Back to Basics: Writing dialogue for gut-wrenching scenes

 

Recently I mentioned writers can use dialogue to convey grief, terror, or other emotional situations. Below is an example from The Letter Keeper by Charles Martin.

 

The story is about David Bishop and a priest named Bones who rescued teenage boys and girls who were abused, physically and emotionally, and forced into the sex trade. Some had been kidnapped, others of them abandoned by their parents.

 

In this scene, one night the narrator, David Bishop, and his wife Summer were awakened by their dog and noticed a young lady they’d rescued from sex trafficking, Casey, standing by their bed.

 

“I’m afraid.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Going outside.”

 

Summer rubbed her eyes. “Why?”

 

Casey glanced out the window into darkness. “’Cause he’s still out there.”

 

. . . Her bottom lip trembled. . . . She waved her hand across the two of us. “I was wondering if. . . .”

 

Casey had one wound left to heal, and maybe I alone had the power to do so. . . . “Can we go for a walk?”

 

Casey nodded.

 

. . . The three of us shuffled . . . out into the cold . . . and into the chapel. . . . I turned to Casey. “I want to ask you a favor.”

 

She nodded above a trembling lip.

 

“One of these days, some young man is going to fall head over heels for you. . . . He’s going to have to ask someone for permission to marry you.” . . . Casey’s head tilted sideways, spilling tears out of her eyes. “And then someone is going to have to give you away.” At this, Casey sobbed and buried her face in her hands. . . .

 

I lifted her chin, knowing there is no deeper pain than that caused by the rejection or abandonment of a father or mother. . . . “Will you let us call you Daughter?”

 

Casey crumbled, hitting her knees, and fell into Summer. . . .

 

. . . “Will you let us adopt you? . . . Will you be ours? Forever?”

 

The sound coming out of Casey’s stomach had been there a long time, and I had a feeling it was the deepest of layers. . . . A beautiful cry. The sound of pain leaving and joy entering. . . .

 

As Casey melted into the floor at my feet, I began to whisper the one word she needed to hear. . . .

 

“Daughter. . . Daughter . . . Daughter. . . .”

 

When I finished, Casey lay in a fetal ball clinging to us. . . .

 

When she emptied herself, I sat her up. “Casey?”

 

. . . “Casey Bishop?”

 

She nodded.

 

“From this moment on, we take you as our own. . . . Forever.”

 

Now read the passage again and note how Charles Martin wrote:

 

• He used few words—his writing style is called “sparce”. He was concise, succinct.
• He used simple words which were, for the most part, only one- and two-syllable words. He avoided flowery and multisyllable words.
• He used no exclamation points. He didn’t need them because his word choices, sentence structure, and context conveyed the emotion and pain.
• He used almost no adverbs or adjectives (modifiers or qualifiers—sometimes called padding or fillers). When you write, use strong nouns and verbs. Rather than saying a person is “very poor,” choose one strong word, such as “destitute” or “impoverished.” Instead of writing that a person is “very worried,” choose one strong word, such as “anxious” or “frightened.” Avoid words like pretty, big, very, small, heavy, really, lovingly, speedily, haltingly.

 

Experiment with your passage to find the right balance: (1) Avoid making light of—or diluting—the seriousness of the situation, but also (2) avoid being overly dramatic. Melodrama is not a mark of good writing.

 

Finding words to write your traumatic accounts 

might be painful for you, even agonizing, 

but I urge you to pray your way through it. 

Take as long as you need.

 

Also recognize the opportunity you have

—as well as the responsibility—

to write your stories.

 

Maybe today you can’t imagine how God can use them

to bless your readers—your kids, grandkids,

great-grands, friends, and even strangers.

 

But keep reminding yourself that

you are part of a story much bigger than yourself.

Writing your memoir is more than a hobby

—it is a ministry.

You have a story no one else can tell.

Take in Erin Morgenstern's words:

“Someone needs to tell those tales. . . . 

For each and every ear it will be different, 

and it will affect them in ways 

they can never predict. 

From the mundane to the profound. 

You may tell a tale that takes up residence 

in someone's soul, 

becomes their blood and self and purpose. 

That tale will move them and drive them 

and who knows what they might do because of it, 

because of your words. 

That is your role, your gift.” 

(Erin Morganstern, The Night Circus)

 

.

 

 

Your memoir might take up “residence in someone's soul” and become “their blood and self and purpose”

 

Do you recognize the opportunity you have—as well as the responsibility—to write your stories? Maybe right now you can’t imagine how God can use them to bless your readers—your kids, grandkids, and great-grands, friends, even strangers. But keep reading. . . .

 

Your stories are important. Writing them is more than a hobby—it is a ministry.

 

You and I are just ordinary people living ordinary lives, yet God is acting on our behalf every moment of every day.

 

Take time to observe what He is doing.

 

Notice the ways Bible passages come alive—how they come true, how they are relevant—in your family.

 

Remember our theme verse here at SM 101:

 

“Always remember what you’ve seen God do for you,

and be sure to tell your children and grandchildren!”

(Deuteronomy 4:9)

 

If you’ll put your stories into writing, you’ll be doing what Deuteronomy 4:9 urges all of us to do.

 

You have stories only you can tell.

“Someone needs to tell those tales. . . . For each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.” (Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus)

Read Morgenstern's words again:

“You may tell a tale 

that takes up residence in someone's soul, 

becomes their blood and self and purpose. 

That tale will move them and drive them 

and who knows what they might do 

because of it, because of your words. 

That is your role, your gift.”

 

You are part of a story much bigger than yourself. Your story is part of God’s story and God’s story is part of your story.

 

Invest time and effort into connecting your stories with God’s stories. Don’t keep them to yourself—give them to others to read!

 

“We’ll tell our children what we’ve known

and what our ancestors handed down to us.

We won’t keep these stories to ourselves.

We’ll tell the next generation about God’s marvelous deeds.”

(Psalm 78:3-4)

 

 

Not fluff!

What comes to your mind when you read the following passage? Does it remind you of something?

“… [N]othing is more pleasing to the Holy One

than when you tell about the secret things

he is always doing for people

or trying to do if they give him half a chance.

I am thinking about all the things he has done for you

and your family, for instance.

Tell people about those things and never forget them yourself.

Tell them how

even on the darkest stretches of the road to Ecbatana,

he was always at your side

if you’d only had the eyes to see him.”

(Frederick Buechner,

from the novel On the Road with the Archangel;

emphasis mine)

I hope it reminds you of the theme verse for Spiritual Memoirs 101: 

Always remember, and never forget,

what you’ve seen God do for you,

and be sure to tell your children and grandchildren!

Deuteronomy 4:9

Here’s the same message in other words:

O God, let each generation tell its children of Your mighty acts;

let them retell stories of Your power.

Psalm 145:4

“Stories … are far more than entertainment,” says Peter Guber. “They are the most effectiveform of human communication, more powerful than any other way of packaging information.… Stories…connect us to others.… Without stories … we couldn’t  understand ourselves. They provoke our memory and give us much of the framework for much of our understanding.… While we think of stories as fluff, … something extraneous to real work, they turn out to be the cornerstone of consciousness.” (Peter Guber; emphasis mine)

Think of this: You have worked hard for the wisdom you’ve gained over the years. You’ve shed tears over the hard lessons you’ve learned. You know the regret over making poor choices and by now you’ve learned how to make better choices.  You’ve figured out life a little—and your stories could help others avoid some of the foolishness and heartache you have experienced.

You have been confounded by questions that seem to have no answers.

You have seen—maybe up close, maybe from a distance—injustice, prejudice, hatred, violence, corruption.

You have also made good choices and wise decisions. You have lived in ways that spill over as blessings for others. You’ve made choices that have given you peace. 

You have experienced God and His grace. His love. His forgiveness. The curious—the surprising, even hilarious—ways He sometimes leads.

You have scraped through the dirt and rocks of life and unearthed gems, and over the years they’ve become shiny and polished.

You’ve discovered, maybe the hard way, maybe through trial and error, what real love is.

You’ve reevaluated what’s really important in life. Your heart has softened. You’ve worked hard for success—the right kind of success. You’ve learned to laugh at yourself.

Write your stories. Be transparent. Be honest. Go deep.

God uses stories. They are among His most powerful, compelling, effective tools.

“…You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone’s soul, becomes their blood and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.” Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus (emphasis mine)

Your stories can change hearts. Give hope. Inspire faith. Teach courage. Motivate tenacity. Trigger joy.

Don’t let your stories remain secret.

Each of us will die some day.

Before that day comes, let’s write our stories!

They’ll never do anyone any good if they go to the grave with us.

Right?

Write!