How To Convey Subtext in Dialogue – Part 1

We all live in a Yellow Obmarine.

Subtext in dialogue is the opposite of the obvious; it’s dialogue in which what goes unsaid is as important as what is said. The opposite of this is not, but should be, called obtext. Screenwriters have a term for dialogue in which characters say exactly what they mean: “on the nose.” I’ll stick with obtext. Sad to say, obtextual dialogue, one obvious and true statement after another, usually sounds unrealistic, because people seldom say exactly what they mean, or all of what they mean.

There are two places you can see obtext used to good effect: children’s stories and comedy.

In children’s stories, characters say exactly what they mean, because this is what children themselves do. That’s why they walk up to the obese woman and ask, “Why are you so fat?” or ask the man with long hair, “Are you a daddy or a mommy?” or comment on their baby brother’s drawing, “It’s just a bunch of scribbles.”

This is precocious until about five, after which it’s obnoxious.

Children learn to efface obtext with subtext with increasing skill so that by the time they are teenagers, they are only capable of talking in subtext. “Enjoy that burger, your hips need the extra calories.” “Have you heard of shampoo?”  “Yeah, I like your taste in art.”

This is obnoxious until college, after which it’s someone else’s problem.

Pinkie Pie’s world is rocked when she meets Twilight Sparkle.

In children’s stories, characters conflict, but they are not coy about it. Here’s a scene from My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic. No one speaks ironically; the ponies express exactly how they feel, and announce their goals directly to each other:

Pinkie Pie: Surprise! Hi, I’m Pinkie Pie, and I threw this party just for you! Were you surprised? Were ya? Were ya? Huh huh huh?

Twilight Sparkle: Very surprised. Libraries are supposed to be quiet.

Pinkie Pie: Well, that’s silly! What kind of welcome party would this be if it were quiet? I mean, duh, bo-ring! Y’see, I saw you when you first got here, remember? You were all “hello” and I was all [gasps dramatically], remember? Y’see I’ve never saw you before and if I’ve never saw you before that means you’re new, ’cause I know everypony, and I mean everypony in Ponyville!

Twilight Sparkle: [groans]

Pinkie Pie: And if you’re new, that meant you haven’t met anyone yet, and if you haven’t met anyone yet, you must not have any friends, and if you don’t have any friends then you must be lonely, and that made me so sad, then I had an idea, and that’s why I went [gasps dramatically]! I must throw a great big ginormous super-duper spectacular welcome party and invite everyone in Ponyville! See? And now you have lots and lots of friends!

Twilight Sparkle: Ugh, here I thought I’d have time to learn about the Elements of Harmony but, silly me, all this ridiculous friend-making has kept me from it! 

As soon as an adult viewers hear Twilight Sparkle say this (actually, as adult viewers learn the title of the cartoon) they know that the pony will soon learn that making friends is what will enable her to defeat the wicked Mare in the Moon. But young children, who have not yet seen thousands of hours of re-cycled plots, will still find this ending a surprise and a delight. By the way, a six year old will already grasp the story arc more quickly (and cynically) than a three year old. Those mere three years make a huge difference in how children understand fiction.

The premise of the indy film The Invention of Lying is that everything in our world is the same except, somehow, lying failed to be invented at the dawn of human history. So the characters speak on the nose all the time. For instance, when Mark, the schlemiel, shows up for his blind date with beautiful Jennifer, the conversation at her front door proceeds:

The result is hilarious because it’s so true and yet so very, very wrong.

This post has been all about obtext, the opposite of what I promised. Oops! Tomorrow, I’ll discuss subtext.
One last thought: what happens when you watch My Little Pony and assume that everything they say is subtext, not obtext? What are they really thinking?

WiP Wednesday (Blood)

Wing is coming out in ten days; sign up for my newsletter if you want a chance at a free copy.

I haven’t done WiP (Work in Progress) Wednesday before, but I’m going to give it a try.

Here’s a scene from the next book after Wing, the book I’m working on now–Blood, Book 6 of The Unfinished Song.

Not Umbral, but another villain, even more vile, sees Dindi:

Again — If you want to know when The Unfinished Song (Book 6): Blood will be out, make sure you’re on the newsletter list.

Character Motivation

Over on YAtopia is a good post on character motivation:

The problem with flimsy motivations is that they make the entire story unbelievable. Your characters don’t have to do things exactly as the reader would do them – but they do have to act like a “normal person” would be expected to act. Without those believable motivations, the reader is unable to suspend disbelief. And when disbelief enters the mind, suddenly everything in the book starts to look sketchy. So, how do you make sure your characters are realistically motivated?

1. Don’t be afraid of the early reveal. Many authors believe that the mystery is what drives the book. Au contraire, my fine friends. Tension is what drives a book. It doesn’t matter if your hero has the answer – what matters is what knowing the truth could do to him…

Read the rest.

What Kind of Writer Are You–An Inputer or Outputer?

“I’ve caught nothing, but I’ve had fun fishing, and that’s what counts.”

Most of us are familiar with the terms “pantser” and “outliner.” Pansters write by the seat of their pants. Outliners make lists. Panstsers muddle through. Outliners plan ahead. Most of us combine the two approaches, and (little secret) a lot of us who start as pansters learn to be outliners.

But here’s another way of looking at it. Some writers define their goals in terms of input and some in terms of output.

Output goals define what outcome you want to achieve. Here are some examples:

1. I will write one flash fiction story per day.
2. I will write one chapter a week.
3. I will finish a novel in six months.

The benefit of output goals is obvious. When you check off your output goal on your TO DO list, you have a completed project or part of a project: a finished story, scene, chapter or novel. Yay! That’s wonderful.

If you were a fisherman, you might have the goal of catching a fish, or a basketful of fish, in a day. If you fish for your dinner, or for a living, this is the kind of goal you have to meet. Most fishermen don’t work on salary and neither do most writers. You get paid for what you catch.

But what happens if you fish from dawn to dusk and the nets of inspiration come up empty?

Input goals define what effort you put into the project. Here are some examples: 

1. I will write 1000 words a day.
2. I will write two hours a day.
3. I will write between 5 am and 6 am every morning.

The benefit of input goals is that they help you remember what you need to do to achieve output. If you don’t throw your net out into the water, you’re not going to catch anything. Most of the time, when we fail to write, it’s because we’ve failed to apply butt to chair. Or we’re in the chair, at the computer, but surfing the net, checking out Buffy/Angel tribute videos on You Tube. (Note, however, if you re-define it as “research” time, you can spend eight hours reading TV tropes, and still claim a full day’s work in the hard, hard life of a writer.)

The input goal reminds us to spend a certain amount of time in front of the screen (with email/twitter/facebook/netflix verboten), or to write a given number of words. The input goal says, “it’s okay if you don’t finish a scene, or if you write total crap, or if your net comes up empty, as long as you cast it in the water.”

The output goal reminds us that it’s not necessary to write every day. In fact, if you define writing narrowly as “putting the words that will appear in your novel down on paper,” as opposed to research, visualizing the scenes, outlining and world building, it might not even be a good idea to write every day even if you have the time. Other kinds of work are just as important for completing the novel.

At different stages of our writing journeys, we will waver between which of these kinds of goals are more useful. Brand new writers are most likely to be inspired by a particular project — a single story or their first novel. After the white-hot head of inspiration cools, however, they will find themselves distracted by Shiny Things and the project, finished or not, gets left by the wayside. This is a good time to kick into Input Goals, and try to write daily or at least weekly.

Writers whose extreme mental deficiency leads them to pursue this as a full time career will find that it’s not enough to write for a given number of hours a day, or achieve a certain daily word count, if this doesn’t result in actual salable objects. Stories and novels need to get finished. If you go fishing just to spend quality time with your granddaughter, it’s okay to throw the little fish back.  If you also need that fish to feed her dinner, you better make sure it’s a keeper.

Of course, as with pantsing/outlining, most writers will find that a happy combination of these two techniques works best: regular time to write, with an approximate word count goal, and a schedule to finish your story and novel projects. You’ll notice that this is what NaNoWriMo does: there’s an output goal (a novel) and an input goal (50,000 words). If you do either one or the other, you “win.”

Writing Quote: The Refinement of Observation

“The poet seems to proceed from a faith that the refinement of observation is an inherently satisfying activity. To see is joy and scruple, privilege and duty.”

How To Write A Series – 02 – Why Write A Series?

Chances are, you already have a good idea if you want to write a series or not.