 Action/Adventure: September 24, 2008 Issue [#2625] |
  Action/Adventure
This week: Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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ACTION IN DIALOGUE
I was reading a Dean Koonzt story the other day (Shadowfires) and found the most interesting dialogue at the beginning of the story. I was entranced by the conversation because so much was happening at once. Not only were the characters conversing (arguing actually), but they were also doing things that normal people will do when talking. There were facial expressions, body language, and internal dialogue. It was so well done that I thought I’d share it with you. I’ve edited some of it because of length here, but you’ll be able to get the general idea. Pay attention to not just what the characters are saying, but also what they are doing. Therein lies the lesson.
When Rachel exited the lobby doors of the office building and stepped onto the sidewalk, the summer sunshine felt like warm water on her bare arms. She closed her eyes and, for a moment, turned her face to the heavens, bathing in the radiance, relishing it.
“You stand there smiling as if nothing better has ever happened to you or ever will,” Eric said sourly when he followed her out of the building and saw her luxuriating in the June heat.
“Please,” she said, face still tilted to the sun, “let’s not have a scene.”
“You made a fool of me in there.”
“I certainly did not.”
“What the hell are you trying to prove, anyway?”
She did not respond; she was determined not to let him spoil the lovely day. She turned and started to walk away.
Eric stepped in front of her, blocking her way. His gray-blue eyes usually had an icy aspect, but now his gaze was hot.
“Let’s not be childish,” she said.
“You’re not satisfied just to leave me. You’ve got to let the world know you don’t need me or any damn thing I can give you.”
“No, Eric. I don’t care what the world thinks of you—one way or the other.”
“You want to rub my face in it.”
“That’s not true, Eric.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Hell, yes. You’re just reveling in my humiliation. Wallowing in it.”
She saw him as she had never seen him before, as distant as the moon.
“Humiliation?” she said wonderingly. “Eric, I’ve done you an enormous favor. Any other man would buy a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”
They had just left the offices of Eric’s attorney’s, where their divorce settlement had been negotiated with a speed that had surprised everyone but Rachel.
“Champagne, huh? You’re going to be telling everyone you took twelve and a half million less than you deserved just so you could get a quick divorce and be done with me fast, and I’m supposed to stand here grinning? Christ.”
“Eric—”
“Couldn’t wait to be done with me. Cut off a goddamn arm to be done with me. And I’m supposed to celebrate my humiliation?”
“It’s a matter of principal with me not to take more than I--”
“Principal, my ass.”
“Eric, you know I wouldn’t—”
"Everyone’ll be looking at me and saying, ‘Christ, just how insufferable must the guy have been if it was worth twelve million to be rid of him!’”
"I'm not going to tell anyone what we settled for," Rachel said.
"Bullshit."
"If you think I'd ever talk against you or gossip about you, then you know even less about me than I'd thought."
Aware that passersby were staring as she and Eric confronted each other on the sun-splashed street, Rachel said quietly, "I didn't marry you for your money."
"I wonder," he said acidly and irrationally. His bold-featured face wasn't handsome at the moment. Anger had carved it into an ugly mask.
Rachel spoke calmly, with no trace of bitterness, with no desire to put him in his place or hurt him in any way. It was just over. She felt no rage. Only mild regret. "And now that it's finally over, I don't want your millions. You earned them, not me. I'm not going to pretend that I had anything to do with your triumphs."
The lines of anger in his face deepened as she complimented him. He was accustomed to occupying the dominate role in all relationships, professional and private. The funny thing was that, by her docility and reasonableness, she had robbed him of the power on which he thrived. He had been looking forward to a protracted battle over the division of spoils, and she had walked away from it. He had pleasurably anticipated a court fight in which he would make her look like a gold-digging bitch. But when she made it clear that his millions were of no importance to her, she had eliminated the one power he still had over her. She had cut him off at the knees, and his anger arose from his realization that she had somehow made herself his equal.
She stepped around him, trying to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, halting her.
"Please, let me go," she said evenly.
Glaring at her, he said, "How could I have been so wrong about you. I always thought you were sweet, shy, an unwordly little fluff of a girl. But you're a nasty little ball-buster, aren't you?"
"Really, this crude behavior isn't worthy of you. Now let me go."
He gripped her even tighter. "Or is this all just a negotiating ploy? Huh? A game you are playing. Will you suddenly have a change of heart and want more?"
"No, I'm not playing any games."
His grin was tight and mean. "I'll bet that's it. You're trying to make me look like I'm a real hard-hearted bastard. Is that your strategy?"
"I told you, there's no game."
He dug his fingers into her upper arm. "The truth, Rachel."
"Stop it."
"Is that the stategy?"
"You're hurting me." Rachel tried to wrench free of his iron grip.
He let her go with a seething hatred she had never seen before.
"You stupid, rotten bitch. The day you walked out on me, I wanted to knock you down and kick your stupid face in. I should've done it. Wish I had." He raised his hand as if to slap her. But he checked himself even as she flinched from the expected blow. Furious, he turned and hurried away.
Watching him step off the sidewalk into the street, Rachel was glad to see him go. A moment later, relief turned to horror.
He dashed across Main Street toward his black Mercedes, directly into the path of a city garbage truck that was doing forty miles an hour.
The driver tramped his brake pedal to the floorboards. But the shriek of the truck's locked wheels came almost simutaneously with the sickening sound of impact.
Eric was hurled into the air and thrown back into the southbound lanes as if by the concussion wave of a bomb blast. He crashed into the pavement and tumbled twenty feet, stiffly at first, then with a horrible looseness, as if he were constructed of strings and old rags. He came to rest facedown, unmoving.
Riveting, isn't it? Koontz doesn't miss a nuance of expression, or body language. It feels as if you are watching a movie, and that is what well written dialogue should do.
Until next time,
billwilcox
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THE ADVENTURE BEGINS HERE...
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monty31802
Submitted Comment:
Sounds like you had a great vacation and writing of it is a lesson, great job Bill.
-Monty
Acme 
Submitted Comment:
Love the lobster simile. I once caught a fish about t - h - i - s big, but you and your brothers both out fished me. I'm glad you had a good vacation, and I'm even happier that you're back!
It's good to be home...
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