Dialogue

One of the toughest things to establish is the sense of reality that must pervade your stories. I find the best way to do this is through dialogue- if I can believe that the character says what he says, then chances are I'll play along. I wrote a play (one act) for a class a few weeks ago. It is probably the most offensive thing I've written (minus my work in progress novel, which by the way I'm still working on.) Here's a bit of my play- enjoy.

A classic Southern porch is on stage flanked by a beat up Ford 67 Mustang. Through two windows in the house we can clearly see a kitchen with large table and chairs. Part of a living room is also visible. “Sweet Home Alabama” begins to play through a radio sitting on the porch. Uncle Ted, 58, appears stage right and begins to dance and sing along. Although he is no one’s uncle in particular his family still calls him Uncle. His jean overalls jingle as he moves across stage.

Uncle Ted: (still dancing) WHERE THE SKIES ARE SO BLUE!

His wife, Sara, 57, a loving simple woman, peeks her head through the window and takes in the scene.

Sara: Ted, turn down that music!

Uncle Ted: Woman, I am perfecting my dance moves.

Sara: But the neighbors!

Uncle Ted: What- the queer Mormons? I don’t give two shits what they think.

Sara: Now Ted- they are good people.

Uncle Ted: Good for getting the goddamn liquor laws changed in this county. Sonsabitches. 2AM my ass.

Sara: Ted, you cut it out and turn down that damn racket. I’m gonna invite them over just to spite ya.

Uncle Ted: And then I’ll start target practice and we’ll see how funny that’ll be.

Sara walks back inside and then re-emerges. She has the mail in her hand.

Sara: Ted, Ted- Norm is coming back this weekend! He wrote a letter. He’ll be in sometime night.

Uncle Ted finally stops dancing.

Uncle Ted: Well hell, gimme that letter… Dear Dad… coming home with a friend… well hell- sounds like this friend a his is big in Hollywood. About goddamn time we got our moneys worth from that school. Shit, I should just let ‘em come on down here and take the whole goddamn farm, it’ll save me the trouble of selling it off later. Bastards.

Sara: Honey, don’t worry about this stuff. You’re blood pressure-

Uncle Ted: Oh blood pressure my ass. Only pressure is gonna be my hands around Norm’s neck if he doesn’t become the next Spieldon. Or whatever the hell that clowns name is. See, we’re at a disadvantage- he ain’t Jewish. So like I said, next year we send him with a Yamakah thingy and say his name is Holdstein or sumthin. Betcha right there he gets a film made.

Sara: Now honey… Remember the Yorshten’s? They were wonderful neighbors.

Uncle Ted: They were wonderful neighbors if borrowing a shovel involved signing a goddamn release form. Or if they always brought drinks to the neighborhood Barbeques. Only thing that could have possibly worse is if Mormon’s replaced them and shit- got my goddamn wish didn’t I?

God Bless Our Troops



A U.S. soldier holds a fatally wounded infant on the streets of Iraq. I hope they put two in the head of Zarqawi.

Godspeed.