Realistic Dialogue Isn’t a Matter of Transcription
How to make dialogue that feels real
When I was in college, one part of my work-study job was transcribing, in real time, class lectures for a deaf student who did not know sign language. We mirrored our computers and I typed into a Word document for him to see. Back then, I used to pride myself on typing every word — prioritizing not a clean document but an accurate one. This did great things for my typing speed. But I realized later this was far from helpful for the student I worked for.
This became especially clear when I started working as an editor instead. See, the way we speak aloud doesn’t always make sense when we write it down exactly. Even texted conversations don’t always make sense outside of the contexts in which they were sent. More rarely, still, do the words we speak each day translate well into dialogue for a story.
For instance, the following are the texts my husband and I have sent to each other today.
Me: Did you know our dental hygienist moved to Alabama?
Husband: I didn’t. I don’t go in to see them until next month.
Husband: Wordle in 3.
Me: Also Wordle in 3.
Me: Signed up for gymnastics tonight.
Conversation of this sort is necessary. The routine of it — like our daily Wordle comparisons — can even be comforting. My husband and I have been together for more than a decade, and we’ve known each other for almost two, so we don’t play a lot of games when we text or talk to one another. There are two main reasons this “conversation” is very, very boring.
Conflicting Wants
First, we don’t actively want something during this conversation. Connection, maybe, but we’re facilitating it through sharing information about our day. I didn’t have any ulterior motive to telling him the dental hygienist we always see had moved, except that I found it interesting. We have a friendly competition in our Wordle scores, but we don’t want anything from each other by sharing it. And all I wanted in telling him I signed up for gymnastics was to ensure he would be home by 7. Considering he was home from work at 5:15 yesterday, it was more a calm “FYI” than an “I need you to do this for me.”
Which brings us to point two: we aren’t in conflict. When neither of us want something, the things we want can’t be in conflict because they don’t exist. Of course, it’s not that we’re never in conflict, but in this conversation we weren’t. Our needs didn’t conflict, because even from Wordle we both want the same thing — a close game well-played.
The lack of wants and the lack of conflict make this particular conversation boring, but the dialogue I have with my husband in person is usually unfit for fiction, too, because of two additional problems.
Filler Words and Nonlinear Conversations
When I speak, I say “like” and “um” and “really” an absolutely unforgiveable amount. I can put Miss Bates to shame when it comes to assigning a significant number of words to a sentence that says very little. This is boring in dialogue on the page, and can actually detract from the message.
Similarly, I’m really good at nonlinear conversations. Let’s say I feed the cat while talking to my husband about the book I’m editing for work, but feeding the cat reminds me of animals, which reminds me of my sister’s horse, which reminds me of my sister. The dialogue itself might look like this:
“So I was working through chapter 17 today in the book I’m editing and, I, uh, I- I realized that time was, like, passing differently in one point of view than the other. Like, three weeks passed in one chapter, and it seemed like maybe really only two days in the next one? I really had to slow down and, uh, write down each time marker to see if they — what’s it called — align.”
“But it went okay?”
“It did, I think. You know? By the way, my sister’s wedding date changed to next spring.”
“Wait, what?”
Writing dialogue like this might be an accurate representation of how my brain works, and how I manage conversations, but it’s hard to follow, especially with all the filter words in. This is exacerbated on the page, where you don’t have tone of voice or other cues to help you make sense of it.
Subtext
The one other note that makes the conversations I have with my husband absolutely uninteresting is our complete lack of subtext when we talk. Because neither of us is pushing for a specific want that the other’s want gets in the way of, we don’t have to negotiate our way toward the outcome we want. And because our feelings for each other are known, we don’t have to relegate any of the “you are important to me and therefore your opinion matters” things to subtext, either.
Subtext is what weights dialogue from the everyday into something with deeper meaning. Diane Callahan, an author and editor, writes,
Subtext involves hidden feelings — anger, love, mistrust — all the emotions characters don’t dare admit aloud.
In addition to conflicting emotions, the conflicts between what we say and what we do add subtext to our dialogue, which I’ve written about in a lot more detail here.
Let’s look at an example. Remember, we want to ensure every character wants something, those wants conflict, avoid filler words, and include subtext.
“Good evening, Monsieur Travers. What brings you to the library?”
Renee Travers unclasped her hands and brought them around, a brown paper package now clutched delicately under one arm. “Your present is finished, Mademoiselle Dupuis, if you would wish to view it.”
She sat down in the armchair beside Celeste, infinitely farther way than she had been that evening beside the fountain. But this vast library was bathed in daylight that made her less brave. They had so much to say to each other. Celeste could not bring herself to say any of it.
“Already? I had expected it would take months.” At least, Celeste had hoped it would. The longer she could delay giving her brother the mirror, the longer Travers would remain in the castle. She would lose Renee soon. That was now guaranteed. The only question remaining was whether it would be to Adam’s wrath or his vanity.
“There are benefits to being patronized by your brother. It seems everyone believes my work to be urgently needed by the prince. I saw no reason to correct them.”
Celeste smiled, though she didn’t mean it. “Advantageous.”
“I’m sure he has similarly taken advantage, so he has no reason to complain. Open it. See the handiwork.”
Celeste unwrapped the package and turned the hand mirror over in her lap. The silver’s reflection was flawless, duplicating the shelves behind her with such accuracy she felt she could reach in and pluck out a book from its illusion of depth. It made her nervous to lift it to her face, to see herself here, in the company of the scientist.
It was beautiful, and Celeste could not keep it.
“We both know this mirror belongs to my brother. I cannot accept it.”
“It’s yours, mademoiselle. Everything perfect about it is your doing, not mine.”
She offered the handle to Travers. “Have you used it?”
“I — no. It was packaged already when I retrieved it.”
“Here.” Celeste placed the mirror face down into her friend’s hands. “You deserve to see what you look like now.” Especially today, she thought, handsome as she was in her finest suit.
With a rare show of timidity, Renee turned the mirror over. Celeste could not see much of Travers’ face — the mirror was in the way — but as Renee tilted it this way and that, Celeste received a more standard glimpse of her own reflection in the smooth gold plating the back. Even in the gold she could see the way she smiled. She looked like the duke had when talking about Jean.
Knowing that was too much. She gazed at the floor instead. “We don’t have to give it to Adam. It could be yours.”
“No. Keep it,” Renee said, setting it face down on the table between them. “I trust you can put this mirror to better use than I can — if only to appreciate your own beauty.”
With a sudden refusal to make eye contact, Travers walked out before Celeste could offer another word of protest.
These two characters have feelings for each other they’ve neither discussed nor acted on. The mirror was commissioned by Celeste’s brother, but Celeste used magic to perfect it, making it arguably not Renee’s work. Since Renee was patronized only for that mirror, Celeste is now worried that its completion will mean losing the scientist’s company. But she is engaged to another, so they cannot have the conversation they want to. Instead, it’s focused on the mirror.
When we’re writing, we need to write not transcriptions of dialogue but the sweetened/condensed version. Dialogue that is amplified, contains subtext, and contains goals that conflict with one another reads truer to life — and far more interesting — than transcriptions ever will.