Getting the timbre and cadance of authentic voices can be a real challenge for writers. I have often, and with gusto, leaned on the side of scene-building and description rather than tackling an extended conversation between two or more characters. I think that this can be difficult because we write from our heads and often alone. I've been trying to incorporate more dialogue into my work, and below is the most ambitious attempt taken seriously out of context from a longer piece:
“I forgot you used to do that gymnastics thing,” Colin drawled. “Eight years”, Carson plucked tiny splinters from her palms. “Why’d you stop?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Carson sighed, “It was expensive. I didn’t really like it anymore.” “Your parents paid for your brother’s private buffoon lessons for a decade,” Colin pointed out, “I’m sure it wasn’t a money thing.” “It was bassoon lessons,” Carson corrected with a giggle, “and, I guess, I mostly just stopped having fun with it.” “Why?” Colin picked at fuzz balls on the couch. Carson leaned to the side to get a better view of him, “You’re just full of questions today, Inquizitive Ian.” Colin chuckled, “I guess,” he gazed back at her through heavy lids, “Are you afraid of them, Sidestep Sally?” Carson glued her attention to the just-for-show fireplace, “Let’s just say I lost interest” “No, let’s just say more.” “Why are you busting my balls, dude?” Colin merely held her gaze and waited. Carson broke first and looked back at the fascinating fireplace, memorizing the layout of bricks. “It was all girls.” Mmmhmm. “Girls are terrible.” Mmmmm. “They were catty and competitive. They hated me. They were--” “How do you know that?” “What?” Carson cut eyes at Colin. “How do you know they hated you?” Back to the fireplace, “They never talked to me. They’d go out for fro-yo after practice and never invite me. You just know when people think they’re better than you.” Hmmm. “Stop doing that!” Carson’s eruption garnered the brief attention of the room, but they quickly turned back to their tasks at hand. “I wonder why it makes you uncomfortable” Colin mused. She was ready with a retort, “Because you’re not Sigmund effing Freud, you weirdo. And I’m not your patient.” “No, you’re certainly not patient.” Colin deflected the gentle punch she threw his way. “Well my diagnosis --” “Your unsolicited diagnosis,” Carson interrupted. “My unsolicited diagnosis is that you have delusions of persecution. You imagine this warfare, this me-versus-them dire battle, when really people don’t care about you at all.” “Wow. Thanks a lot.” Carson plucked her iPod from off the stereo and started scrolling through bands in search of a mood change. Change your soundtrack to change your mood. Foolproof tactic. “You know I don’t mean me,” Colin dipped his head in an attempt to catch her eye, “Or any of us,” he encompassed the room in a sweeping gesture. “Yeah, whatever,” Carson grumbled. “We love you,” Colin started burrowing into the crook between her neck and her shoulder, right into the gaping smile of a Misfits skull, “We looove you,” he repeated in increasing, though muffled, volume. The rest of the room took up the chant and zombie-walked towards her. We looove you. We looove you. They started piling onto her, Colin, the couch arms and back, whatever surface would hold their collective mass, until she was thoroughly buried under five teenage boys and all their teenage boy smells. Cheap body spray cologne, cigarette smoke, a tinge of body odor, and Cheeto breath.
1 Comment
Esperanza
2/23/2017 06:08:11 am
Although this is the first piece of writing I have read of yours I can't imagine what the rest will be like! I really enjoyed this piece and the adjectives you used to describe the guys and their smells... (Cheeto breath)
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AuthorMs. Jopling teaches English at Broadway High School, eats an unseemly amount of cheese, and laughs as often as possible. Archives
November 2017
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