Dialogue





Hello Everyone,

Has flash fiction been inspirational for you? Are you buzzing with ideas for drabbles and dribbles or addicted to six word stories?

This week I want to look at an important part of any novel... dialogue, speech or conversation between characters. Often a story is told through its characters, through their interaction, dialogue, thoughts and actions. The other descriptive paragraphs are merely background information. Dialogue can make or break a novel. Ernest Hemingway is considered to be the 'master' of dialogue. He writes it as it should be... simple and realistic... short and poignant. There is no need to indicate who is speaking or how they are acting; their speech tells all. It is thought that he spent a considerable amount of time on dialogue and I would like to share an example of his work with; it is from one of my favourite novels, A Farewell to Arms.

Catherine Barkley has arrived on duty at the hospital. She is late...

Catherine was not due on duty until nine o’clock. I heard her passing along the floor when she first came on duty and once saw her pass in the hall. She went to several other rooms and finally came into mine.
 "I’m late, darling," she said. "There was a lot to do. How are you?"
 I told her about my papers and the leave.
"That’s lovely," she said. "Where do you want to go?"
 "Nowhere. I want to stay here."
 "That’s silly. You pick a place to go and I’ll come too."
 "How will you work it?"
"I don’t know. But I will."
 "You’re pretty wonderful."
"No I’m not. But life isn’t hard to manage when you’ve nothing to lose."
 "How do you mean?"
 "Nothing. I was only thinking how small obstacles seemed that once were so big."
 "I should think it might be hard to manage."
 "No it won’t, darling. If necessary I’ll simply leave. But it won’t come to that."
"Where should we go?"
 "I don’t care. Anywhere you want. Anywhere we don’t know people."
 "Don’t you care where we go?" "No. I’ll like any place."
She seemed upset and taut.
 "What’s the matter, Catherine?"
 "Nothing. Nothing’s the matter."
 "Yes there is."
 "No nothing. Really nothing."
 "I know there is. Tell me, darling. You can tell me."
 "It’s nothing."
 "Tell me."
 "I don’t want to. I’m afraid I’ll make you unhappy or worry you."
 "No it won’t."
 "You’re sure? It doesn’t worry me but I’m afraid to worry you."
 "It won’t if it doesn’t worry you."
 "I don’t want to tell."
 "Tell it."
 "Do I have to?"
 "Yes."
"I’m going to have a baby, darling. It’s almost three months along. You’re not worried, are you? Please please don’t. You mustn’t worry."
"All right."
 "Is it all right?"
 "Of course."
 "I did everything. I took everything but it didn’t make any difference."
 "I’m not worried."
 "I couldn’t help it, darling, and I haven’t worried about it. You mustn’t worry or feel badly."
 "I only worry about you."


Isn't that just beautiful? It is simple but says everything. We share the emotion and thoughts with Catherine and Frederic and are aware of the entire situation. It also flows naturally. In fact, it is realistic. Dialogue IS important.

I was extremely flattered when my editor complimented my dialogue in Stay in Touch. He commented that it crackled! Well, I took it as a compliment. Now, I know I am not in the same league as Hemingway but I would still like to share an extract of mine from Stay in Touch with you. Andrea has invited her sister over for lunch... she has something to discuss with her and needs her help.

       Christabelle was tired of this farce and wanted to escape as soon as possible. She rose and walked across the hall into the dining room. There, on the table, lay two place mats, crockery, cutlery, and between them a large dish of salad and a quiche, but no potatoes or any sign of dessert. It was plain and simple.
     ‘Well?’
     ‘What, Belle?’
     ‘Why am I here?’
     ‘OK. Straight to the point. I want a divorce. You know all about these things.’
      At last this was more like Andrea, outspoken and direct.
     ‘A divorce?’
     ‘Yes.’
     ‘Why?’
     ‘He’s been unfaithful.’
     ‘David?’
     ‘Who else?’
     ‘I would never have thought it of him.’
     ‘Some floozy in the office, well his secretary.’
     ‘Are you sure?
      'Well...’
     ‘Well what?’
     ‘I think so.’
         At that point the phone rang. Andrea answered it and made it clear that she could not talk at that time. However, Christabelle heard the word, “darling”.
     ‘That wasn’t David was it?’
     ‘No.’
     ‘And HE’s the one having the affair? Come on, Andrea. I’m your sister. I can read you like a book. Daddy’s favourite.’
    ‘OK. I’m tired of David, the whole housewife and mother thing. It’s so boring.  I wanted some fun and one thing led to another.’
    Now, Christabelle knew why she had been unusually quiet at the funeral.
   ‘Who is he?’
   ‘No one you know.’
   ‘Where did you meet him?’
   ‘At a school PTA.’
   ‘Parent or teacher?’
   ‘Teacher.’
   ‘Oh great. You’re having an affair with one of your daughters’ teachers. How are they going to feel? Have you thought about the effects of this?’
   ‘What does it matter? This sort of thing’s happening all the time. Wake up.’
   ‘Is he married?’
   ‘No.’
   ‘Divorced, widowed or bachelor?’
   ‘Does it matter?’
   ‘Yes.’
   ‘Divorced.’
   ‘Oh great. This just gets better. Wake up. Any family?’
   ‘A son, lives with his mother. He sees him at weekends.’
   ‘How far has this relationship gone? All the way?’
   ‘Why?’
   ‘Well, you want a divorce.’
   ‘Why all these questions, Belle? All I asked was about getting a divorce. You’re the one with that experience.’
   ‘You need a divorce solicitor. Dad’s solicitor tracked Richard down in Tibet and sorted things out for me.’
   ‘And you think I’m his favourite.’
   ‘You are, you know you are.’
  
No, I am not in the same league as Hemingway but I am proud of my dialogue. How do I create it? I try to make it natural and realistic by following the rule of making it short, simple and realistic. I read all of my dialogue out aloud to myself. I shout, scream and even do actions if I think they are appropriate. Finally, I go by the 'feel'. Does it feel right? Dialogue may be simple but it does take time to create. If you are an author take time creating it. If you are a reader, read dialogue carefully and think of the effort which went into creating it.

Have a great week folks,

Love to you all, Lady M

LOVE YOU FOREVER 1

Dear Sofia

Lady M signing a book

The Sequel

Hello Everyone,


Have you heard the news?

Lady M has actually completed the final book in the 'Sofia' trilogy. It weighs in at 92,000+words. She has put it a way for a few weeks in the hope that when she re-reads it, it will be in a fresh light and mistakes will just leap off the page. She lives in hopes. You may contact her to pre-order your copy simply by leaving a reply below. She expects it to be available in the autumn.

To celebrate she's changed the ink colour and decided to write in italics and she's giving you a special treat and privilege...a taster(or teaser if you're in America)... the beginning of Chapter 1.

 CHAPTER ONE

May 5^th 2010

“This is definitely my favorite place.” Sofia said, as she sipped champagne. “Let’s do it again. Just one more time. Please, pretty please.”

“You’re insatiable.” Donald laughed as he splashed the water in her direction. “And you know I can never refuse when you imitate your daughter.”

“I have learned how Sophie manages to twist her father round her little finger. She uses that phrase and dilates her pupils to get her own way. I never realized how clever she was when I was downstairs.” She splashed him back and the water, with far too much bubble bath, foamed its way over the side of the enormous bath. Neither of them cared.

They were in their haven and enjoying their favorite hobby.

“Remember the first time here?”  Sofia continued.

“Sure do. You planned everything so carefully, pretending to have won first prize in a competition, a weekend in New York for one. My brother was adamant that you would not travel alone. Miranda, almost ruined it by saying she had never heard of the company offering the prize and wasn’t it more usual for such prizes to be for two people. I almost died...” they both laughed and drank more champagne before he continued, “... at that Sunday brunch when she commented that the weekend was the same one as the stag do I was going to in Amsterdam. I really never meant to hurt her. We were playing a childish and foolish game but it was fun.”

“I remember it as if it was yesterday.” She laughed and splashed more water at him. “That weekend was really special. Time ceased to exist for just a few hours, flying first class, visiting the casino before we came up here, to our beautiful room in the Manhattan skies. Just how many times have we been back?”

“No idea. I’ve lost count, now that time does not exist.” He looked across at her, “just one more time.”

“Wow, yippee.” They gulped the last of the champagne and then carelessly tossed their champagne flutes onto the floor knowing that there was no danger of broken glass. They both moved toward the middle of the bath causing more water to cascade over the side. They made love; it was beautiful and passionate. After, as they slowly each moved back to their end of the bath, he said, “After three . . . one . . .two . . .three.”

“It’s to die for!” They chorused in unison before leaping out of the bath. He picked up two fluffy white bath towels and threw one across to her.

“I wonder who we are sharing with this time, Donald?” she asked, as she dried herself.

“I don’t know, the television is so loud I can’t hear their voices.”

“Let’s watch our favorite Elvis movie before we leave.”

“Good idea. Shall I dress for the occasion?”

“Oooooooh, yes please.”

“Okay then, you go in and surprise them. I’ll follow.”

Donald, still naked but dry, opened the door and walked into the bedroom. He loved this room. It was on the thirty-second floor of The Waldorf Towers and above The Astoria Hotel. He remembered his first impressions of the antique mahogany furniture, king-size bed, rich deep-green velvet fabric, carpet and curtains. He thought he was in a time warp, a dream, another world far removed from reality and his life as a builder living in a bijou home, with a wife, on the outskirts of Nottingham. But then, he was alive and totally unaware of how things were going to pan out. He had no idea that within four months he would be dead leaving his beloved Miranda, a widow.

He picked up a bathrobe from the chair, put it on, walked over to the television and changed the channel from CBS to the Movie Channel and Love Me Tender. They always watched that movie when they repeated their New York experience. He walked over to the window and looked across at the people who had booked the room.

“Wow, Sofia, you won’t believe this.”

“Just a minute.”

She came into the room, dressed as usual, in the black teddy, stockings and stilettos. Normally, he would have ogled and salivated for her but today they were both shocked. Those on the bed had not even noticed the channel change.

“Is there room for us, Donald?”

“We’ll make room. It’s not as much fun when they’re not aware of our presence. No wonder the telly was so loud.” There were not two but four people on the bed. It looked like two middle-aged couples, but the men appeared to be engaged in sexual activity as were the two women. “Guess, this is a new form of swinging and it doesn’t look like they put their car keys in a dish. Both women are wearing wedding rings. My guess is they’re two married couples who really have a preference for their own gender.”

“Whatever floats your boat? Let’s watch the film.”

They climbed onto the bed in between the four adults. Sofia was on his left with the women on her side. Donald had the two men on his right. He put his arm around Sofia’s shoulder and they lay back on the pillows. His eyes, despite the activity on both sides of them, were firmly fixed on Sofia. One of the great advantages of dying early is that you never grow old. Sofia had died five years earlier but she still looked the same, dark shoulder-length hair and beautiful brown eyes. She wore make-up even though with her natural beauty she did not need it. She was one of England’s and Nottingham’s finest; a true example or proof that Nottingham is well known for three things - Robin Hood, lace and beautiful, attractive women. She always wore the same color lipstick, a copper/bronze color. He had asked her about it once and her reply was that it was her ‘confidence’ lipstick. It had been the first item she bought in her rebellion and fight back against her husband, Derek. Although Derek was his twin brother, Donald had never approved of the way he had isolated Sofia from her friends and colleagues after she had given birth to the twins and become a housewife and mother. He had only allowed her to wear clothes which completely covered her flesh, rather like the Muslim women and he had forbidden her to wear any make-up. The purchase of this one lipstick had been Sofia’s first step in changing her life from being the down-trodden victim of a control-freak husband. Donald was proud of her and he loved her body shell, every inch of it. He noticed passports on the table.

“Hey, lean over them, Sofia, and have a look at those passports.”

She reached over and picked them up. “I don’t believe it!”

“You sound like Victor Meldrew. Let’s see who we’re sharing our room with this time.” She handed them to him. “Well, two couples from Liverpool. They’re British. Our initial guess was right. They’re married but prefer to be with their own gender. Joanna and Jason Chadwick, Penelope and Henry Salter. Joanna’s the short, dumpy one with short black hair. Penelope’s the fat, tall, blonde one.”

“I’ve never seen two women ‘in action’ with a dildo before. Guess, this is one of those occasions when death is better than life, well certainly more interesting and exciting. Sounds like they’re both getting satisfaction. Do you think if we start eating our usual steak and French fries they’ll notice the aroma?”

“They’ll probably feel hungry, but hungry for sex.” Donald said.

“There are those who say that no one knows what a woman needs better than another woman. Joanna and Penelope must agree with that. They’re rather posh names and they’re definitely NOT Chavs.” She was looking at their suitcases and clothes lying on the chairs; those trouser suits are definitely not from the supermarket, more like Designer. Shall I look at the label?”

“No, it doesn’t matter. What’s going on here is well . . . like you, I’ve never actually seen two men in action before.”

She looked across. “Spoons, with a difference. I bet they live in a posh suburb of Liverpool.”

“Passports don’t give much information anymore, just name, date and place of birth, Sofia. They may not live in Liverpool now. If they ever get round to talking, we might detect something from their accent, like Scouse or posh. It’s rather reminiscent of our first clandestine visit here. We were just committing common old adultery.”

They both giggled hysterically and started moving around on the bed. Dear Elvis, on the television, had been forgotten.

“Just a minute.” Joanna pulled away from her partner, sat upright, holding the dildo in her right hand, “did you hear that giggling and I’m sure I felt someone touch me.”

“Result, yes.” Donald said, and put his hand up to do a high five with Sofia. She responded.

“At last, they’ve realized they are not alone. Oh dear, we may have spoiled their fun. What a shame. You torment the men, Donald, and I’ll tease the women. If we’ve spoilt their fun we had better make up for it. Definitely, posh! The men on your side are probably public school brethren. Well-educated and with a secret.”

“Who knows?” He turned to physically shake the two men while she tickled Penelope’s leg.

“Do not be silly, Joanna and stop tickling my leg.”

“I am not touching you.”

Penelope sat up and looked, someone was definitely tickling her right leg but it clearly was not Joanna.

The two men had felt the shaking and sat upright.

“What on earth was that? Has there been an earthquake?” Henry asked.

“Horsey, darling, someone has been tickling my leg.”

“Pensey, honey bunch, we both felt shaking over here. What is going on?”

“Horsey, Pensey . . . what adorable nicknames, Sofia.” They both laughed at the four ashen-faced people sharing their bed.

“Let’s give them a little more entertainment, Donald. Remember our night in the haunted house when we did the haunting? You do the blinds and I’ll do the lights.”

“Okay.” They jumped off the bed causing it to vibrate slightly. All four of them felt it and looked at each other.

“Horsey, is New York on one of those plate things, you know where they are subject to earthquakes?”

“I have no idea, honey bunch, but it certainly feels like there’s going to be an earthquake. This is the second tremor I have felt.”

“Ready Sofia, after three . . . one . . . two . . .  three.”

The paying guests moved together on the bed, open-mouthed, speechless and terrified as they watched the blinds moving by themselves and all the room lights suddenly come on and off, on and off, on and flicker and off.

Sofia and Donald were laughing hysterically at their roommates’ reaction.

“Right, Sofia, you toss a cup across the room and I’ll move the clothes.”

The four on the bed huddled even closer together and held on to each other as they watched in disbelief.

“Pol... pol.. tergeist activity.” Jason whispered. “This room is haunted.”

“Last trick, Donald. The alarm.”

Donald moved to the alarm clock on the bedside table, next to the passports, and although it was set for 3.00 a.m. and the local time was 6.00 a.m. the alarm started ringing. They all looked at it, but no one dared touch it or switch it off. After 30 seconds, Donald stopped it. He could feel the relief of the previously happy band on the bed. The room was silent apart from the television.

“Well, it’s much quieter now, Donald. Let’s enjoy the rest of the film while we eat our steak and French fries. Shall we have rosé wine?”

“Oh, I think so. Room service?”

“Most definitely.”

They climbed back onto the bed and squashed the two men who had moved closer to the women.

“I can feel something on top of me and why is Elvis Presley singing Love Me Tender on CBS?” Jason asked, he was still scared but somehow managed to find his voice.

“Oh, they’ve noticed the television, at last.” Sofia said.

“Where’s the remote, Henry?” Jason continued.

“On the top of the television, I’ll get it.” Henry got off the bed and walked across the room.

“Nice butt, Donald! Look at the way he swaggered. Definitely, bats for the other side. I bet they were all childhood friends of posh people; they’ll have had nannies, educated at public schools and married out of respectability, tradition and producing heirs to family fortunes and all that palaver. They speak as if they have plums in their mouths. I almost feel sorry for them, with their guilty secret. Yep, they probably planned it this way before their respective marriages. Maybe, they even tossed a coin to decide on who was going to marry who.”

Henry picked up the remote, “It is on a movie channel. It has changed stations by itself.”

“Do you suppose they have children, Donald?” Sofia continued, “I expect they have with posh names like Arrabella, Camilla, Prudence, Tarquin, Pereguin or something. They will be at boarding school while their parents play silly games. Maybe, they’re titled people. It doesn’t tell you that on passports now. Do they look familiar? Have we seen them on the television?”

Their food had arrived, as mysteriously as food always arrives in the upstairs life, and Donald was enjoying his French fries and wafting it under Jason’s nose. That was a game he enjoyed playing with their roommates.

“I can detect the aroma of French fries,” Jason replied to Henry.

“It’s working,” Donald shouted, “come on Sofia let’s have some wine.”

Henry changed the channel back and walked back to the bed. “Yes, I do detect, in fact, I can almost taste steak and chips. Shall we dress and go to the restaurant?” Henry was a typical British gentleman who always showed ‘the stiff upper lip’. Whatever happened, one just carried on.

At this point, Donald switched the movie back onto the television screen.

“Elvis is back on the screen.” Joanna uttered.

“This is freaking me out. Poltergeist activity.  Never mind the restaurant. Horsey, phone the pilots and tell them to get the jet ready. Let’s go to Beverly Hills, instead.” Penelope said.

“Oh, I say, ‘phone the pilots’, ‘let’s go to Beverly Hills’, posh or what? Private jet, not even first class.” Sofia was imitating Penelope.

“Everybody happy with Beverly Hills?” Henry asked.

They all nodded, anywhere was better than this room. Within minutes, they had packed; they did not even wait for the bellboy. They carried their own bags to reception and Sofia and Donald had their little haven in the Manhattan skies to themselves again. They were enjoying the movie and their food.

“What shall we do next, Donald? Pop across to Staten Island, stroll in Central Park? What do you fancy?” She fed him a chip, put her plate down and drank some wine.

“We don’t have a lot of time today.”

“Time? It doesn’t exist.”

“It does downstairs.”

“Oh.”

“You know what the date is today?”

“Of course I do. That accident is just something I choose to forget. You know what it’s like to be killed by a lorry. You don’t enjoy remembering it either. The pain, the shock. I was so excited at really seeing Dad on the other side of the road again, I just rushed across, and through the light without even realizing. I thought it was the sunshine. I didn’t believe I was dead. After my reading I’d worked the date out as March 5^th and then I thought I’d got the wrong year and had another ten months of life. I was really happy that day. I took a lot of convincing that it was my time and that he had come to collect me and take me home. Then I walked over to the body and saw myself; my face covered in blood, my inert body resembling a rag doll and the paramedics trying to revive me, but it was too late. I told Dad I had to go back for the twins; I needed to vote, it was Election Day and I had too many things to do. Death was not an option.”

“Nevertheless, it is May 5^th and you have been dead for five years. It’s morning downstairs now, but you know where they’ll all be this afternoon and we must join them.”

“Yes, I know, but we don’t have to go just yet and anyway Dad would not let me miss the event. We’ve still time to take the plane part of the way back and enjoy the Mile High experience again. Do you remember all the people we’ve shared this room with?”

“Too many, they’ll be advertising it as haunted soon and putting the price up.”

“See, we’re doing the hotel a big favor by returning here so frequently.” She laughed and stroked his face. “My favorites were Mary Beth and Walt, that couple celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary. They were such fun. Weren’t they from Tennessee? He, even, thought the television was haunted because we kept changing the channel. I put a chip under his nose and he told Mary Beth he could smell French fries. She was far more concerned about getting to the theatre on time. Chicago at the Ambassador was an important part of the trip for her. Later, he could hear running water when we had our bath. He thought there was something strange here and she thought he needed to see the doc! It was such fun.”

“True, and we can have a lot of fun here again because we are . . .?”

“Dead.” They both giggled like naughty school children. “But, we must go now.”

“Yes, let’s get on a plane for our final fun before we go back to the pub and then downstairs.”

Within seconds they were in the first class restroom on a plane and renewing their membership of the Mile High Club. They had no idea where the plane was going, neither did they care. They always deliberately press the call button, wait for a flight attendant to come in and look perplexed at finding the toilet empty. On their first trip home, when they were still downstairs, pressing the call button had been accidental, but now it gave them a thrill and added to the excitement.

They missed the commotion they caused at The Waldorf Towers reception when Lord and Lady Chadwick and Sir Henry and Lady Salter checked out.

“Our experience here is one I have no desire to repeat,” Lord Chadwick said to the receptionist. “My wife and our friends were absolutely terrified. You can see that Lady Chadwick is still shaking. Please call for our limousine, immediately.”

“Do you have a problem, sir?”

“A problem? That room is the problem. We were not alone. Someone was changing the television channels; we were shaken so violently I thought there was an earthquake. There was a presence and strong poltergeist activity. The lights were flicking, on and off, the blinds moving by themselves. . .” He trailed off before completing the entire events; he was beginning to feel an idiot.

The receptionist was just typing his ‘complaint’ into the computer.

“Please phone for our limousine.”

“Your limousine is on its way sir, we are sorry for your inconvenience. The manager will give it his personal attention.”

Five minutes later, they were out of the hotel and on their way to Beverly Hills but the experience stayed with them. Even, the idle rich are not immune from the effects of being haunted. Unknown to   them, the manager took their complaint seriously. It was the third one in the year and always the same room on the 32^nd floor. At first, he had ignored it, but three times were two too many. On that Wednesday afternoon, he was in the room with a priest, who could feel no evidence of supernatural activity but gave the room a special blessing. This was the reassurance the manager needed. Well, until the next time Sofia and Donald decided to visit.

Are you getting excited? Still time to purchase the first two books in the trilogy. Just scroll down to the end of the blog.

Next week, a second taster. Have a great week and don't forget 'make every moment count'. Sofia sends her love from the 'fridge'.

Lady M!