This is very related to yesterday’s point on getting information in there while keeping the tension. Sometimes the dialogue that’s used to convey that information is losing readers and we can’t find any secret agent monkeys or secret bad guys to help out. (And sometimes the dialogue is just dull. Fix that first, and then see if the scene needs more tension.) Now what?

I’ll turn the time over to two of the books I’ve been reading for this series: Don’t Murder Your Mystery by Chris Roerden and Revision And Self-Editing by James Scott Bell.

Bell can start us off with a point we’ve touched on: “Your Lead should be dealing with change, threat, or challenge from the get-go. At the very least, whenever she is in dialogue with another character, that inner tension is present” (97). Bringing out the inner conflicts can add subtext to even the dullest small talk. (But please, make sure that the small talk isn’t so small that it can’t support subtext .)

Roerden adds several techniques specifically for increasing tension in dialogue, since mysteries may require a lot of talky investigation. (And really, how many people would poison a PI’s potato chips?) She mentions bypass dialogue, borrowed conflict, simulated disagreement and flat-out editing (179-184).

Bypass dialogue is when two characters speak but don’t communicate. Naturally, this can be boring, but it can also be used to increase tension: make sure that the speakers have opposing agendas and different priorities, even if they’re friends. (“Transforming allies into temporary adversaries not only increases tension but also builds the reader’s empathy with your protagonist . . .” [180]).

You can also borrow conflict from a background source (a bit like yesterday’s fix). Roerden uses an example from a novel, a reporter interviewing a couple with a tennis game on TV in the background. When she asks about the victim, the husband suddenly swears. The reporter thinks she’s onto something—but he’s just upset about the game.

Simulated disagreement is a bit more tricky—obviously, the name refers to when two characters seem to disagree without actually doing so. In the example Roerden cites, two female characters are trying to relate a creepy occurrence (which we’ve already seen dramatized) to a male third character. He has no real reason to disbelieve or oppose them, but he repeatedly interrupts them (increasing the tension) with stories of his own. One of the women (his wife), gets on his case for interrupting, further heightening the tension.

Finally, flat-out editing can help—especially for phone calls. (Eesh. I hate those!) Roerden uses the example of a phone call from a novel where the protagonist is in her car, realizing she needs to get a clue from her husband. She’s already thought about the context—when they heard it, what bit of information it is exactly—so why show that in a phone conversation? Indeed, after the words “she called him,” the author skips right to the husband’s answer: “‘Yeah, I’ve got it right here. . . ‘”

CLOSING CAUTION: Overusing any technique or tension fix can be gimmicky or hackneyed—and can actually undercut the tension. Mix up your tension techniques to keep your readers reading without getting bored.

What do you think? Any good examples of the above fixes? Any other tension fixes? (Next week, we’ll look at suspense fixes, so let me know if there’s another tension fix you’ve used successfully—and if you’d like to guest post about it, just let me know!)

Photo credits: fraying rope—Govind Chakravarti; acorn hanging by a thread—Karen Dorsett

By Annette Lyon

Back in my days writing for a small newspaper, I often did book reviews. One day a publicist handed me a self-published book. It was a semi-autobiographical novel, and the concept seemed interesting. I looked forward to reading it.

That is, until I got about four lines into page one. The book was a mess from start to finish. Even though I read the thing about a dozen years ago, I could still rant for days on the all the problems in the book (let’s just say this guy didn’t have the first clue about how to put together a coherent story, let alone a coherent sentence).

One particular peeve still stands out: the use of funky verbs instead of normal dialogue tags. In the first chapter, I noticed that no one ever said anything.

They began, interrupted, rebutted, chided, complained, warned, replied, whispered, teased, mumbled, proclaimed, ordered, confessed, pressed, affirmed, announced, proposed, confirmed, suggested, and (some of my favorites) guiltily petitioned, sarcastically rebutted, and proficiently advised.

I could tell the guy had a thesaurus and was trying hard not to use “said.” The result felt ridiculous. Finding his goofy dialogue tags became a game for me. I wrote down every one from the first chapter.

The list had over 90 tags. Not ONE used “said.”

By this point, my eye was seriously twitching with annoyance. I have a sneaking suspicion that I also laughed out loud . . . several times.

Here are three basic rules for dialogue tags that this author could have really used.

Rule #1: “Said.” Use it 90% of the time.

It’s our happy verb.

While you don’t normally want to be repeating the same words over and over in your work, “said” (contrary to what this guy thought) tends to be invisible. It disappears while it helps the reader keep track of who is saying what.

Remember that you don’t need “said” (or any tag) after every single line of dialogue. If the speaker is clear, you can leave off the tag altogether. But when it doubt, use “said.”

Rule #2: If you decide to use a verb other than “said,” be sure it’s a speakable verb. 

For example, don’t do this: “These flowers are for you,” he smiled. 

Um, no. Smiles are silent. You can’t smile words. You can smile while speaking words. You can smile and then speak them. But smiles themselves can’t speak. 

Other non-speakable verbs often used as tags include sniffed, nodded, shrugged, and a hundred others. 

That horrific book I slogged through used “her eyes begged” as a speech tag.  

(Wow. Those are some pretty special—and loud—eyes.) 
 

Rule #3: Use actions (sure, even “her eyes begged”) when referring to dialogue.

Just don’t use it as a speech tag. Instead, put those action verbs next to the dialogue in their own sentences, complete with end-of-sentence punctuation. 

Otherwise, the action is the thing speaking, and we all know that’s impossible.  

So this would be just fine: 

He smiled. “These flowers are for you.”  

Or, use “said” and then add the verb next to it. So this works too: 

“These flowers are for you,” he said, smiling. 

Examples with actions only: 

Steve walked into April’s apartment and handed her a bouquet of roses. “These are for you.” 

OR  

He got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?” His eyes begged to know the answer. 

See? No speech tags at all. Even better, no funky verbs that can’t be realistically spoken. All we have are actions separated by clear punctuation like a period or question mark, plus dialogue we instinctively know belongs to the right speaker. 
 
If you use these three rules, the verbs in your tags will look far more professional—and they won’t give a reviewer eye twitches and a serious case of the giggles. 

So please, no more (hmm . . . let’s consult my list of 90-some tags from chapter one): stammering, grumbling, ordering, proposing, affirmed, or quizzing, what say?

Annette Lyon has been writing ever since second grade, when she piled pillows on a chair to reach her mother’s typewriter. A cum laude graduate from BYU with a degree in English, she has had success with newspaper, magazine, and business writing, but her first love is fiction. She was awarded Utah’s Best of State medal for fiction in 2007. Tower of Strength, her sixth and most recent novel, is her fourth historical centered around old Utah temples.

Photo credits—Reader by Chris Johnson; smile by jdurham123.