I’m traveling, and forgot to bring the next floggee with me, so here’s a post from the past. It’s also the basis from one of the chapters in my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells.
It’s such a pleasure when you see skilled writers use “beats”— action interwoven with dialogue (including thought as action)—to invisibly accomplish a number of vital storytelling tasks, including:
- Advancing the story.
- Illuminating character.
- Identifying speakers without having to use dialogue tags.
- Adding meaning to speeches that wouldn’t otherwise be there.
- Breaking up long strings of quotations to avoid a staccato effect and to create a pleasing rhythm.
- Creating pictures in the reader’s mind of what’s going on. (In storytelling, construe “picture” to include time [pace], scents, sensations, and sounds as well as action and physical description.)
Here’s an example of a beat that does one of those things…and yet is
a waste of words. The scene: a man and a woman sit at a table in a
café, talking about a woman (his wife/her friend) who has been missing
for over a week. In the course of the conversation, this happens:
A man from the next table asked to borrow the extra chair to my right. As I nodded, Robert said, “I have not told you everything.”
“What?”
“Her car was found abandoned in Stewart State Park.”
“Oh my God! When? How long after…”
The solo beat at the beginning did inject action into the scene…but the action had nothing to do with story. Not with the subject of the conversation or the people having the conversation. It had no impact on the conversation or the scene. It’s just there to provide activity. And then the rest of the dialogue lies like a rug.
The remaining dialogue suffers due to missing beats. How about a
little body language when Robert confesses he hasn’t told his listener
everything? Or a reaction when the narrator learns fraught information?
Wouldn’t the scene have been better with something like this…
Robert shifted his gaze away from me. “I have not told you everything.” (This tells you who is speaking and gives character and nuance.)
How like the man to withhold information. “What?” (Internal monologue adds characterization for both parties.)
“Her car was found abandoned in Steward State Park.”
“Oh my God!” Fear for my missing friend jolted through me. “When? How long after…” (Injects emotion and characterization.)
Let’s beat up some more dialogue. Here’s a partial scene from my
work in progress with all of the beats removed. In the scene KB, a
junior law enforcement officer, reports to her superior officer, and
she expects him to praise her for an engagement the day before.
Captain Berman’s door is open, as usual. His white-haired head is bent over a stack of paperwork, as usual. Adrenaline pumps KB up, and she taps lightly on the doorframe and goes in. The office is too warm, as usual, the radiator has to be cranked all the way open.
“Take a seat, Lieutenant. So, you think you found a subject of interest.”
“Yessir!”
“Did you see it with the thermal imaging device?”
“I did, sir.”
“Did you record it?”
“No, sir.”
“I see. You say it changed appearance on three occasions?”
“From something that didn’t look human to an older woman, then to a hick, then to a girl. Yessir.”
“Did any of your team see these apparitions?”
“Schultz saw it come in. Sanchez saw it on the stairs, and Bailey saw it come out.”
“After receiving your email, I asked your team for their input. Schultz didn’t mention an ‘inhuman’ face.”
“He didn’t get a good look. But he saw the glow in the camera.”
“I see. No one else saw the older woman?”
“Not until she changed into a farmer.”
You learn things, but there’s no tension, no depth, you can’t see a
damn thing, and there’s no rhythm—it’s like a radio machine-gunning
words at you. Now here’s the full narrative:
Captain Berman’s door is open, as usual. His white-haired head is bent over a stack of paperwork, as usual. Adrenaline pumps KB up, and she taps lightly on the doorframe and goes in. The office is too warm, as usual, the radiator has to be cranked all the way open.
He looks up and nods. No smile. “Take a seat, Lieutenant.”
The old fart is old-fashioned and formal, so maybe he’s not gonna come right out with her attaboy. Sitting, she tells herself to be patient, something that never comes easily.
He signs a piece of paper, places it in an out box, leans back, laces his fingers over his belly, and gazes at her. “So, you think you found a subject of interest.”
She smiles. “Yessir!”
“Did you see it with the thermal imaging device?”
Inside, she smirks at his fussy way of talking. “I did, sir.”
“Did you record it?”
Oh, shit. She’d been too excited. “No, sir.”
“I see.” He leans forward and studies a printout of her email. “You say it changed appearance on three occasions?”
“From something that didn’t look human to an older woman, then to a hick, then to a girl. Yessir.”
“Did any of your team see these apparitions?”
Couldn’t the old idiot read? “Schultz saw it come in. Sanchez saw it on the stairs, and Bailey saw it come out.”
“After receiving your email, I asked your team for their input.” He picks up a printout. “Schultz didn’t mention an ‘inhuman’ face.”
“He didn’t get a good look.” Why does she feel like she’s on trial? “But he saw the glow in the camera.”
“I see.” He reads more. “No one else saw the older woman?”
“Not until she changed into a farmer.”
The beats give pace to the conversation and much, much more. Through the beats you “saw”…
- His chilly greeting when she expects warmth, and then his dawdling even though she is anxious. (finishing with papers, leaning back, lacing his fingers)
- Her smugness (the old fart is old-fashioned…)
- Her eagerness (she smiles)
- Her low opinion of him (smirks at fussy way of speaking)
- Her realization of a mistake she’s made (oh shit, too excited to record)
- His calm, steady approach (leans forward and studies a printout)
- More of her disrespect (can’t the old idiot read? )
- His steady pursuit (he picks up a printout, he reads)
- Her increasing anxiety (is she on trial here??)
You get a sense of escalating tension in KB. The scene continues to build from here, and ends with her feeling defeated, angry, and near tears when she’d begun the scene expecting praise. And it is the beats that take you there.
Not every line gets a beat—that’ll wear a reader out. Every beat is tied to characterization and/or giving a picture of what is going on. The scene utilizes physical action and internal monologue (Couldn’t the old idiot read?) to add meaning to the words. Another example: I think the action beats after the Captain’s two “I see.” lines add meaning and intonation to those simple words.
The beats help pace the exchange, creating pauses (signs a piece of paper, places it in an out box, leans back, laces…) and emphasis (reading from something, etc. ). Also note that there’s not a single dialogue tag, not a “said” or a “gasped” or an “asked,” yet you always know who’s speaking and how they deliver their speeches.
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Questions, anyone? I’d like to start up an occasional Q&A post, so please send questions you might have about storytelling or writing craft. Thanks.
For ARCHIVED POSTS of Flogging the Quill, click here.
© 2005 Ray Rhamey
I can never get enough drilling about beats. They can turn a good book into a great one. But too many beats can interupt the flow of dialogue, and thus, pace.
IMO, "Couldn’t the old idiot read?" and "He reads more" could have gone without hurting the piece one bit. You even commented that the "idiot" line was more of the same. Don't know if you need more of the same in the same scene when you have 300+ pages to spread it out. Anyhow, it's good stuff. Just being picky.
The beats definitely set the two characters apart and gave us an idea of who they are. Great job.
Thanks for the post, Ray.
Posted by: Marcel | September 08, 2009 at 10:50 PM