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You Talk Too Much: Balancing Dialogue and Narrative

I’ve just returned from a trip home to Texas. I took with me plenty of pens and paper, books and ideas; once I touched down and hooked up with family I hadn’t seen in years, though, everything but the loving fell to the wayside.

So this Wednesday, I give you a re-post of an old post on a topic that never gets dull: dialogue versus narrative.

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I pride myself on being a quiet observer: in a church pew, during a staff meeting, behind a muffin and a steaming cup of coffee in a cafe. Most days, it takes me a long time to warm up to any conversation. But, stick me in front of my laptop (and smack-dab in the middle of rewriting a story) and suddenly I’m all talk.

At least, that’s what I’ve noticed lately with my work-in-progress. The early drafts of my novel were heavy in exposition and light in conversation. Now, I have a clearer vision of the plot, and I know my characters better. And, dialogue comes easy for me. The problem is that once the characters start talking, I let them go on and on. In rewriting another section last week, I noticed a whole page of chit chat. All that character banter started to tug at my writer’s gut, which suggested I should rethink my use of dialogue.

Beware: dialogue abuse.

g_fullxfull.36171Nathan Bransford posted on the Seven Keys to Writing Good Dialogue, in which he pin points one area of concern:

A good conversation is an escalation…Characters in a novel never just talk. There’s always more to it.

In all writing, each character, scene, and piece of dialogue must move the story forward. I practice that in my short stories and flash fiction. But, in this novel rewrite, much of the dialogue I’ve written just fills up space. Though realistic, it reads flat and doesn’t necessarily propel the story.

Janet Fitch (author of White Oleander) has her own post, entitled “A Few Thoughts About Dialogue,” where she carries this idea of flat conversation even further. She says, “Dialogue is only for conflict…You can’t heap all your expository business on it, the meet and greet, and all that yack…If someone’s just buying a donut, nobody needs to say anything.” Then, she throws in a quick example of unnecessary talk: in response to a character asking, Want a cup of coffee? she writes, “No. I don’t. Ever.”I’m guilty of that kind of dialogue: in the span of one chapter, my characters have discussed getting a cup of coffee or tea twice. That’s a lot of “coffee talk.”

But, careful with the exposition.

Sam McGarver, in his article, “10 Fiction Pitfalls,” (which appears in the May 2010 issue of The Writer) talks about too much weight on the other end of the writing scale: :

Entertainment today is visual—movies, television, the Internet, cell phones. To compete, fiction must also be visual, using scenes, action, description and dialogue to show a story, rather than narration to tell it. A story should consist of one scene following another, connected by narration.

I don’t want to nix half of the conversations in my novel just because I want to avoid too much talking, but I don’t want to go on and on with narrative and put readers to sleep.

So, what to do?

After reading Bransford, Fitch, and McCarver, I found three different techniques for balancing dialogue and narrative:

  • From McCarver’s article: Find a particularly long narrative section and see how it might be broken up into more of a scene with dialogue.
  • After reading Fitch’s post: Find a section in the story where the characters have a whole conversation, and then cross out the dialogue that is commonplace. Because, as Fitch says, “A line anybody could say is a line nobody should say.”
  • From Bransford’s post: If the dialogue does carry the story forward but still feels “thin,” look for places to add gestures, facial expressions, and/or any details from the scene that enhance that section. Bransford says, “gesture and action [are] not [used] to simply break up the dialogue for pacing purposes, but to actually make it meaningful….”

How do you balance your story with narrative and dialogue? Do you talk too much?

Photo credits: lovelornpoets on Flickr.com

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An Interview with Erika Dreifus, Author of Quiet Americans

“Always, there had been so much about him she hadn’t understood. Always, something about her heart had remained unyielding, beyond his comprehension. But that was the point. So much remained beyond his comprehension.”
~ from “For Services Rendered” in Quiet Americans

What is writing if not an exercise in understanding?
Whether we write fiction or non, we are on a journey to make sense of the incomprehensible, to follow the thread of a story until something is revealed, something of meaning to us or the reader or the character in question.

Erika Dreifus has written a collection of stories about characters searching for that meaning, searching to unravel a mixture of complexities in their histories or to reconcile an agony traced to their past. Nelly Freiburg in “Homecoming” grapples with the decision whether or not to return to places of her youth, knowing that everything, including herself, has been permanently altered by war. In “Mishpocha,” David Kaufmann pursues the mysteries behind his identity and uncovers the unexpected. All of the stories in Quiet Americans reveal a deeper understanding of what it means to be Jewish and an American and a survivor.

I’m honored to host Erika today as she answers questions about Quiet Americans and about writing. I am also offering a book giveaway, so, at the end of the interview, be sure to leave your name in the comments. The winning name will be drawn on Tuesday, May 29th.

Now, welcome Erika Dreifus!

CC: One of the short stories in your collection, “The Quiet American, or How to be a Good Guest,” touches not only on the internal conflicts a young Jewish woman faces when returning to Germany but on the larger issue we sometimes all face: speaking up or speaking out. I love this story and the powerful moment at the end. Did this story draw from your own personal experiences in any way?

Photo credit: Lisa Hancock

ED: First, Christi, I want to thank you for hosting me on your wonderful blog. And thank you so much for the kind words about this story. Yes, the story definitely drew from some of my personal experiences (and traits). For example, like the narrator, I did visit Stuttgart in the summer of 2004. I, too, have a terrible sense of direction. And I did, indeed, sign up for a bus tour of the city. But I invented many other elements of the story, and I borrowed (sounds better than “stole”!) one major piece of it, adapting a travel experience in Germany that a dear friend shared with me in a conversation not long after my trip.

This is part of what is so alluring to me about fiction-writing: the opportunity to combine fragments of personal experience, research, what we learn from others, and what we imagine, and create something new and whole in its own right. Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to remember which elements of a story I’ve created entirely and which do, indeed, have roots in my own lived experience. Which is why those stories begin and remain as fiction. I’m pretty meticulous about making sure that anything I label “nonfiction” is, in fact, not fictionalized.

CC: The Jewish Journal calls your book “…a deeply affecting collection of short stories that contemplate how the long shadow of the Holocaust falls across the lives of men and women who come alive in her work.” While the book focuses on the Jewish experience, the stories within appeal to those who appreciate stories of history and culture as well. What do you hope readers take away from Quiet Americans?

ED: What a great question. Well, I suppose I hope that that readers take away a good reading experience, in that they don’t regret having spent their valuable time with the book. I do also hope to capture aspects of history that will soon be *only* history, in that there will no longer be witnesses to share their experiences. And I hope that we all try to think larger, for lack of a better term, that we try to acknowledge nuance and the challenges of moral dilemma and complexity.

CC: On your website, you mention that partial proceeds from your book will go to an organization called The Blue Card. Can you tell us a little more about that organization and whom it serves?

ED: Thank you so much for asking. I think I’ll quote directly from the organization’s website:

“The Blue Card was founded in 1934 in Germany to help Jews fleeing Nazi oppression. The organization got its name from the original blue cards that were issued. Each time a donation was made, a stamp was put on the card to keep a record. Today, when many Jewish community funds support memorials for the Holocaust, education programs, and other causes, The Blue Card has only one mission; that mission, is to get much-needed funds either on an emergency basis or as an ongoing stipend to indigent needy Holocaust survivors. To date, The Blue Card has provided over 20 million dollars to thousands upon thousands of survivors and their families.”

My family has supported The Blue Card for years. And I have indeed explained more about my decision to share some of the profits with The Blue Card on my own site.

CC: Along with being a published author, you are also contributing editor for The Writer magazine and Fiction Writers Review, as well as editor and publisher for the newsletter, The Practicing Writer. What’s your strategy for balancing several writing projects?

ED: I wish I had a real strategy! I have to confess that I’ve begun setting more limits. For instance, I’ve recently had to decline some requests, even from The Writer and Fiction Writers Review, both of which I love.

The newsletter (and my blogs) I see as a way to provide some sustained literary service to the literary community, and that’s important to me. Sticking to a pretty structured publishing structure and schedule seems to help. I’m always so happy when someone lets me know that something from my blogs or newsletters helped them with their writing and/or publishing path. That makes it all worth the effort.

But, like everyone else, I’m always wishing for more time to write (not to mention for all of the reading and ruminating that good writing requires).

CC: What are you reading these days?

ED: One of the great joys of attending the Virginia Festival of the Book in March was the opportunity I had to meet and speak with Thomas Mallon–and to have him sign my copy of his new novel, Watergate. I’m reading Watergate right now. And on the side, I’m savoring the first issue of my new subscription to The Cincinnati Review and the latest issue of Ecotone.

Christi, thank you again for your enthusiasm for Quiet Americans. I am so grateful!

Erika Dreifus is the author of Quiet Americans: Stories, a collection inspired largely by the histories of her paternal grandparents, German Jews who immigrated to the U.S. in the late 1930s. Quiet Americans has been named a 2012 ALA Sophie Brody Medal Honor Title for outstanding Jewish literature; it was also cited as a Jewish Journal “Notable Book” and a Shelf Unbound “Top Small-Press Book” for 2011. Erika writes fiction, essays, poetry, and book reviews from her home base in New York City. Web: www.erikadreifus.com.

~

Thank you, Erika. And remember, readers, to leave your name in the comments for a chance to win a copy of Quiet Americans.

 

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The Fairy Godmother of Writing

I found her, my fairy godmother.

She’s short and spry and feisty. She wears a giant sombrero and spurred boots. She says things like “sugarfoot” and “Let’s get crackin'” and doesn’t think twice about firing that golden pistol of hers into the air. She appears out of nowhere, just in time.

“What’s the matter with you, honey?” she asks.

I tell her I’m trying to write a novel. I explain about all the planning and the bulletin board in the basement, about the first-draft jitters, about the laundry that keeps getting in the way and the dishes in the sink. I say I need more time. A maid. I need to read more books on writing novels first. I’m afraid, I say, that I won’t get this right. I wait for her advice, for her to weave some sort of magic.

But while I’m talking to her, she’s not directly talking to me. She lives in the pages of a children’s book by Susan Lowell, Cindy Ellen, A Wild Western Cinderella.

When she asks, “What’s the matter with you, honey?” she is eyeing up the young cowgirl, Cindy Ellen, who longs to go to a rodeo, ride the bronco, and win the heart of a young handsome son of a cattle king.

Whether you love or hate the Cinderella tale, there’s plenty of reason to appreciate Susan Lowell’s book. Lowell adds a fun twist to a familiar tale, making the story completely her own with her characters and language. It’s terribly fun to read out loud to your kids, especially when you’re a Texan who’s rooted in Wisconsin. I get to revive my Texas twang, say words like “gumption” and “Western fandango” and “you’ll be sorr-ee!”

Mostly though, I love the fairy godmother. She’s all sass, endearing as much as she is intimidating. Not all fluff and fancy. She calls it like she sees it.

“Magic is plumb worthless without gumption. What you need first, gal, is some gravel in your gizzard. Grit! Guts! Stop that tomfool blubbering, and let’s get busy. Time’s a wastin’.”

Words of wisdom fit for any writer.

There’s magic in crafting a novel. I still believe that. Characters appear out of nowhere. Dialogue sounds off in your head as if you’re remembering a conversation recently overheard. Words fumble and fail and then suddenly fall into line, “like little soldiers,” as Victoria Flynn said in a great post (which I want to link to but cannot find at this late hour!).

Magic.

But, none of it happens without gumption.

…Sugarfoot.

“‘Hit the trail, honey!’ the old lady said.”

(She’s talking to you.)