Today’s post on Writer Unboxed, “The Beat Goes On” by literary agent Donald Maass, focuses on a thoughtful and instructive exploration of what “beats” mean to stories, both in the movies and in a novel.
Don includes what “beat” originally meant in terms of screen stories:
“In screen and stage plays, a beat is most commonly used to mean a pause in dialogue. Think the pregnant pause in plays by Harold Pinter. A short silence makes a deliberate space for the audience to digest a shift in circumstances or to take in the meaning of what’s being said.”
In my writing craft book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling, I expand the notion of beats during dialogue to add depth and nuance to the dialogue’s impact on story and character.
You should read Don’s broader definition and what it can mean for creating tension in the reader, something I harp on quite a lot. Do it. It’s worth a read.
But my slightly narrower focus on beats can and will make a difference in your storytelling. In fact, it can be used to achieve what Don talks about. So I thought I’d include that chapter of the book here.
Enjoy, and then go write something.
Cook up some tasty beats
Naked dialogue, just speeches all by themselves, does only part of the job of delivering the experience of a scene. In life and in fiction dialogue doesn’t happen in a vacuum—it happens in the midst of movement, body language, pauses for thought, and more. To bring dialogue to life, create “beats”—action, description, or thoughts interwoven with dialogue—to invisibly accomplish a number of vital storytelling tasks, including:
- Advancing the story
- Increasing tension
- 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 (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 is from a published novelist’s first draft of a new story: 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 in the woman’s point of view, 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 it had nothing to do with story—it was “activity,” not storytelling action. It didn’t bear on the subject of the conversation, nor the people talking. It had no impact on the scene. An absolute waste of words.
The dialogue that follows it suffers due to a lack of 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?
Robert shifted his gaze away from me. “I have not told you everything.”
How like the man to withhold information. “What?”
“Her car was found abandoned in Stewart State Park.”
“Oh my God!” Fear for my missing friend jolted through me. “When? How long after . . . ”
Here’s what each of those beats accomplished:
- The first told you who was speaking and gave characterization and nuance to his speech.
- The second is internal monologue that adds characterization for both people.
- The last one injects emotion, information, and more characterization.
Let’s beat up some more dialogue. Here’s part of a scene stripped naked, all of the beats removed. In this scene, KB, a law enforcement officer, reports to her superior, and she expects him to praise her for what she’d done 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 her up, and she taps on the doorframe and goes in. The office is too warm, as usual; the radiator must 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?”
“Ah, no, sir.”
“I see. You say it changed appearance on three occasions?”
“From a youngish woman 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. Martinez 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 see a face.”
“No, ah, 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 before she, uh, 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—note one other thing while you’re at it: there’s not a single use of “said” or “asked” or any other dialogue tag in this narrative.
Captain Berman’s door is open, as usual. His white-haired head is bent over a stack of paperwork, as usual. Adrenaline pumps her up, and she taps on the doorframe and goes in. The office is too warm, as usual; the radiator must 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 easy.
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. “Ah, no, sir.”
“I see.” He leans forward and studies a printout of her email. “You say it changed appearance on three occasions?”
“From a youngish woman to an older woman, then to a hick, then to a girl. Yessir.”
“Did any of your team see these apparitions?”
Can’t the old idiot read? “Schultz saw it come in. Martinez 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 see a face.”
“No, ah, 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 before she, uh, changed into a farmer.”
The beats give pace to the conversation and much, much more. Through the beats you experienced:
- 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 was old-fashioned)
- Her eagerness (she smiled)
- Her low opinion of him (smirked at his fussy way of speaking to her)
- Her realization of a mistake she’s made (too excited to record the suspect)
- His calm, steady approach (leaned forward and studied a printout)
- More of her disrespect (couldn’t the old idiot read?)
- His steady pursuit (he picked up a printout and read it)
- Her increasing anxiety (was 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 beats utilize physical action and internal monologue (Couldn’t the old idiot read?) to add depth and context to the spoken words.
The beats help pace the exchange, creating pauses (signed a piece of paper, placed it in an out box, leaned back, laced . . . ) and emphasis (reading from something, etc.). Although there are no dialogue tags, you always know who’s speaking and how they deliver their speeches.
The other cool thing about using beats is that it avoids the third most common dialogue flaw, explaining the dialogue with “with.”
Her tiny feet slapped the pebbled road. Her pigtails swayed wildly. Her rasping throat felt parched, and her lungs burned. The back of her neck was coated with a sheet of sweat. If she focused hard enough, she could feel a drop trickling down her back.