“Mr. Wilson,” the doctor said and paused. “I’m afraid it’s…”
“The worst?”
The doctor indicated it was.
“Well…okay. Thank you, doctor.”
“You’ll need to make arrangements.”
“If there’s anything–”
There won’t be,” Wilson interrupted.
On the surface it appears to be competent prose. It’s grammatically correct. The dialogue sounds natural enough. It’s clear–we know exactly what’s happening here. But is it gripping? No.
Why not? Because, as Bob Dylan famously said, “Nothing was revealed.”
Look at what we don’t know….
We know the doctor spoke, but we don’t know how his voice sounded. We know he paused, but what kind of pause was it? Measured and smooth, for practiced effect, or was he really struggling?
The doctor “indicated” it was “the worst.” But does that mean he said something? And if so, how did he say it? For all we know, he might have whipped his finger across his throat, or given a double thumbs down!
Then comes an exchange of four lines of dialogue. The language is neutral and betrays no emotion or character knowledge. Only the dry text of the exchange is revealed, no emotional color, no attitude, no sense of occasion, no actions or gestures are given. Even the one action verb, “interrupted,” doesn’t describe a specific action.
To render an emotion-packed moment in fiction, let us see it. If you can use smells or noises or touch to do it, fine, but sight will be more than adequate. We feel emotions not from intellectual conclusions, which are derived abstractly from the thought process we call logic. We feel emotions as a result of direct stimulation–and usually that means what we see.
Am I saying show don’t tell, that old saw again? In a word yes. I’m saying you MUST be able to write visually at moments like this. You must know how to capture the mood, tone, and meaning of the moment by letting us see things–and I mean specific (not general) things that carry that visual information in a direct, primitive fashion. Not flowers, but “roses.” Not refreshments, but “pita chips and diet Pepsi.” Not exited, but “half-ran, half-staggered, blinking, into the noonday street–and freedom.”
Don’t expect dialogue to do it. Dialogue can be a strong component, but unless you’re writing a play, don’t count on it to carry you at these moments. Default to vivid palpable description of the telling gesture, the crucial detail. What did Wilson’s face do when he heard this? Did his lips tremble? Sneer? What about his posture? A little less erect. A defeated slump?
Let’s try again:
“Mr. Wilson.” The doctor’s face was pinched and lines had appeared in his forehead. “I’m afraid it’s…” He lowered his gaze.
“The worst?”
The doctor tried to speak, but just nodded, without looking up.
Wilson breathed in, then blew it out in a shudder. “Well…okay. Thank you, doctor.”
“You’ll need to make arrangements.”
Out the window, on the rooftop, a gull was struggling against the wind to build its nest…
“If there’s anything–”
“There won’t be.”
Not worth a Pulitzer maybe, but at least the few visual details I’ve added allow you to feel the emotional significance of the occasion and its effect on both men–because now you can see it. And seeing is the most direct route to emotional understanding.
|
|
|
|
|
 |
