If Linda were a screenwriter instead of a script
consultant, she would’ve milked the moment for all the character
information she could get.
By the third bourbon, this woman had started a conversation
about their sex life. Linda decided that it was too much informa-
tion and changed the direction of the conversation. However, if
John, the screenwriter, had been there, he would’ve allowed her
to continue and asked questions to get more: “And then what
happened?” “Wow! Fascinating!” “He actually did that?”
The actor Peter Sellers (no, he wasn’t at the airport greet-
ing Miss Scarlett!) said that once he finds the character’s voice,
every other aspect of the character falls into place for him. We, as
writers, can take that to heart because Mr. Sellers was a genius at
inventing characterization. So is Meryl Streep, who uses the same
approach. Joanne Woodward merely needed to find the right hat
for the character’s voice to take her over. Writers channel the spe-
cific character’s voice when writing dialogue. Actors then channel
it once again.
Good dialogue reveals character. Great dialogue reveals
a wealth of information about character. Layers and layers of
psychology, background, education, and life experience can be
revealed without ever describing it literally, all through the use
of specifically selected dialogue. The word “specific” is used often
in this book because if dialogue is nothing else, it’s specificity of
language according to the particular character’s voice.

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 D E FI N I N G G R E AT D I A LO G U E

In the film The Pink Panther Strikes Again, Peter Sellers as

Inspector Clouseau channels the dialogue written by Blake
Edwards and Frank Waldman:

INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU
Do you have a rheum?

MUNICH HOTEL CLERK

I do not know what a “rheum” is.

INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU
(Checks his translation book)
Zimmer.

MUNICH HOTEL CLERK

Ah, a room!

INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU
That is what I have been saying,
you idiot. A rheum.
(Gesturing to the hotel dog)
Does your dog bite?

MUNICH HOTEL CLERK

No.

Clouseau bends down to pet the small dog; it

growls and bites him.

INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU
I thought you said your dog did
not bite!

MUNICH HOTEL CLERK

That is not my dog.

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W HAT D O W E N E E D TO K NOW A B O U T
THE C HA RAC T E R ?

Revealing character in a manner that appears organic doesn’t

come easily. That’s why great writers write and rewrite each line
of dialogue.
A writer might ask the following questions — among oth-
ers — about a character: What words will hint at underlying
meanings through implication and resonance? What words are
easy for the actor to say? What phrases create the proper rhythm
and tone for that moment? What vocabulary and colloquialisms
would this character use? What words sparkle rather than flatten?
As a writer, you’re a juggler. On one hand, you recognize that
every character is a part of you; on the other hand, each character
has to be differentiated from all the others in your story. How do
you do that? Writers channel the precise voice of each character.
We writers need to be careful not to revert subconsciously to our
own speech patterns. That’s not easy to avoid.
The most important element for great dialogue writing is to
know the characters inside out and upside down. A character isn’t
a generalized archetype. Part of the writer’s job includes research-
ing the character to create a unique, complex individual. Know
the physiology, psychology, and sociology of your characters.
Ask, “What do my characters want overall, and what do they
want in each scene? How much passion and determination must
the characters have to get what they want?”
Layers and layers of a character’s qualities, values, and lim-
itations can be revealed, without ever describing them literally,

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 D E FI N I N G G R E AT D I A LO G U E

through the use of precisely selected dialogue. Develop a spe-

cific syntax, diction, dialect, rhythm, and pacing that is con-
sistent with the personality of each character, as well as their
social and occupational context, including the historical period
in which they live.
To understand the challenges actors face when presented with
difficult dialogue, take ongoing acting classes. Dialogue is aural,
so the real meaning often comes from the manner in which the
actor delivers it. A good actor can turn a phrase to mean more
than it appears on the page — and hopefully, the writer has writ-
ten a phrase that can be turned.
In Hamlet, Shakespeare said that dialogue should fall “trippingly
on the tongue.” The actor isn’t supposed to stumble over words or
struggle with making the line easy to understand, as they would
with the following: “The whore hoarded her herd.” Linda deliber-
ately wrote a phrase for her book Making a Good Writer Great that
may read well on the page but is difficult to say aloud: “Hard-core
horror and gore.” You may not want to bind an actor with that one.
On the other hand, some say that Tennessee Williams’s dia-
logue is so great that an actor could read it like a telephone book,
and it would still sound terrific. Read this line aloud from A
Streetcar Named Desire:

BLANCHE: What is straight? A line can be straight, or a

street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road
through mountains.

It doesn’t matter how bad an actor you are. It’s still going to sound
pretty good.

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When actors interact with dialogue, whether through smirks

and scowls, twitching fingers, or nervous eyes, they give the char-
acter an immediacy and realism that viscerally pulls the audience
into the story. This provokes an audience’s emotional bonding
with the character. When well written, dialogue activates or esca-
lates conflict and inspires transformation.
Many great writers say that there is a moment when their
characters begin talking to them. Some say the characters won’t
stop, and it drives them a bit crazy! Often, when the character has
found a voice, the writer experiences characters taking over and
opening up new directions that could change the story. The great
writer, out of curiosity, follows the character. The film Places in
the Heart was originally about bootleggers in Tennessee . . . until
a minor character named Edna Spalding convinced writer Robert
Benton that the story should be about her! Benton listened, and
Sally Field won her second Academy Award for her role as Edna.
John has written twenty-four complete screenplays, either for
assignments or on spec. A number of them have been optioned,
and some of them have been produced. His process as a dramatic
writer is to listen to the characters from the beginning. While
there is a tried-and-true structure to storytelling, the structure
must serve the character, not the other way around. John listens
to the needs, desires, fears, and aspirations of the character. We
call this a dialogue between writer and character, where the writer
listens more than dictates.
When the character makes an emotionally challenging deci-
sion to move toward something he longs for, that decision creates

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structure, plot, and theme. By allowing the character to lead with

a singular voice, John’s characters become much more complex
than simply cardboard archetypes. True skill is to pay attention
and allow the characters to be. If you let the character have a
voice, often the character will write the dialogue for you.
Sometimes a character can become too pushy, and you need
to bring the character back to Earth. Or you might even have to
fire the character from the story. You need a character who is will-
ing to work with you. Not everything a character wants, a charac-
ter gets. There are times when you can rein in an unruly character
and get the character back on track within the story world you
originally created. You have to play it by ear.
The best dialogue can achieve what no other literary device
can: a conversational back and forth between speakers that
sounds spontaneous, never stilted or contrived. It conveys infor-
mation subtly, without interrupting the flow of the story’s action.
And it reveals the ideas and emotions swirling inside their heads
and hearts. We can love them or hate them, but they should
always fascinate and engage us.

C AS E S T U DY

This first case study uses your own writing. Take a few pages of
dialogue from your project — whether a screenplay, novel, short
story, or play. Your project will travel with you throughout this
entire book. As you read each chapter, think about how the

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concepts in that chapter can help you improve dialogue in your

story. Use the way we do notes on these case studies as a model
for making notes on your own dialogue.
Rewrite. Rewrite some more. And rewrite even more. If you
rewrite your dialogue after every chapter, you will rewrite it at
least twelve times. Naturally, we hope that by the time you get to
the last chapter, you’ll be marveling at how you have enhanced
and enriched your dialogue.

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 CH AP TE R 2

Revealing the
Character

The reader and audience usually meet a character for the first
time through description or by seeing the character appear on the
screen. These first impressions can tell us about the character’s
gender, age, race, social orientation, educational level, income
level, and even personality. These impressions will be further
reinforced or contradicted as soon as the character speaks. This is
the power and purpose of dialogue.
Dialogue can’t be separated from the character who is deliv-
ering the words. Each character has a distinct world. While
characters in one particular group may speak in a similar man-
ner, each will have a unique voice. It’s the writer’s job to cre-
ate authentic dialogue that reveals the dimensionality of each
individual character. Here are some of the many revelations that
dialogue shows.

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D I A LOG UE C AN R E V E A L AT T IT U DE S

Dialogue can reveal the way the character feels and thinks about a
topic. Characters have attitudes and opinions on subjects big and
small. Perhaps a character says:

“The Yankees are overrated.”

What does this tell us? This person is a Red Sox fan? A native of
Boston? Or a disappointed Yankees fan? Maybe a critic in gen-
eral? This sentence begins to reveal the character and the attitude.
The dialogue that follows will clarify for us more about the char-
acter as the story unfolds.
Imagine a woman who says:

“Onions hate me. They make my body scream ‘Why?’”

Is she a picky eater? Or someone who suffers from indigestion?

Does she have allergies? What else hates her, besides onions?
Could there be some unconscious self-criticism here? Readers
continue to find out.
A guy says:

“The Earth is flat. Trust your senses. If it looks flat, it is.”

Is he a conspiracy theorist, or generally ignorant? Does he simply

not believe in science? Or is he just pulling your leg? Stay tuned.

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D I A LOG UE HE L P S U S U N DE R STAND
C HA RAC T ER R E L AT I O NS H I P S

Dialogue expresses how a character feels about other people.

A friend says:

“You are a great talent. You need to believe in yourself.”

This suggests a character who has compassion and supports oth-

ers. It could also indicate that the character empathetically relates
to others and knows what it’s like to lack self-confidence. Or
maybe the character just likes giving pep talks and wants to save
the world one person at a time.
A woman says to her husband:

“Why do you keep interrupting me? I wasn’t finished.

Listen to me!”

The character expresses frustration. Is it a legitimate complaint?

Or does she never let him get a word in edgewise? Is this a
chronic problem between these two? Taking it a level further, she
demands “Listen to me,” stating her need and not just being a vic-
tim. Or maybe this character wasn’t acknowledged as a child and
is now overcompensating in an annoying manner. It will depend
on how this plays out and how other dialogue helps us under-
stand who this character really is.
An authoritarian character says:

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 YO U TA LK I N ’ TO M E ?

“That’s not the way to do that. Here. Watch and learn.”

Is the character being brusque and impatient, or has his patience

run out after numerous efforts to explain? Is this a grumpy guru
or a power junkie? Is this a not-very-good teacher who keeps
interrupting the student’s experiential learning process? Maybe
this character was raised by impatient caregivers and has adopted
that personality. Perhaps the character spoken to is naive or a new
employee with an insufficient skill set.
The important thing to note is that dialogue is the vehicle
under which a greater depth of character lies. Dialogue text is the
tip of the character’s latent self that smolders deep within. The
writer’s job is to know the smoldering depths that the character is
unconscious of and be able to write the dialogue that covers the
turmoil beneath the surface.

D I A LOG UE T E L L S U S A B O U T C H AR ACT E R
BAC KG RO UN D AND U P B R I NGI NG

Characters reveal their backgrounds by talking about their expe-

riences. But what they say about those experiences and how they
say it can convey many layers of subtext. What is their attitude to
that background? Imagine a character saying the following, intent
on provoking a reaction:

“My mother was a Catholic, my dad was an atheist, I used to

be a Methodist, my sister is a Baptist, and my little brother is
a heathen.”

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 R E V E A LI N G T H E C H A R AC T E R

Does this character come from an eclectic family who enjoyed

lively debates about religion and politics and might have a sense
of humor? Notice that the word “heathen” has a different reso-
nance than the word “nonbeliever” would. Does this person
come from a dysfunctional family rife with religious conflict? Or
is the character tossing off this line to get laughs, evade a question,
or mask the turmoil underneath a difficult upbringing?
Perhaps a man explains his background this way:

“I learned how to drive in a 1935 panel bakery truck with a

wobbly 3-on-the-floor stick shift, a starter button next to the
gas pedal, and a clutch that that was a foot off the floor and
didn’t disengage until you pumped it all the way down. So
there’s nothing with wheels I can’t drive.”

This could be a character confident about his abilities who isn’t

afraid to tackle any new task. Or he might be egotistical. If the char-
acter had just said, “There’s nothing with wheels I can’t drive,” the
boast might sound a little fabricated. But all these details help us to
understand that this guy probably knows what he’s talking about.
A character who explains his confidence around water reveals
more about his background:

“The lake I grew up by had a sixty-foot tower that I wasn’t

allowed to climb up on unless I was going to jump off or get
thrown off into the water. Once you grow a pair and jump,
from then on, it’s a piece of cake.”

Not only do we learn how he overcame his fear of heights, but this
line also implies that he grew up in a rural area that may not have
been as restrictive as an urban upbringing.

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D I A LOG UE REV E AL S W H E R E T H E C H A RACT E R

CO M ES F RO M

We often know where the character grew up based on dialect,

accent, and word choice:

“I’m off to the pub for a pint with the lads.” (British)

Or

“Weaall, ya’ll aughta know bah nayow thet ah aym the lawr
‘round heauh.” (West Virginia Appalachians. In case the
transliterated dialect is indecipherable, this translates to
“Well, you all know by now that I am the law around here.”)

Or

“She brought me a mickey of Jim Beam, so I tipped her a

loonie.” (Canadian)

We probably all would understand the Jim Beam reference, and

maybe the loonie, which is what Canadians call a coin that has a
Canadian goose on it. This would be clear if the person handed
the coin to the bartender.
But characters might mention something about their
background — 

“I grew up seeing every play on Broadway.”

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