Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors (15 page)

The first three questions consider character motivation. As we’ve noted, if a character doesn’t want or doesn’t need to state what he’s thinking, Subtexting may be appropriate. The fourth question considers the placement of the scene within your novel.

Guideline 2

If the scene depicts an ongoing conflict,

Subtexting may be appropriate.

However, a major turning point for change

often demands honesty.

Think ahead in Franklin and Missy’s story, after a series of events has caused Franklin to change. In a turning point scene half way through the novel, the couple speaks openly for the first time. Franklin’s Action Objective: “To convince Missy that she should give me a chance to prove I’ve changed.” Missy’s Action Objective: “To keep a barrier between Franklin and myself at this time because I’m not sure I can love him again even though he’s changed.” The power has now shifted completely, with Franklin longing for Missy’s love. Missy’s conflict moves from the outer struggle to survive as a battered wife to the inner struggle of deciding what she wants for her future. Will she give Franklin another chance, or file for divorce?

Note here a wonderful by-product of effective Subtexting. The honesty you save for a crucial scene will be far more intense and pack far more punch when such openness is new to the characters.

For scenes of ongoing conflict, keep in mind:

Guideline 3

The older and/or deeper the conflict,

the more likely that Subtexting will be appropriate.

This doesn’t mean that a small tiff can’t be subtexted, as noted in the “coffee conversation” between Liz and Sara. It does mean that ancient, deep wounds between two people often are too painful or too tiring to speak of, though the residual effects of those wounds can seep into the subtext of everyday conversation.

For example, picture a couple in their fifties, married for years. On a November morning they’re in the kitchen, the wife doing dishes, the husband drinking coffee at the table. Six months ago their son, Ken, married a woman they don’t like. In fact, they urged him to change his mind about the marriage, convinced that Natasha isn’t good for him. Result: a barrier between them and their once close son. He hasn’t spoken to them since the wedding. The hurt has been deep. Now, at the sink, the wife asks her husband, “What should we do about Christmas?”

Even as you read this, you know this woman is asking about so much more than just Christmas. Yes, she’s wondering if they should try to reach out to Ken, invite him and Natasha for the holiday. But on a deeper level she’s worried about the risk. What if they extend the invitation and they’re rebuffed, which will hurt them even more? On the other hand, how can they not? And if they do, and Ken and Natasha come, will they all get along? Or will something happen to separate them even further?

All these things the wife is thinking. But she doesn’t need to say any of it. This is a deep conflict both she and her husband feel—have felt for six months. He’ll know exactly what she is asking, and why.

Now, this doesn’t mean that at other times, both before and after this scene, this couple won’t say what’s on their minds about this situation. Leading up to this, they may have had many conversations about what happened, and their pain. And even this conversation itself might morph into WYSIWYG dialogue as they discuss the pros and cons of extending the invitation. But
this
line needs to be subtexted. Think how clunky the line would sound if the wife said, “I’m so worried about Christmas. Should we invite Ken and Natasha or not? They’ve hurt us both so badly, and I don’t know if inviting them will make things better or worse.”

Even if this line—“What should we do about Christmas?”—was the opening line of your novel,
still
it should be subtexted. True, the readers won’t immediately know all that the line means. They don’t have to. They’ll find out soon enough. Whatever you do,
don’t
cram things into dialogue that the characters wouldn’t say to each other—just so you can impart information to your readers. Remember that conversation springs from the motivation of your characters. What would
they
say, based on who they are and what they want, in this circumstance? Dialogue should always spring from
their
motivation, not
yours.

Start paying attention to novels you read. You’ll see this mistake made far too often. Better yet—start paying attention to your own writing. When have
you
made this mistake?

Okay. We’ve talked about
when
and
why
to write subtexted dialogue. Now—
how
to do it effectively?

How To Write Subtexted Dialogue

Before you write your own scene, study Subtexting in other fiction. First, as we did with the scene between Franklin and Missy, substitute the spoken words with their subtext. Then highlight all the descriptive words that conveyed this meaning to you. When you highlight these words, you’ll notice that the description falls into four categories. These categories can be remembered through the acronym TIME: Thought, Inflection, Movement, and Expression. The scene between Missy and Franklin provides examples of each.

Thought.
How could Franklin still treat her so badly after she’d given him such a beautiful son? She’d been so sure a baby would change things. But the pain in her left shoulder where he’d punched her twice yesterday, baby in her arms, screamed the bitter truth.

Inflection.
“Morning.” Her voice was little more than a croak.

Movement.
He slouched in the doorway, dismissive eyes flicking over her face, the baby
.

Expression.
Franklin’s mouth opened in a smirk, his chin jutting.

When you’re ready to write your own subtexted dialogue, here are three steps to follow:

1.
Write out the subtext in your scene line by line.

This exercise will establish in your own mind the underlying meaning of each spoken word. Subtext must be very clear to you before you can convey it to readers.

2.
Create overlying dialogue that would naturally occur in the scene.

The scene between Missy and Franklin takes place not long after dawn. An exchange of morning greetings is a natural occurrence in that situation. In another example, if a woman is attracted to a man sitting beside her on the commuter train, she might initiate a conversation about the book he’s reading. Their discussion of two characters in the story could parallel what they are thinking about each other and the impressions they want to create.

3.
Weave TIME description around the dialogue to convey the subtext.

A little more detail about each of these:

●
Thought.
Note that this does not refer to italicized words that represent literal thoughts. These quickly become tiring to the reader and should be used very sparingly. Rather, it denotes a clear indication of what a character is thinking through narrative. A word of caution here, since thought is often the easiest technique to use. Don’t overuse it, or you will simply move all meaning from spoken word to narrative. This will negate the need for other description and will deaden your scene, telling your story rather than showing it. One way to guard against overuse of thought is to stay within one point of view per scene. Note that in our example we remained in Missy’s point of view yet always knew what Franklin was thinking, based on his actions and Missy’s interpretations.

●
Inflection
. One or two well chosen words here can convey a magnitude of meaning. Missy’s “Sleep well?” asked with biting sarcasm spoke of her deep resentment and anger at Franklin. It had nothing to do with how he’d spent his night.

●
Movement.
This incorporates body language as well as large motions. A slouch, a jiggling foot, a flick of the hand—all convey messages.

●
Expression.
Facial expression can be very effective even when a character is otherwise still. Remember that Missy’s final communication of accepting “her place” under Franklin’s abusive rule was conveyed merely through lowering her eyes. Such silent expression can tell the reader far more than words.

All these guidelines and steps may have you thinking, “Good grief, with all this to do in writing dialogue, I’ll never finish my novel!” Again—remember our learning how to drive analogy. You won’t need to follow these steps for long. Once you familiarize yourself with Subtexting, it will become a natural process as you write. And you’ll see how much more depth and richness it lends to your scenes. Subtexting, by its very definition, will force you to create more description than you used when your characters always said exactly what they meant. Your dialogue will be more realistic and your characters more vibrant.

Study Samples

Here are excerpts from two scenes that use subtexted dialogue to varying degrees. Note how both incorporate dialogue natural to the scene while adding TIME description to convey the real communication. In the first scene, two “friends” speak politely while feeling something far different. In the second scene, a woman tries to get information from a man—while hiding the fact of how much the answers matter to her.

FROM:
Sense and Sensibility
(classic), by Jane Austen.

SETTING: England, early 1800s. In this novel, many scenes are subtexted as the characters squeeze their interior lives into the narrow constraints of social convention. Elinor Dashwood, a properly bred young lady, is in love with her sister-in-law’s brother, Edward Ferrars, and believes that he loves her, too, although they have not declared their feelings to each other. Lucy Steele, a young woman of much lower social standing and education than Elinor, is visiting the Dashwoods. During a lighthearted conversation, another visitor makes it known that Elinor secretly has affection for Edward. Lucy reacts in a way that causes Elinor to think she knows Edward well. Elinor is quite surprised and wonders what their connection is. The real surprise, however, is yet to come. One afternoon, Lucy seeks out Elinor to take a walk with her so they can talk.

“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Lucy, “but pray, are you personally acquainted with your sister-in-law’s mother, Mrs. Ferrars?”

Elinor did think the question a very odd one, and her countenance expressed it, as she answered that she had never seen Mrs. Ferrars.

“Indeed!” replied Lucy, “I wonder at that, for I thought you must have seen her at Norland sometimes. Then perhaps you cannot tell me what sort of a woman she is?”

“No,” returned Elinor, cautious of giving her real opinion of Edward’s mother, and not very desirous of satisfying what seemed impertinent curiosity. “I know nothing of her.”

“I am sure you think me very strange, for inquiring about her in such a way,” said Lucy, eyeing Elinor attentively as she spoke; “but perhaps there may be reasons—I wish I might venture; but however I hope you will do me the justice of believing that I do not mean to be impertinent.”

Elinor made her a civil reply, and they walked on a few minutes in silence. It was broken by Lucy, who renewed the subject again by saying with some hesitation:

“I cannot bear to have you think me impertinently curious; I am sure I would rather do anything in the world than be thought so by a person whose good opinion is so well worth having as yours. And I am sure I should not have the smallest fear of trusting you; indeed I should be very glad of your advice how to manage in such an uncomfortable situation as I am; but however there is no occasion to trouble you. I am sorry you do not happen to know Mrs. Ferrars.”

“I am sorry I do not,” said Elinor in great astonishment, “if it could be of any use to you to know my opinion of her. But really, I never understood that you were at all connected with that family, and therefore I am a little surprised, I confess, at so serious an inquiry into her character.”

“I dare say you are, and I am sure I do not at all wonder at it. But if I dared tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at present—but the time may come—how soon it will come must depend upon herself—when we may be very intimately connected.”