Dialogue is a powerful way to reveal a character. The way they speak can be as effective as a physical description. It’s a good idea to avoid writing accents except for the occasional snippet. If you let the reader know, for example, that your character is from the southern states, their imagination will hear the accent while reading the dialogue.
Dianna Gabaldon is a master at portraying her Scottish characters. The conversation is written with non-accented English peppered with simple changes like using “ye” instead of you, or expressions like “Och, no.” Dialogue breaks down when a writer changes the spelling to indicate an accent phonetically.
The key is to write dialogue as naturally as possible. When we speak in conversations, it is not always grammatically correct. We hesitate, say “um”, use incomplete sentences, -and that’s all right in small doses. You’ll find it’s a balancing act to keep the dialogue real, natural and flowing.
Changing Gears
We’ve looked at aspects of creating dialogue. What about beginning a dialogue on creating? Making art of any kind carries the satisfaction of a finished piece. But, isn’t it the actual process that claims our attention? How does the act of creating affect you? What happens when you are deep in a creative process that coaxes or even spurs you forward?
These thoughts circled my brain this morning while throwing pots on the wheel. The process of forming a vessel from a lump of spinning clay is compelling. I often lose the sense of time. The outside world falls away, and within a few minutes, the process flows into a one-pointed focus. My hands respond automatically with a natural eye-hand coordination.
You might think that this meditative experience is reserved for seasoned artists, but not so. I teach art twice a week for the Canadian Mental Health Association. Attending are people living with a myriad of disorders, from anxiety to schizophrenia.
For the first half hour there is a degree of socialization. Some ask questions, others remain withdrawn. However, in a very little time, all are absorbed and quiet. Palpable anxiety evaporates, and the rhythm of creativity invests the room with harmony.
You probably find the same thing when you type a story, play music, or apply paint to canvas. What do you experience when you are in the creative zone? This question might bring about some interesting dialogue.
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