Brian Lee Meyer held a fun little contest on his blog, where he challenged writers to craft a scene around some dialogue he had written. You could do anything you wanted, as long as you didn't change a word of dialogue.
It was a test of how to attribute dialogue without a boring stream of "he said"s. My preferred method is to describe character's nonverbal actions before they say something and to give character's distinct voices within a conversation (e.g., one person is calm and one person is upset) so that attribution is unnecessary. Another thing I sometimes do is establish a default "he," usually the point of view character of a particular scene.
Although I didn't win Meyer's contest, I like what I turned out with only about an hour of effort. Here's the scene. Again, the dialogue is all Meyer's. I merely wrote the scaffolding.”
Trudging home, stooped by the weight of his bulging backpack, Joe heard footsteps thudding on the pavement, growing louder. Bob fell into step next to him, his fat, pale face sweating bullets in the late summer heat.
"Mr. Smith came down on you pretty hard today," Bob mumbled through a mouthful of Crunch candy bar.
Joe winced. The failing grade on the assignment was bad enough. Mr. Smith had to go and emasculate him in front of the whole class. He had tried his best to pretend it didn't phase him. It seemed that he had failed that, too.
"I’m used to it," Joe said insouciantly. "He’s never liked me no matter what I do."
He considered his words, how weak and unconvincing they sounded in his own ears. He felt the suppressed rage bubbling up inside him, demanding release.
"I try. I really do," he said, biting down on each word. "Nothing’s ever good enough for him."
Bob swallowed and took another bite of milk chocolate mixed with crisped rice. "Smith’s okay. I think he’s just trying to get the best out of you."
Joe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."
"No, really. It’s flattering if you think about it." Bob dropped the Crunch wrapper in a garbage can sitting on the curb. "He must think you have a lot of potential to push you so hard."
"That’s not it, Bob. It’s my dad. Smith hates him, so he hates me too. He probably says it’s for my good so he doesn’t look like a jerk in front of the other teachers, but really it’s just plain prejudice."
Despite Joe's exasperation, he felt better after getting his feelings off his chest. He karate-chopped the air, envisioning Mr. Smith's lean, smug face. "Even if I solved cold fusion for the science fair, he’d find something wrong with it!"
Bob shrugged. "Well, don’t let it get to you." He punched Joe lightly in the shoulder. "You’re still the smartest guy in class."
"I don’t care what Smith thinks," Joe said. "It’s just that he’s bringing my GPA down. You ever notice how he gives assignments like he did today? There’s nothing he can do about it when I get every question right on a test, but he can give me whatever grade he wants on these reports and projects." He couldn't stop his voice from rising to the level of a shout. "I should have straight As, but these assignments are pulling my grade down to a B. It’s not fair!"
They came to the end of the block and waited for the pedestrian light to turn green.
"What are you going to do?" Bob asked.
Joe spotted Mary, his neighbor, who was a grade higher than him and Bob, on the other side of the street. She stood with her hands on her hips and waited on the corner.
"What can I do?" Joe said.
The pedestrian light turned green, and he and Bob crossed the street. As they drew closer to the street corner, Joe noticed a distressed look scrunching Mary's pretty face.
"Hey, Mary," Bob said brightly, his step quickening. He had been smitten with the older girl for as long as he and Joe had been friends.
"Where have you two been?" she demanded.
"We had band practice after school. We were just walking home." Bob's smile faltered under her unwavering glare. "What’s wrong?"
She ignored him. "Joe, why haven’t you been answering your phone?"
"Sorry. It’s in my bag." Joe slung his weighty backpack off his shoulders. He unzipped a flap to retrieve his old flip phone. He had six missed calls.
He looked at her warily. "I didn’t hear it buzz. Is everything okay?"
Her lips trembled and she broke eye contact with him. "No." She sniffed and wiped her cheek. "I’m sorry, Joe, it’s your dad. He was in a car accident. He’s dead."
Meyer wrote back to say my imagery was sharp and he liked how I introduced Mary into the scene. He dinged me on the use of the world "insouciantly," which didn't surprise me. That is such a show-off word. I shared this scene with my wife and she laughed when she got to that part. This probably means I need to get her to edit my work in the future!
Anyway, Meyer just published a book called Sons of Zeruiah. He's a swell guy, so if you're reading this, at least preview his book it for free.
Let me know what you think in the comments. I'll reply to you as soon as I can. I invite you to read the first 3 chapters of Tendrils to the Moon for free, and see if the last 9 chapters are worth your time. The paperback version is on sale at Amazon for $8.99. The ebook is still a mere 99 cents, and is available in a variety of formats via Smashwords.
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