Welcome to this week’s blog hop. Today’s topic is:
What part of writing are you best at? Not compared to everyone else, but compared to you?
When I first started out writing novels back in 2013 I was unfamiliar with writing dialogue, and tended to leave it out if I could get away with it. This resulted in more ‘telling’ than ‘showing’, and further along the learning curve I realised that good dialogue is a must for any story.
Over the years I have tried to improve on writing dialogue, and enjoy it a whole lot more now that I’m not terrified of it. Words come easier with experience, and these days I try to make the characters come alive through speech.
I thought I’d leave you with some dialogue that I’ve written for my latest WIP, ‘Falling’, which might (or might not!) be ready for publication by the summer.
Excerpt from ‘Falling’ – Copyright Stevie Turner 2022:
“I’m Doctor Whymark. I’m a psychiatrist.”
“Good for you.”
“How are you feeling today?”
James drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair and wondered how long he would have to be subjected to such shite for. He threw a glance over one shoulder at Plod, who took notes by the door.
“I’m not mad, just unlucky.”
“Well, basically I got caught. We’re all after a seat when the music stops, aren’t we?”
“How do you mean?”
“I didn’t want it to come down to whether I eat or whether I run one bar of an electric fire. Let’s say I decided to augment my future pension a little bit. Trouble is, I used other people’s money.”
“And so when the game was up, you didn’t want to face the consequences of your actions?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” James tapped one foot up and down. “I wanted to take the easy way out.”
“Do you still have suicidal thoughts?”
“Only when I’m forced to speak to psychiatrists.”
“Have your parents been to visit you?”
“I don’t want to talk about them.” James clenched his teeth. “And yeah, I jerk off every day.”
“What’s that got to do with it?
“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the shrink.”
Behind him he could hear Plod stifle a laugh. James gave unnecessary attention to a clock’s minute hand making its agonisingly slow journey from a five to a six on the wall opposite.
“Have you anybody you’d like us to contact? Wife? Children?”
“If I wanted to contact them I would have. They’ll read about me in the papers anyway.”
“The people I don’t need to contact.”
“How do you think life has treated you so far?”
“It was all right up until yesterday. It went downhill after that.”
“How do you see the future?”
“The music’s going to stop, but I won’t get a seat.”
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