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  But the dandy Cairo, smelling faintly of gardenia, uses fancier verbiage:

  "I made somewhat extensive inquiries about you before taking any action, and was assured that you were far too reasonable to allow other considerations to interfere with profitable business relations."

  We know, simply from the words used here, that these are two very different characters.

  Next, be sure to assign your characters objectives in every scene. Without conflicting objectives—be they overt or subtle—your scene is in danger of falling flat. Knowing what each character wants, however, allows you to choreograph the dance—the ups and downs, the feints and jabs.

  The chapter in The Maltese Falcon from which the above dialogue was lifted begins with Cairo pointing a pistol at Spade. The dynamic changes radically when Spade elbows Cairo in the face and takes the gun.

  Cairo must now convince Spade to take the case of the missing black bird. The bulk of the chapter is about his verbal attempts to do it. Spade finally accepts and returns Cairo's gun—which Cairo promptly points at him again. Another shift.

  Finally, you'll find a list of synonyms helpful, for words like punch, dodge, thrust, or any other fighting verbs you like. Go wild. You can later refer to this list when writing a scene. One of those words may suggest the perfect verbal weapon for one of your characters to use.

  ATTRIBUTIONS

  An attribution tells the reader who is speaking. Almost always, the simple said should be your default setting. Some writers, under the erroneous impression that said isn't creative enough, will strain to find ways not to use it. This is a mistake.

  Said is almost invisible to the reader but for its primary use as a tag to tell us who is speaking. It does its work and stays out of the way. It lets the dialogue do the heavy lifting.

  So reader barely notices it. Any substitute causes the reader to do a little more work.

  In the past, adverbs were often used liberally in dialogue. For example, a random page in Thorne Smith's 1929 novel, The Stray Lamb, reveals the following:

  "Off again, major," Sandra said resignedly ...

  "Not a scrap of evidence left behind," Mr. Long optimistically informed the party ...

  "It's a shame we haven't a camera," she observed ... "That depends," answered Thomas consideringly ...

  Needless to say (I write disapprovingly), such effulgent grammar is frowned upon today.

  Don't be hesitant about using said. In a two-person dialogue scene, you can skip attributions, and should, when it's clear who is speaking. Don't do this:

  "Let's drive right up and say hello," he said.

  "Oh, that sounds just super to me," she said. "You don't have to use that tone of voice," he said. "I shall, whenever the notion strikes me," she said. He said, "I might strike you myself." She said, "Don't threaten me, or I shall call Papa."

  "Go ahead and call him," he said. "Don't think I won't," she said.

  Depending on where you are in the scene, you might be able to get away with just one attribution. For example, if you've established this couple is in the car and driving, the dialogue may proceed like this:

  "Let's drive right up and say hello," he said. "Oh, that sounds just super to me." "You don't have to use that tone of voice." "I shall, whenever the notion strikes me." "I might strike you myself." "Don't threaten me, or I shall call Papa." "Go ahead and call him." "Don't think I won't."

  The first he said establishes who is speaking. In the rest of the dialogue, therefore, the reader knows who says what. Don't go on too long in this fashion. Put in an occasional attribution or action tag as a reminder.

  Action Tags

  Because dialogue is a form of action, we can utilize the physical to assist the verbal. This is called the action tag.

  The action tag offers a character's physical movements instead of said, such as in Lisa Samson's Women's Intuition:

  Marsha shoved her music into a satchel. "She's on a no-sugar kick now anyway, Father."

  He turned to me with surprise. "You don't say? How come?" Marsha jumped right in, thank you very much. "She saw a special on one of those health news spots on WJZ that sugar is actually a poison."

  I shook my head. "Marsha, come on."

  The action tag can follow the line as well:

  "Come along, dear." Harriet spun toward the door.

  This is not to be done every time, of course. Too many action tags will wear the reader out. Variety is called for, and often the best choice is no tag at all. If the reader knows who is speaking—because of alternating lines or a distinct manner of speech—that's often enough.

  But in keeping with the idea of dialogue as action, look for ways to let your tag add to the dynamics of a scene. You'll be giving the reader more bang for the written buck. So instead of this:

  "What shall we do for the next two hours?" Smith said nervously.

  Do something like this:

  Smith pulled at his eyebrow. "What shall we do for the next two hours?"

  In life, talk may be cheap. Not so in fiction. Make every word count by viewing a character's speech as an expansion of his actions.

  QUESTIONS AND EXCLAMATIONS

  When a character asks a question, should the attribution be he asked or he said? Some feel the question mark makes asked redundant.

  Still, asked is almost as invisible as said, so if you want to use it for variety on occasion, go ahead. But I advise against synonyms like queried or inquired.

  Exclamation points in fiction, in my view, should be used rarely, and only when conveying an inner thought or a line of dialogue. (Or if you're writing a Hardy Boys book! Where chapters end with an exclamation point to get young readers to read on!)

  An inner thought would be something like this:

  She peeked out the window. It was Tony!

  In dialogue, while it is sometimes acceptable to use said after an exclamation point, beware of contexts where said is too sedate:

  "You monster!" she said.

  The said here works against the exclamation point. If it's clear who is speaking, you can dispense with the attribution:

  "You monster!"

  Or you can use an action tag:

  She raised the ax. "You monster!"

  KEY POINTS

  • Think of dialogue as an action. It is something the character does to further her agenda.

  • Dialogue isn't "real-life speech." It's intentional but with the sound of realism.

  • All dialogue should have conflict or tension, even if it's only within one of the characters.

  • Subtext—story, background, character, theme—deepens dialogue.

  • Orchestrate your characters so they don't sound alike.

  • Hide exposition inside confrontational dialogue.

  • Use said as your default attribution. Only rarely should you use other attributions and adverbs.

  • Use action tags for variety.

  Choose two characters who are violently opposed to one another. What sex are they? What ages? Why are they enemies? Now, set them at a dinner party

  Here's an exchange between two characters. I've put one of the speakers in bold:

  "Good evening."

  "Good evening."

  "I didn't know you were coming."

  "I hadn't made any plans, but I got an invitation."

  "Wonderful. Nice night, isn't it?" "Lovely."

  "Don't you just love it when the breeze holds the scent of honeysuckle?" "Oh yes."

  Using the sidestep tools from this chapter, see what tension you can add just by changing the boldface dialogue.

  where one walks in. Keep the first line, but play with the others by doing the sidestep. Build on what you've done. Write more of the dialogue. Let it flow.

  Drop some words in the exchanges. Does it sound better?

  Find a place for a silent reaction. Is the subtext clear? What is the character doing in the silence that's a clue to what she is thinking?

  Finally, choose one line of dialogu
e for a gem. Make up several variations, then choose the best one. Does it sparkle? Sure it does. You're on your way to becoming a dialogue whiz.

  Take the following speech and turn it into part of a scene. Make up what you need:

  I am certain that my fellow Americans expect that on my induction into the Presidency I will address them with a candor and a decision which the present situation of our people impel. This is preeminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror that paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves, which is essential to victory. I am convinced that you will again give that support to leadership in these critical days.

  Try writing a scene just in dialogue. No action beats or descriptions at all. Let the dialogue itself paint the mood.

  Now, write a scene while listening to a "mood tune." This can be any type of music you want. Movie soundtracks are a rich source of various mood tunes. The tune should color the way your dialogue turns out.

  Take the scene you just wrote and rewrite it, only with a piece of music that is as opposite from the original piece as you can find. What does this do to your scene?

  [ BEGINNINGS, MIDDLES & ENDS ]

  There is a complex, academic phrase for the unfolding of a complete novel. It is: beginning, middle, and end. Try to remember that.

  I like the way one wag modified this: beginning, muddle, and end. There's trouble in the middle.

  This is why the three-act structure works. Stories have to begin, they have to play out, and they have to end.

  Even if you want to play around with structure in your novel, understanding why the three acts work will help you make informed decisions. Each portion of your book presents special challenges. Your beginnings must grab. Your middles must hold. Your ends must satisfy.

  Not easy tasks! But that's what editors and readers want, so that's what you're going to give them. Here's how.

  BEGINNINGS

  The opening pages of your book, starting with line one, are absolutely key. They are usually the first things an editor or agent reads (because if the writing isn't strong, they don't have to read the rest of your proposal). And readers browsing in a bookstore usually give attention to the first page or two to see if they want to buy.

  They are, in other words, giving you a chance to grab them. Do it.

  Don't waste a single paragraph getting warmed up. A weak opening plants the idea of thinking "No." A strong opening will establish momentum. True, you have to keep writing strong, but those opening lines buy you time. Before we get into fixes, let's consider what makes a good opening.

  In a word, it's disturbance.

  Because that's what fiction is really about. A Lead character's life gets a thrashing, and we read to see how he deals with it. Consider this opening line:

  Tuesday was a fine California day, full of sunshine and promise.

  What is the reader feeling at this point? While it's not going to turn her off necessarily, it certainly isn't going to turn her on.

  And to think that line was written by Dean Koontz! Yes, Koontz, the master of the grabber opening, wrote those words. Only I added a period and cut the line in half. Here's the full opening line from Koontz's Dragon Tears:

  Tuesday was a fine California day, full of sunshine and promise, until Harry Lyon had to shoot someone at lunch.

  And the hook is in.

  What causes a disturbance is anything that is change or threat of change to a character's equilibrium. That's why opening lines that carry the potential for disturbance also work.

  On the morning that he received the letter, Matthew Cowart awakened alone to a false winter.

  —Just Cause, by John Katzenbach

  What's in the letter? There's always potential disturbance in that. And why is Matthew Cowart alone? False winter is a mood detail that adds to the portent.

  Literary fiction, of course, doesn't need to leave all the fun to the genres. Anna Quindlen, for example, knows how to capture readers right from the get-go:

  The first time my husband hit me I was nineteen years old.

  —Black and Blue

  Jail is not as bad as you might imagine.

  — One True Thing

  These lines relate to something in the narrators' past, both disturbing to the equilibrium.

  She heard a knocking, and then a dog barking.

  —The Pilot's Wife, by Anita Shreve

  A knocking would have been a mild disturbance. The barking dog adds urgency.

  Lines of dialogue can be an effective way to open a novel or story. The reason is there is immediate tension (or should be), and that creates instant reader interest. Sometimes just thinking up dialogue to start a story (as Koontz did in the earlier example) will get the imagination flowing.

  The only warning here is not to let the dialogue go on too long without identifying the speakers and the situation. Readers will give you a few lines, but after that they want to know who is saying what and why. But artfully done, opening dialogue can do "double duty" and give us information without sounding dull.

  Here, for example, is the opening of The Transposed Man, a pulp novel by the famed writing teacher Dwight V. Swain:

  "Name?"

  "Robert Travers."

  "Occupation?"

  "Mining engineer."

  "Place of residence?"

  "Seven Base, Jovian Development Unit, Ganymede."

  "Reason for visiting Luna?"

  "I'm checking on performance of the new Dahlmeyer units in the Mare Nubium fields. We're thinking of adapting them for use in our Trendart field on Ganymede."

  "I see ..." The port inspector fumbled through my papers. "Where's your celemental analysis sheet?"

  We know several things even before we get the identity of the second speaker. We know this is some sort of official questioning. We know the name of the guy being questioned (Robert Travers). We know also from some of the words this is a science-fiction story (so the opening also gives us the "story world"). And there is conflict developing, especially with the last line.

  In the opening to my novel Final Witness I wanted to suggest the middle of a courtroom cross-examination, but then turn the tables:

  "How old are you?"

  "Twenty-four."

  "Going into your third year?"

  "Yes."

  "Second in your class?"

  "Temporarily."

  "Isn't it true you have a motive to lie?"

  "Excuse me?" Rachel Ybarra felt her face start to burn. That question had come from nowhere, like a slap. She sat up a little straighter in the chair.

  The tall lawyer took a step toward her. "Motive to lie, Ms. Ybarra."

  "No, sir. I don't lie."

  "Never?"

  "No."

  "Come now, Ms. Ybarra, everybody lies, especially when they want a good job."

  Feeling like a cornered animal Rachel suppressed the urge to snap. Calm yourself, she thought. Don't lose your cool. "Not everybody," she replied. "Not all the time."

  "Can you prove it?" the tall lawyer demanded. "Can you prove you never lie?"

  "Why are you asking me all this?"

  Alan Lakewood took another step toward her, stopped suddenly, sat casually on the corner of his desk. "It's just a little exercise I go through. I call it my trial by ambush. You want to know what it's like to grill some witness in court, you have to walk in their shoes once. And you have to be ready to take the gloves off, like I just did."

  It turns out the tall lawyer was playing a slightly harsh interview game with a young law student applying for a job at the U.S. Attorney's office.
Immediate conflict, then a twist.

  Here's the opening of Gregory McDonald's Fletch:

  "What's your name?"

  "Fletch."

  "What's your full name?"

  "Fletcher."

  "What's your first name?"

  "Irwin."

  "What?"

  "Irwin. Irwin Fletcher. People call me Fletch."

  "Irwin Fletcher, I have a proposition to make to you. I will give you a thousand dollars for just listening to it. If you decide to reject the proposition, you take the thousand dollars, go away, and never tell anyone we talked. Fair enough?"

  "Is it criminal? I mean, what you want me to do?"

  "Of course."

  "Fair enough. For a thousand bucks I can listen. What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to murder me."

  Now that makes me want to read on. The dialogue is immediate, interesting, and ends with a zinger.

  The First Three Pages

  Okay, you've got that killer first line or paragraph.

  Now all you have to do is attach a killer book to it.

  Which means your next task is to carry on the interest past the three-page mark. You've got the reader on your side.

  What do you do to keep him there?

  Change or challenge is what we need to begin a story. Something out of the ordinary routine.

  Many beginning manuscripts I read start with setting up a nice family day. Mom comes down from the bedroom and starts the coffee brewing, gets the kids off to school (without argument). Maybe a neighbor stops by to chat.

  Then, finally, in chapter two perhaps, we get a whiff of trouble.

  We need trouble, or at least something showing a change (or disturbance to the routine) from the start.

  Cornell Woolrich was a master at first pages. Here are excerpts from two of his stories:

  The woman wondered who they were and what they wanted out there at this time of the day. She knew they couldn't be salesmen, because salesmen don't travel around in threes. She put down her mop, wiped her hands nervously on her apron, started for the door.

  What could be wrong? Nothing had happened to Stephen, had it? She was trembling with agitation and her face was pale under its light golden tan by the time she had opened the door and stood confronting them. They all had white cards stuck in their hat bands, she noticed.