The way that things are said often tells more about the story than what words are actually spoken. In this exercise/game we will test our dialog skill against one another. Below is a short exchange of generic dialog. Names, tones, and interactions are all missing. Fill in the world, and turn this into a conversation. Try to make each entry different from the previous entries (without significantly changing the words spoken) “What are you doing?” “Wouldn't you like to know.” “Well that is why I asked.” “I'm looking for my shoes.” “The brown ones? They are right here.” “No. Not the brown ones. The new red ones.” “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” Example: “What are you doing?” Karen inquired. “Wouldn't you like to know.” Sarah playfully mumbled as she rooted around under the bed. “Well, that is why I asked.” Karen picked up a stuffed animal from the floor. It was Mr. Squiggiums. Sarah has cherished him when she was young, now he was just another thing amid the piles in the room. With a slight laugh she tossed him at Sarah's butt. Sarah sat up and sighed as she stretched. “I'm looking for my shoes.” “The brown ones?” asked Karen, “They are right here.” She kicked a pile of dirty clothes to the side revealing the worn old Mary-Janes. “No.” Sarah said dismissively. “Not the brown ones.” She picked them up and tossed them into the open closet. “The new red ones.” “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” Karen looked down at her own scuffed up school shoes and wished she also had new ones to wear tomorrow.
“What ARE you doing?” said Marcus as he reached for the bat resting in the umbrella bin. “Wouldn't you like to know.” The stranger didn't even turn around. “Well ... that is why I asked.” Marcus hefted the bat. Trying to keep his tone even as he got closer. “I'm looking for my shoes.” The stranger said with a giggle. “The brown ones? They are right here," said the bat weilding homeowner “No. Not the brown ones. The new red ones.” “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” And the bat hit with a wet thud.
“What are you doing?” Tara demanded, dragging Elaine out from under the bed. “Wouldn't you like to know!” Elaine screamed, kicking free and scuttling back under. “Well," Tara said, giving up and joining Elaine amongst the jumbled netherworld of long abandoned, once loved, possessions, "that's why I asked.” Elaine stared at her, frowned, snorted derisively, and then turned away. “I'm looking for my shoes.” “The brown ones?" Tara elbowed something unmentionable out of the way. "They're right here.” “No!" Elaine growled, shifting an old suitcase back against Tara. "Not the brown ones. The new red ones.” “Oh yeah, those," Tara said, grimmacing at the memory of the heel snapping in the crack in the footpath. "They looked nice on you.”
Big sisters are such a pain, Kevin thought. It sounded like she was rearranging the furniture.. Again. He poked his head through the doorway to her room. Jessie was on all fours, rummaging through the mess at the bottom of her closet. “What are you doing?” he demanded. Jessie kept digging, like Heyoo going after a buried bone. “Wouldn't you like to know.” “Well, that's why I asked.” Jessie sat back on her heels and sighed. “I'm looking for my shoes, Brat.” “The brown ones? They're right here.” Kevin kicked the closer one toward her. “No. Not the brown ones. My new red ones.” Kevin sneered. “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” He easily evaded the stuffie she threw at him, and ran away laughing.
[sorry, i got a little carried away with the scene -- great game idea, btw!] ---- "What are you doing?" Well, I didn't really say it that way. This was the rodent kid, after all. I might have screamed something more like: "What the hell do you think you're doing poking your little rodent face in my closet? Get the f*** out of here!" But rodent kid knew he had the protection of Mafia Mom, so he simply glared back at me with his beady eyes and said, "Wouldn't you like to know." Then he proceeded to pull out shoes from my closet. I was just about to throw my pen at him, but heard Mom walking towards my room. So instead I said in a calm tone, "Well that is why I asked." "I'm looking for my shoes," he said, reminding me that we were supposed to be sharing the closet. Dad was remodeling his bedroom so that he would have a larger closet to store his five billion Lego pieces and other juvenile junk. "The brown ones? They're right here." I pointed to his hundred-dollar high-tops that he had convinced my parents he just had to have in order to fit in with the other kids on his basketball team. "No. Not the brown ones. The reds one," he corrected me. That's right, they got him not one but two pairs of the must-have shoes since he pointed out that the sale was buy one, get second for 25 percent off. What tools my parents can be sometimes. "Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you," I said, emphasizing the past tense. A slow smile spread across my face as I remembered what I did with those shoes a few days ago. .
“What are you doing?” Agent Fowler sighed into his newspaper as Kominsky sat on the bench next to him. Fowler resented these cliche meetings in the park. “Wouldn't you like to know,” said Kominsky. Fowler took another deep breath and continued. “Well that is why I asked.” The Russians love these stupid spy games. They like pretending they're in James Bond movies. Fowler and Kominsky continued to talk out the sides of their mouths without looking at each other. “I'm looking for my shoes.” So cheesy. “The brown ones? They are right here,” Fowler recited in a mocking tone. He wasn't going to dignify the situation by actually talking like a spy, which, of course, he was. “No. Not the brown ones. The new red ones.” Nerd. “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” There has got to be a more respectable way to learn where they're getting Uranium.
He looked through his locker with the utmost interest scattering his school books behind him as he looked. After a few moments one of the female students walked over to him and he stopped and looked at her. “What are you doing Kit-kun?” She asked looking at the pile of books on the ground with a frown. He looked at it to and chuckled lightly to himself suddenly becoming aware of the mess he was making. However, he really didn't want her to know how absent minded he was being. “Wouldn't you like to know Miz.” He said to her looking away hastily. She frowned at him and sighed putting a hand lightly to her forehead. “Well that is why I asked.” She said in an annoyed tone. He looked at her knowing there was no way out of it he had to tell her. “I'm looking for my shoes.” He said ruefully. “The brown ones? They are right here.” She raised an eyebrow at him looking into his locker where his brown shoes sat on the top shelf. Kit shook his head and continued to rummage through the mess that was his locker. “No. Not the brown ones. The new red ones.” he frowned as he lifted up a few crumpled up pages still unable to find them. Mizu looked at him gawking lightly as he eyes fall on his feet. “Oh yeah, those? They look nice on you.” She said rolling her eyes. Kitsuna didn't know what she was talking about until she pointed to his shoes. He blushed as he looked down at the red shoes on his feet.
Ah! Now THIS is a writing game. “What are you doing?” I asked, cautiously eyeing the goat dressed up in womens clothing. “Wouldn't you like to know.” He replied, having finished setting up the camera before tucking into a pile of mismatched shoes behind him. “Well that is why I asked.” I said as I tiptoed carefully over the chains and cables. “I'm looking for my shoes.” The irrelevant and absent-minded reply came. “The brown ones? They are right here.” I hold them up the pair that I brought in with me. He looks up briefly before turning back to his pile of junk. “No. Not the brown ones. The new red ones.” His mother recently bought a pair of six-inch high-heels. “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” Nothing sussssssssss........
Diana found her husband’s gun in the sketchers shoebox where he kept his porn and his passport. No bullets, though. A strange, numbing terror shot through her as she conceived of another day of her life. Frantic, Diana rummaged through the closet. An hour later Adam walked, yawning, into the bedroom. In the dark, he dropped his suitcases and coat onto the trunk at the foot of the unmade bed. He noticed the thin rectangle of light glowing around the door to the walk-in closet. The dim red digits of the alarm clock announce the late hour of half past one. Rapping his knuckles gently against the door, Adam asked “What are you doing?” He whispered so the children would not wake. Diana snapped to her senses and found herself ankle deep in shoe boxes and purses. Her robe and her hair had both come undone. Instantly ashamed of her intentions, she grasped at excuses for her late night romp in the closet. “Wouldn't you like to know,” Diana purred as she raked her fingers roughly through her hair. “Well that is why I asked.” Adam took on a mock-baritone, playing the part of the surly corporate boss to the upstart young secretary dawdling in the copy room. He pulled open the door with a wide grin and wagged his finger at her. Suddenly, Diana lost the nerve to play her part. She pulled her robe closed over her nightie and averted her eyes to the mess around her. “I'm looking for my shoes,” she murmured lifelessly. “The brown ones?” Adam was too disappointed to be surprised at her late night searching. “They are right here.” He pointed to a badly crushed box to her left. “No!” She snapped, caught in her lie. She searched for a softer reply. “Not the brown ones… the new red ones.” Finally she met his eyes. He looked as tired as she felt. “Oh yeah, those. They looked nice on you.” Diana never bought red shoes. She thought they looked cheap.
Good work everyone. I think that the first post of each page should set new dialog (I believe that would be post # 11, 21, 31 ect). Remember to keep the new dialog as 'neutral' as possible, remember that the vaguer it is the more ways we can rewrite it. Also try to change what is happening by varying the way thigns are said more that what happens around the dialog. Good work guys/gals! (The next post will set the new dialog for next page)
New Dialogue! "Don't look at me like that." "Like what?" "Oh, you know!" "Really, I don't." "Never mind!" "Where are you going?"
"Don't look at me like that," Joy said to her husband. "Like what?" He asked innocently. "Oh, you know," she screamed at him. "Really, I don't," he said folding the paper and turning to look at her. "Never mind!" "Where are you going?" He called as she stormed out of the house.
"Don't look at me like that." Joyce told me. 'Like that'. She emphasized these last two syllables. Like that. "Like what?" I shrugged my shoulders and exhaled a cool lung of air. Although I rolled my eyes for effect, I chanced a glance back at her face to gauge her reaction. "Oh, you know." We both did, really. There was a growing playfulness in her posture. I grabbed her by the hips and pulled her near me. "Really, I don't." I began to kiss her softly down her neck and onto her shoulders. I stopped just short of her arm pit and made a sour face. "Never mind!" She laughed and playfully bopped the top of my head. I feigned passing out, either from the blow or the smell, and lay slain on the mattress. Her victory dance was suddenly cut short as she exited the bed. "Where are you going?" I asked, intrigued. Three quick footsteps across the carpet. She leaned back from the vanity and winked as she rolled on a fresh coat of her all natural antiperspirant -- the sort that has no 'disease causing oxidants'. She walked with a swagger across the room. She looked back as she reached for the light switch with her pale slender arm. Her hair tossed back. A smile creeping across her face. Then darkness.
Tess dabbed cologne on both sides of her neck, and touched up her lip gloss. She checked her look one last time in the mirror, then headed to the spare bedroom. Darren was still tapping away at the keyboard. Tess sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. "Don't look at me like that," she said, smiling mysteriously. Darren kept typing. "Like what?" "Oh, you know!" she teased. "Really, I don't." This time he looked up. And just sat there, waiting for an answer. Tess stood up, and walked briskly out of the room. "Never mind!" Her eyes were filling with tears, and she didn't want him to see. As if he would. He called after her, "Where are you going?" A moment later, she heard him typing again.
"Don't look at me like that," Tyrone hissed, shoving the sentry into the ditch. Packard paused in his desperate search for the fallen rifle. "Like what?" Tyrone used his feet to push the body further into the brush. "Oh, you know!" "Really," Packard said, wincing at the thought of the damage the briar hedge was doing to the body, but also wary of Tyrone's tone. "I don't." "Never mind!" Tyrone wiped his knife in the grass and moved towards the next sentry post. "Where are you going?" Packard asked, swallowing hard, still unable to believe he'd been matched with such a psycho.
"Don't look at me like that!" whimpered Heather as tears ran down her face. "Like what?" Thomas's voice was alluring, settle. "Oh!" she cried desperately, "You know!" her screams were loud, ear wrenching. He laughed, and then, so easily it came to him. Lying. "Really," he leaned into her. "I don't." She was crying hard now, and jerked away. "Just," but she didn't finish. "Never mind."' she whispered. Hetried kissing her again, but this time, she was walking toward the door. "Where are you going?" and with that, Thomas ran after her, gun in hand.
"Don't look at me like that," she shrieks drawing the eye of everyone in the restaurant. "Like what?" I ask gently hoping to stave off the tantrum. I've stumped her. She thinks for a good minute then her little face fills with frustration, "Oh, you know!" "Really, I don't," I'm beginning to suspect she needs a nap. "Never mind!" all smiles now, as she grabs up her slips off her chair and makes a beeline for the buffet. Three year olds are the definition of mercurial. "Where are you going?" I said, glad she's in a better mood even if it does mean I spend another meal following her and dodging waiters.
A crowded restaurant. A YOUNG MAN sits wearing headphones and moving as though listening to music. We hear general background noise and talking, nothing distinct. YOUNG MAN takes off the headphones and out of the general murmur two distinct voices can be heard, on either side of him. MAN Don't look at me like that WOMAN Like what? YOUNG MAN looks around and we see that MAN and WOMAN are having separate conversations with people we can't make out from the young man's seat. MAN Oh, you know! WOMAN Really, I don't. MAN Never mind! WOMAN's companion prepares to leave. As the shadowed figure rises, MAN gets up. WOMAN Where are you going? YOUNG MAN smirks, shakes his head, and replaces his headphones, and the general murmur of the restaurant resumes. (C'mon people, just 2 more until the new dialog!)
A giggle escaped my lips as I murmured to him, "Don't look at me like that," his face was gentle, as always, as he placed his hands on my waist. Swaying me back and forth to the music that was playing. We had been together for a while, maybe it was time. It wasn't like he hadn't been hinting at the subject for a while now, but I knew he was waiting, for me to be ready. He smiled at me, and I hadn't even realized I'd been staring. "Like what?" he instantly knelt his head to my shoulder issing hungrily all the way up to my throat. I sighed,rolling my eyes, but let him go farther. His fingerspricking at the hem of my shirt, eager to pull it up, he was still waiting, to see if it was okay or not. "Oh," I said, his scent was so strong, a sugary musk he wore everytime we saw each ther. It was intoxicating. "You know exactly what," and then, with that, he sat me on the counter I'd been press against, and started kissing me, my lips, my face, everywhere. He was every where, and then, all I realized was him. And that I loved him. "Really," he said between gasps for air. "I don't." and he started again. Pulling me under every time his lips pressed against me. And then, probably so quietly he couldn't hear Ished aside my thoughts for purity, realeasing the oneword that I tried to imprison in my mind, "Never mind," I said, and with that, as if my hands were not even apart of me, they eagerly ripped open his shirt. He released a low groan of excitment, penning me against the cabinet. My mind was in swirls, he was so hot, so sexy, so there. And I was there, it was happening. I finally freed myself, and hopped off the counter, breathless. I smiled seductively, and winked at him. I didn't even realize until a breeze blew through the window my shirt was off, lying on the kitchen floor, crumpled up, right beside his own clothing. "Where are you going?" he was as breathless as me, his words stumbling onto each other without control. I just winked at him, and walked into the bedroom, and he ran in with me.
Tommy stared hard at his reflection, fighting back the bile in his throat. "Don't look at me like that!" "Like what?" He quickly wiped his eyes and glanced over his shoulder, relieved the bathroom door was closed over. "Oh, you know." A small hand pulled the door open and a slim naked woman, her head wrapped in a blue towel, stepped into the light. "Really, I don't." Tommy felt his gut twist and fear race through him. "Never mind!" he screeched, dragging his eyes away from the mirror and scrambling beneath the dressing table. The young woman gasped. "Where are you going?"
New challenge, with a bit more latitude. Try to convey the siuation primarily in the dialogue, rather than in description/narrative. "Who's there?" "I'll ask the questions. Why are you here?" <you choose a one line reply> <you respond in one sentence to the previous, and ask who sent the first person, or suggested they be here> <first person gets the last word, again in one sentence>
"Who's there?" "I'll ask the questions. Why are you here?" "I asked first." "Don't play with me, who sent you here?" "Screw it, let's just kill this bastard and get on with it."
"Who's there?" "I'll ask the questions. Why are you here?" "I thought I knew, but now I'm not so sure." "Are you here to do my bidding?" "Yes. But I'm scared I made a mistake."
"Who's there?" Jody asked, groping for the light switch "I'll ask the questions." A man's voice. "Why are you here?" "Get out of my room, or I'll call the cops." Where was that switch? The man chuckled, "I don't think so, girl. Who put you up to this?" She found the swirch at last. "Oh my god," she mumbled. "These cabins all look the same." "
"Who's there?" "I'll ask the questions. Why are you here?" “I must recharge my engine. I’m from the future. Is this a nuclear facility?” “You’re a terrorist. Look at you! Headdress and everything.” “No, no, sir. I’m in the traditional garb of this period for my ethnicity. Hey! What are you doing. I just need nuclear power. Don’t handcuff me!”
