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Share a quote from your characters

Dialogue tells us a lot more about characters than just what they’re saying and the kind of mood they're in. 

The words we put in a character’s mouth give our readers an insight into his/her personality. They help us get to know and understand that person better. If readers like what’s said (and the way it’s said), they’ll feel more connected and therefore more involved in the story as a whole.

Besides, from a personal point of view, making up dialogue is one of things I enjoy most about the writing process.  

With that in mind, I thought it might be fun to share some of the things we have our characters say.

To start us off, here are some one-liners from Snowy, the talking cat in my MG urban fantasy, Fur-Face:

“I don’t beg. I just let them feed me sometimes…when I’m starving…or hungry…or feeling a bit peckish.”

“How would I know how to work a computer? I’m a cat. The only hacking I do is when I need to get rid of a fur-ball.”

“Bill, it’s the middle of the night, I’m a black cat, wearing a pair of sunglasses. How much more camouflaged could I get?” 

Hopefully, if I’ve done my job right, any one of those sentences should show a little of Snowy’s character, even without narrative.  

How about you?  

What have your creations been saying and what does their dialogue say about them?

Care to share?




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Comments

msstacy13
Apr. 17th, 2010 05:41 pm (UTC)
“Oi, Percy,” Ellie shouted as they got the last one down. She grabbed a piece of paper and jumped out of the lorry. “Sign for your thunder boxes, eh?”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then the War Office considers them stolen, Military Intelligence sends someone round, and you lot are hanged for sabotage. Save us the bother, right?”

“Right, then,” he said, signing the paper. He handed it back to her. “Now get off, you useless cow.”

She got back into the lorry and started it.

“Bloody sods,” she muttered as we drove away. “Some appreciation? Eh? Thank you, Miss, for driving across the bloody no man’s land of bloody Flanders so we can stop shitting on our bloody floors. Eh?”

“What’s a sod?”

“Sodomite, you stupid cow! You don’t have them in America?”

“Don’t call me a cow!” I screamed. “Did I call you anything? Is this my war? Is this my city? Don’t call me stupid, either!” I screamed again.

She stopped the lorry, and I realized that screaming had done nothing to relieve my headache.

“It’s not your city,” she said quietly. “Or your war.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, beginning to cry. “It’s our city. Our war.”

“Ours?”

I nodded.

“Could I have the bathwater first this week?” she asked.
jongibbs
Apr. 17th, 2010 07:50 pm (UTC)
Bathwater first? Now that takes me back, and not in a good way - I'm one of seven :(
msstacy13
Apr. 17th, 2010 07:58 pm (UTC)
London 1940-1
out_totheblack
Apr. 18th, 2010 07:21 pm (UTC)
I am the oldest of five. I usually went first.
out_totheblack
Apr. 18th, 2010 07:20 pm (UTC)
Well, that sounds interesting.
msstacy13
Apr. 18th, 2010 07:51 pm (UTC)
Thank you.
Another quarter-of-a-million words,
and it will be done.
Here's just a little more.

We turned a corner, and at first I saw a pile of chicken bones dogs had chewed on. In a few seconds, the perspective corrected itself, and I recognized broken, shattered timbers of what was once a large structure. To the far side I could see blankets neatly arranged, covering small piles of debris.

The lorry stopped and Ellie jumped out. She turned toward a man with a tin hat on his head. There was a W painted on the front of it.

“What happened?” she inquired of him.

“Where you been Miss,” he inquired rhetorically, “that you have to ask what happened?”

A young boy I hadn’t noticed until then stepped forward, raising his hands in front of himself very quickly, then clapping them above his head and whistling as he brought them down again. When they were at waist level, he made a roaring sound in his throat as he immediately spread them apart, wiggling his fingers wildly and lifting his hands again. His fingers slowed their wiggling as his hands returned to his sides. Then he turned away and was off like a shot, running erratically through the rubble, some of which tumbled to either side in his wake, and some of which collapsed behind him as he passed over it. A ragged plume of dust trailed him, a strange interpretation of the noises his feet were making in the debris. He rounded the corner of the street we’d approached from, and may never have stopped running, for all I know.

“I brought people here yesterday,” Ellie said quietly.

“And now you’re taking them away again,” the warden replied, just as quietly. “It’s war, Miss.”

I noticed then that some of those small piles of blanket-covered debris had shoes while others were barefoot.
out_totheblack
Apr. 18th, 2010 09:17 pm (UTC)
Re: Thank you.
Cool. Thanks :)

Things What I Wrote and Other Stuff

No longer in print but there are still some copies floating around out there


No longer in print but there are still some copies floating around out there















 











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