Inspired by a great presentation by Professor John Timmons that was followed by discussion at the last meeting of our writers’ group, Narratives, regarding the essential elements of dialogue, I wrote this scenario quickly and hope to go back over it in another post to see if it measures up.
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Her feet began to hurt, crushed and clamped between his, held immobile and helpless. The furnace of his body ran down the full length of her and she imagined the sweat between them as the melting of her skin. Stretching her neck to rise above the metal bars of his arms, she sought to take a full breath of badly needed air into her lungs, and couldn’t help exhaling a barely audible, “Oh!” The arm loosened around her breasts for a second but regained its grip and tightened even more. Her knees scraped bone against bone, but most of all, it was her feet that ached the most. She couldn’t help but try to wriggle free, but in quick response he’d rearrange his own to corral hers even more restricted in his grasp. Then, a pain shot up from her ankle through her leg and she could not bite back the “Ooow!” that truly was a cumulative effect of the prison that her jailer had had her in for a quarter of an hour, or maybe more. His entire body seemed to step back a half inch from her own in surprised sympathy.
“Huh”? I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing in his sleepy state what was wrong, except that in some way he had most likely hurt her.
“My feet don’t bend that way, John!” she said, a little louder, a little sharper than she’d meant.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, freeing her feet completely from his own. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I think I’ll still be able to walk, but please do check the floor by the bed in the morning before you leave for work.”
“Ah, I’m sorry, hon,” he whispered. “Can I do anything to help?”
“No, I’m all right. But for a second there I thought you broke my ankle because you had my feet twisted together and then you moved and…”
“Ah, gee. Let me get the Ben-Gay and rub it on for you.” Heavily, he slid away and she could feel the shift in weight on their mattress as he was about to get up from the bed.
“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” she told him. “It was just a sharp twinge and I was scared you were about to break it, that’s all. It’s fine now.”
“You sure?” His voice came to her closer now, as he settled back in place and moved a bit nearer, placing just a balanced touch of hand upon her shoulder.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Well, okay. I’m sorry,” then, “I love you,” he said. He rolled away to lie on his back.
“I love you, too” she said softly. And in the coolness of the sheets she slowly drifted off to sleep.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
That was fantastic! You really set the mood. You’re a naturalist with dialog.
Thanks, Bev. This was a real interesting exercise at the meeting; simple and to the point, and the immediate response of writing as the points were made, as Mr. E. often does in his CW classes, provides reinforcement and perspective. I’m going to check what I’ve written to see if I’ve successfully incorporated the lesson.
Actually, I think I can critique it right here, although I wish I had taken better notes at the meeting so I could clearly show the organized structure that John had shown us…
First, I would say that in several places, had the dialogue been more carefully thought out–even punctuation makes a difference–many of the “trailers” would be unnecessary, and the mood set within the dialogue itself without explanation. i.e.,
“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing in his sleepy state what was wrong, except that in some way he had most likely hurt her.
REWRITTEN: “I’m sorry,” he mumbled automatically in his sleep.
“My feet don’t bend that way, John!” she said, a little louder, a little sharper than she’d meant.
REWRITTEN: “John! My feet don’t bend that way!” (This would have sufficiently shown her annoyance)
John mentioned the principles of Affinity, Respect, and Control as being elements of dialogue. I believe the affinity and respect is shown in their comfortable-with-each-other style of conversation, and respect as when his concern is evident and her tolerance of an uncomfortable situation.
Control then, is what this dialogue is really about. I believe there is a symmetrical, competitive vieing for power here: His, while he is asleep and envelopes her in his grasp, and hers, as she both allows him to know that she has silently suffered, but that he has hurt her, and that once he has offered assistance–another form of both submission and control (he can make it better–she regains control by telling him it’s okay–he hurt her (in his sleep), but she is magnanimous and forgiving. She also gets him to move away and goes to sleep peacefully comfortable.
I think that’s it anyway.
Susan,
Thank you for the explanation. In my short story for CW I have basically gotten as far as introduction. The way Steve has suggested to approach a conflict and climax that is so desperately needed in my story is for me to step off the edge or walk into it blind, take a chance so to speak. I have some ideas, but I think I need to be in the right mood. You’re approach is so constructive and seems more my style. At least your explanation makes it seem that way. I see where Steve’s suggestion is hinting because I need to relax my writing a bit and not make the writing so formal or cut to a tee. I’m gonna just blow it all out one of these days and what ever happens, happens. Then maybe I can go back and see if the power and control are in the right places. Rhona (in my story) is bad and I have to make her look bad. I’m going to start the story with a little dialog in the park between Georgia and Rhona meeting for the first time since it all happened a couple of years before, then I am going to go to where I left off at the end and manifest some outrageous battle. Thanks for the input. This little blip has already got me thinking.