In The Bourne Identity, when Bourne shoots the assassin played by Clive Owen, as the assassin is dying he says to Bourne, “Look at what they make you give.”

In the third movie, The Bourne Ultimatum, as Bourne finally discovers the truth of his identity and is forced into a showdown, he says, “Look at what they make you give.” I thought it was clever that they had Bourne come full circle and echo Clive Owen’s line from the first movie.

Likewise some of the actions and lines used by the character Reese in the original Terminator movie end up being echoed by the reprogrammed friendly T-101 in Terminator 2: Judgment Day. They even revisit a final fight in a factory, but instead of Reese bashing an evil T-101 with a pipe, it’s a good T-101 bashing the evil T-1000. In Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, after slowing down the female T-X model, Arnold proclaims, “She’ll be back.”

In the TV show Jericho, there is a flashback featuring the grandfather of Jake, one of the main protagonists in the show. The grandfather tells a story about some WWII allied soldiers who were surrounded by Germans. When the Germans offered to let the allies surrender, the allies respond with the message, “Nuts!” Flash forward to the heroes of Jericho surrounded by enemies. The leader of the enemies offers to let the people of Jericho surrender. Of course, the hero Jake responds by saying, “Nuts!”

Is it any surprise that fans protesting the cancellation of the show sent 20 tons of nuts to the network?

A lot of movies and TV shows seem to play this musical chairs role reversal game, by either putting another character in the exact same situation, giving them the same lines, or both. It’s a neat trick when cleverly done.

Have you ever used it?

It’s not about how the words look on paper. It’s about how they sound out loud. More so for a screenplay, but even for a novel. A lot of people mouth words as they read, or they hear them in their head as they track the lines across the page. Something that doesn’t work when you say it becomes instantly obvious.

An example peeve of mine is two characters who already know each other well addressing each other by first name with everything they say. “Hey Jack, hand me that screwdriver.” And then, “Thanks Jack.” or “Jack, later do you want to grab a beer?” Think about it. Do you use a friend’s name a lot when you’re around them? That’s the kind of thing that probably seems correct on paper but sounds wrong when you say it out loud.

The only downside to saying dialogue out loud as you type it is that you may want to refrain from writing in coffee shops. The staff and other customers might think you’re crazy. :)

I don’t have to worry about mumbling in front of my wife. She already knows I’m crazy.

“He knew that Sarah would never go for a trip to Tuscon. In all his time spent with her, Matthew had never once heard her say something good about the town. In thinking about the situation, he decided to try and avoid the topic altogether because her ex-boyfriend Larry lived there. He knew he was better off not mentioning Tuscon or Larry, at risk of starting a fight with her.

That was until Larry came home covered in blood one night. He’d been moonlighting as a criminal, and while on the job his partner got shot. What Sarah didn’t know is that Matthew was the partner. It was his blood on Larry that night. It was his blood that had dragged Sarah across time and space, and gotten her involved in the criminal underworld. She couldn’t have known it at that time, but it was all Matthew’s fault.”

He knew or she knew is a sure sign of rambling off into character headspace. It is telling, not showing. I don’t want to know why Matthew knows not to bring up a certain topic with Sarah. I want to witness him having a conversation with Sarah, and dancing around the subject Pinteresque style.

“I have to head out of town.” Matthew said.
“Why, where?” Sarah asked.
“I need to go get the money.”
She hesitated a moment, thinking. “I’m coming with.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? I’m part of this deal too, ya know.”
“You won’t like where we’re going.”
“How do you know that? Try me?”
“Are we really going to fight about this?”
“We’re fighting now?”
“No, you just have to take my word for it.”
“No I don’t.”
“I didn’t want to mention the thing.”
“What thing?” Her voice cracked.
Matthew sighed. “Nevermind.”
Sarah bristled. “The thing I think you’re talking about? That thing?”
“I don’t know, depends on what thing you’re talking about.” Matthew said.
Sarah put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him back on the mattress. “What the hell are you saying? Spit it out.”
“You won’t like it.”
“How can you possibly say that?”
“One word.”
Sarah sat for a moment, thinking. Her face grew tight, and her mouth formed a grimace. “Tuscon. You’re talking about Tuscon.”
The air conditioner of the hotel room went on humming its tune.
Matthew cleared his throat. “Actually, I was talking about Larry.”
She launched back at him. “Same difference. I hate that damn town.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”
“What? What’s your fault?” She leaned in close.
“Everything.”
Sarah began to fidget with the ring on her finger. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing, nevermind.” Matthew groaned, punching the mattress.
“Tuscon and Larry seem to bother you more than they bother me. I want to know why.”
Matthew sighed again. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand.” She looked at the scars across Matthew’s stomach. The furrow of her brow changed. Her face went white . Sarah stood up, and walked a few paces, then circled back. She was wringing her hands. “It was you. It was your blood on Larry that night.”
Matthew’s didn’t say a word. He wouldn’t look at her. He just sat there on the bed, the puppy scolded for chewing on a slipper.

Now, the back and forth dialogue is just a first pass. The scene is in danger of talking head syndrome. It could use some more action. Although passivity may be part of Michael’s character, it makes for a dull scene. Maybe he gets a beer out of the hotel refridgerator, or a bag of supplies they brought with them. Maybe he slams the little fridge door, or tosses the bag aside with emphasis. Body language is important. The scene already has some, but it could use a little more. Maybe even some dramatic outbursts of Michael expressing his inability to communicate in direct fashion — some physical venting might work nice.

All that said, the entire thing is better than a few paragraphs of rambling in the character headspace.

I don’t want an abstract explanation of how or why a character knows certain information. Don’t give me an evaluation inside the character’s head. Like lots of readers I enjoy the mystery over whether or not a character knows more than they are letting on. The only way to do this is through confrontations and dialogue.

“He knew,” is the enemy. Show, don’t tell.

P.S. This is just a little practice scene I whipped up to sharpen chops. Got any suggestions for making it better? Totally open for some collaborative fun here for the sake of learning.

Update: By interesting coincidence Crof just did a similar post.

After refilling the dialogue inspiration well, I fired up good old Wikipedia and dialed in David Mamet just to see what they had to say about him, in the hopes maybe they could shed some light on his process for writing snappy banter.

Here are some things they had to say:

“He often uses italics and quotation marks to highlight particular words and to draw attention to his characters’ frequent manipulation and deceitful use of language. His characters frequently interrupt one another, their sentences trail off unfinished, and their dialogue overlaps.”

Colorful and realistic, if perhaps hyperreal. The quick comebacks and witty nature of every character is somewhat superhuman. Where is the much more realistic example of someone being insulted and only thinking of a good response after the situation as passed? Ah, but yes… reality is boring. And we still haven’t learned much, so I perused some more;

“Mamet dedicated Glengarry Glen Ross to Harold Pinter, who was instrumental in its being first staged at the Royal National Theatre, in 1983, and whom Mamet has acknowledged as an influence on its success, and on his other work.”

Ok, so I felt it necessary to fire up Harold Pinter in the search;

“Pinter restored theatre to its basic elements: an enclosed space and unpredictable dialogue, where people are at the mercy of each other and pretence crumbles. With a minimum of plot, drama emerges from the power struggle and hide-and-seek of interlocution. Pinter’s drama was first perceived as a variation of absurd theatre, but has later more aptly been characterised as ‘comedy of menace’, a genre where the writer allows us to eavesdrop on the play of domination and submission hidden in the most mundane of conversations. In a typical Pinter play, we meet people defending themselves against intrusion or their own impulses by entrenching themselves in a reduced and controlled existence. Another principal theme is the volatility and elusiveness of the past.”

To write on the nose dialogue is to have one of your characters say, “I’m angry.” I remember reading about one of the tricks Donald Westlake uses, which is to “write around the emotion without actually stating it.”

Instead of having your character state they are angry, you have them punch a wall or growl in frustration. A more convincing anger, the theory goes, is the anger that the character has difficulty expressing.

Guys like Pinter and Mamet take this one step further. Instead of being unable to express their feelings, characters are often intentionally hide their feelings, or hints about their true identities — that is, if they have true identities and aren’t just subverting the identities of others.

In other words, being Pinteresque means that your characters often manipulate others’ perception through use of language and veiled intent. While this may seem like the tactic of a villain, if you think about your heroes hard enough you can probably find reasons why they too would want to manipulate another character’s perception of the truth in order to protect or be helpful. Don’t heroes in popular stories get into trouble all the time with little white lies?

The easiest way to avoid writing on the nose dialogue? Make your characters somewhat passive-aggressive. They never say what they mean. They shift, alter, and manipulate the conversation to present either reality as they see it, or better yet the reality they want others to believe.

How easy is it to do all this in practice? Not so easy. I often find myself writing a description like, “Bob shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.” Uncomfortable is a direct statement of the feeling. How do you fix it?

If you need to use the words as crutches to get yourself through a first pass, go ahead and do so. On a later pass, go through and remove all direct references to feeling. Then subvert them. Find some other way to express it besides just stating it directly. Make the characters squirm, bite their nails, twirl a lock of hair around a finger. Find an action or expression of that feeling that doesn’t involve words related to it.

Key takeaways:

• Don’t state emotions in your prose.
• If you can’t help but state an emotion when writing a scene, make a second pass and delete all mentions of emotion. See how your scene reads.
• Translate and telegraph character emotions. An angry character doesn’t say how angry they are, they throw a vase instead. A nervous character doesn’t tell a friend how nervous they are — they pace around, biting their nails and mumbling about a different time and place when things were better.

If your characters are to be real people that means they’re trying to contain and hide emotions just like real people do. Even if they fail at it. In fact…

You want them to fail at it.