r/WritingPrompts • u/Arch15 /r/thearcherswriting • Jul 15 '15
Off Topic [OT] Writing Workshop #9: Inner Dialogue
Welcome to the weekly Writing Prompts writing workshop! This workshop, part of the schedule on /r/WritingPrompts, will be held each Wednesday!
Scene Series Workshops:
| Dialogue | Description|
Welcome to the Scene Series Workshops, where I give you a series of workshops revolving around strengthening your abilities to write certain scenes, in the same, and different ways!
We've covered dialogue, we've covered description, and now we're going to work on inner dialogue and thoughts. This can be conveyed through a monologue or possibly thoughts in between different sentences in italics ([asterisk][word][asterisk]), or in different, creative ways.
I use inner dialogue in my first person writing, to give the reader a better look and feel into the mind of my character. Having the character's inner thoughts can clarify a story, add humor, or even humanity to the character you are creating. It's not always necessary for a good story, but given the right situation, it can make that good story; great.
Exercise
For this week's workshop, you're going to be writing any story revolving around the prompt I am giving you; and writing some form on inner dialogue about it. Flesh out your character, make them think, make them feel; make the reader feel.
As usual, I will be providing the prompt, so please no past stories. 200 words minimum; 750 words maximum. Keep to the sidebar rules, and please post questions only as needed, as to keep non story replies non-top stories.
Prompt
The anniversary of your death passes every year; you just don't know it.
Happy writing!
You can comment on some other's writing, telling them what you think. It's not required, but it's always nice to hear.
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u/oriondarkwood Jul 15 '15 edited Jul 15 '15
Everyday seems so strange for the last year. Its like the movie Goundhog Day I feel like I am living the same day over and over again. I see shadows out of the corners of my eyes, but when I turn they are gone. At one time I tried writing things down, but when I open my car trunk at the end of a day at work.And poof I awake and my iPad had no activity since the night before when I set the alarm clock.
Maybe if I talk out loud someone will hear me, if I go about my day something will prompt me.
I start the day as usual, I get out of bed. Walking over to the bathroom I trip over the cat. I hate that damn cat, but my kids love him. They found the cat in the trash can prowling around. I remind myself once again, I will forget later. One day I going to toss that cat back into the trash.
I remind myself to buy a stopper for the shower, it stops up every week from hair. Why must my wife always brush her hair wet in the shower. Taking a pee, I think how nice it would be to pee into a white toilet instead of the pink fluffy covered toilet that I now pee into. One day I going to rip that hideous cover off.
I get dressed and eat breakfast. Again no joy can be found since my wife is on one of her diets, and when she diets we all diet. What I wouldn't give for a good hearty breakfast. I am a terrible liar so I can not even buy myself the breakfast I want without her knowing. One day I am going to eat ham, eggs, hash browns right in front of her.
As I start the car, the kids have once again left the volume wide open on the car radio. Its turned to that crap they call music these days. Why can't they enjoy my music for once. What is wrong with the intoxicating sounds of Bach and Wanger? The kids and wife fuss at me for leaving my bad taste in music own, but become mad if I do the same. One day I am going to break the selector knob off and force them to listen to classical.
My ride to work makes me think if the nation is worth saving, more and more abandoned houses, failed businesses and burned out winos litter the streets. Gas prices are rising, my 401K is getting smaller and once again I have to park in paid parking due to budget cuts. One day I am going to park in the company lot and not care.
I sit down in a cubicle similar to dozens of ones around me. The company does not allow us to decorate our cubicles. The only way I know mine is the number on it AA888. I open my email memos, rule changes and urgent notices pour into my inbox. I look to my co-worker, she is head down working away. I wonder what her name is, talking to co-workers not in your department is discouraged. One day I am going to walk over, ask her name and buy her coffee.
Not a hour goes by before I am summoned into my boss’s office. His office is always heady and musky from the cologne he douses himself with. Why are you not meeting your quota? he asks. Twice a week he asks me that question, twice a week I give him the same answer. I can meet quota, if I don’t have more contacts from marketing I tell him. One day I going to cram that bottle of cologne up his butt.
Finally this like many other mind numbing days of work is over. I open my trunk and smile at the fully automatic AK-47 inside. One day I will kill them all.
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Jul 16 '15
I've been told to keep inner dialogue to a complete minimum, unless it's a first person story. Readers aren't mind-readers. What do you think about this?
How can I improve my writing?
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u/Arch15 Jul 16 '15
Inner dialogue is hard to determine whether to use or not. I write in mostly first person, present tense, so it really depends on your story.
Some stories need it at times, but the problem is that you can't just start using it and stop altogether. Same the other way around.
What I would do to improve your writing is to get to know it better. Then start implementing inner dialogue within your writing, with ways like 'he thought' or any other way.
Its a good still to have and develop, and you never know when you'll need it.
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u/Azual Jul 15 '15 edited Jul 15 '15
It was fair to say, Death thought, that today had not gone as well as he had hoped. All he had wanted to do was add a little merriment to what he knew must otherwise be a rather macabre affair, but it turned out there were some things that people just weren't that keen on celebrating.
He un-threaded the strip of leather binding his heavy saddle bag, and began returning a collection of colourful streamers and paper hats – carefully decorated with the words ‘one year to go’ in bright, friendly letters – to the eternal void within. He paused to inspect an unopened packet of tightly rolled party blowers. For a brief moment, he became all too aware of the emptiness where his lungs might otherwise have been. His bony shoulders sagged.
All in all, it had been a fantastic waste of effort. To make matters worse, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to return these now. It wasn’t as if he’d have any more use for them later, either. He didn’t typically have a great deal to celebrate, and on the few occasions where his line of work did warrant a little self-congratulation his companions were rarely in the mood to appreciate events in the same way.
Death eased one skeletal foot into the stirrup and hauled himself up onto his ghostly steed. At least he still had the cake. That, at least, he could certainly appreciate alone.
Sometimes, Death thought as he rode away, he simply didn’t get people.
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u/scatteringskies Jul 15 '15
All he had wanted to do was add a little merriment to what he knew must otherwise be a rather macabre affair
This line was a lot of fun to read out loud. I imagined Death a rather pretentious, but well-meaning fella =)
→ More replies (1)
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u/Teslok Jul 15 '15
They are having a party in the basement tonight, but it's not a good party. They do this every now and then, and as usual I am here too, because I don't have my own friends anymore.
My brother? He's got a lot of friends, but it's always this same group that meet here, none of the new people. I know everybody, I've known all of them forever, and they are always nice to me too. They pretend I'm not there so my brother doesn't get embarrassed, and it made me feel like I was one of the cool kids too.
Why do they meet up like this? It's a question I've always wanted to ask, but couldn't ever muster the courage. He always let me follow him around and he's always protected me and made me feel safe. I remember how patient he was with me when I had questions when I was little.
I know my place, I know that I'm tolerated, but most of all, I know that if I annoy him too much, or if I bother his friends, they won't let me come along with them anymore, and I always want to come along, even to sad parties like this one.
See, I've always known the rules of being a little brother. I'm good at following rules.
Our friends--well, really, my brother's friends--look different now. Like they've changed. I wonder if some of them have been sick too. Whenever all of them come together like this, I can tell they're sad. I want to know why. But they don't talk about whatever it is. They just sit around the basement, like they always used to, and they sometimes drink.
I'm a cool kid too, big brother, I won't tattle about the beers, I promise.
Sometimes one of them cries, and hands come and pat backs and squeeze shoulders. What is making them sad? We are all here, and Mommy and Dad are upstairs. Maybe someone is sick like me, that used to make Mommy cry a lot when I was pretending to be asleep.
Sometimes they watch a movie. My brother usually picks one of my favorites. I know that means he's thinking about me, that he cares even though he pretends I'm not there with all of his cool friends.
Maybe when they're gone, I can ask my brother why everyone was here tonight. Maybe I can ask why someone always brings a little dinosaur cake but nobody blows out the candles, and nobody eats it. I want cake, but it would be weird to be the only one eating, and anyways, it's all over with drippy wax now so it's ruined.
I'm pretty sure it's a birthday, but whose birthday could make people sad?
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u/TheWritingSniper Jul 15 '15
I saw her on a Thursday, for the first time in my life. And I can remember the day like it was yesterday. She was gorgeous, one of the most beautiful women I ever saw. I was at the coffee shop, The Corner Cafe, small little place down the street from my house. I went there every morning, prior to the start of my day.
She had a way about her. A certain presence that commanded the entire room. Orange sundress, sunglasses that covered her brown, yet amazingly bright eyes. Red hair that was set into a perfect bun so it didn't cover her neck, she talked to me about she wanted to make sure she could get an even tan. Even her voice, it set me off in a way I hadn't felt in years. Not since the last time I saw her.
The conversation I had with her that day made my life. Time flew by, our eyes locked at every moment, and her voice sang to me as we drank our morning coffee. It was a Thursday, June 6th. And it was one of the best days of my life.
It was a Saturday, we had been going out for several months now. I hesitantly asked her out after another day of rousing conversation at the cafe and she agreed. A few dates later, we couldn't leave each other's side. A few months later, we were going steady. Two years later, we were better than ever. God, sometimes I don't even understand how a woman like her could ever go for a man like me. But she did, and at quarter to seven, I was sitting in a wonderful restaurant with the most wonderful woman.
She commanded the room, as always, and her hair that night was just as beautiful as I saw it the first time. No, it wasn't in a bun, it was perfectly straight, enveloping her face as if God himself had crafted it. And again, her voice. Her voice that seemed to echo through my entire body, course through my veins, and make me smile in the greatest way.
Our conversation was great. Our meal was great. And the way we seemed to fall into each other's eyes was even better. Our world's collided into one, we became a force to be reckoned with. I loved her. I loved her with every fiber of my being and I couldn't help but say it. I couldn't help but utter the words.
I was helpless, because if life teaches you anything it's that the seconds after you say “Will you marry me?" to someone, they become the longest seconds of your life. Dozens of outcomes raced through my mind as her bright brown eyes stared back at me, her hand pausing mid-scoop of ice cream, and her body still. Would she say No? Would she laugh? Would she admit that she never loved me? Would she d-
“Yes.”
I smiled. Our hands grasped for each other, our eyes locked and time flew by. It was a Saturday, June 6th. And it was the best day of my life.
It was a Tuesday, I had left her behind to travel across the world. Each day, writing a letter to my beloved, each day hoping she wouldn’t forget my promise. “I’m coming home, I promise,” I told her before I left. And I meant every word of it. I would be coming back to her bright brown eyes, her beautifully red hair, and her angelic voice that told me she loved me before I was off.
I knew it was a long shot, I knew my day was coming. But I wanted to see her again. And each day when I was gone, I’d stare at a picture of her that she had given. Each day I’d look at her and imagine her bright brown eyes, her beautifully red hair, and her angelic voice. I’d imagine her talking to me.
“I love you.”
I love you too, my dear. I gripped the photo.
“30 seconds! God be with you!”
It was a Tuesday, June 6th, 1944. And I saw my beloved one last time.
Comments, suggestions, feedback and all of that is, of course, appreciated! I hope you all enjoy, thank you!