Xaysai
Inkling
I've never written dialogue before, so I read a great blog here about it, but I'm still confused.
I've heard that dialogue tags are frowned upon, so I've attempted to not use them. However, I'm still not confident that I am writing it properly.
Please feel free to give me feedback on my dialogue, writing, pace or anything else from this scene. Thanks as always to the Mythic Scribes : )
This is part of my second chapter:
Alright, never mind. It’s just a dream. There’s no way he read my mind. Or knew my name. He stood from his work station and moved towards me. “And no, you are not dreaming. How are you feeling?”
I wiggled my arms and legs to find that I was strapped to the table by my wrists and ankles. How very terrific. “I’m feeling like I’m having a very bad day,” I lifted my head and looked down at the straps cutting into my wrists to illustrate my point, “and that it’s about to get worse.”
He grabbed the end of the leather strap on my left arm, then my right, and pulled them even tighter. The act was clearly less about making sure they were tight, and more about letting me know he was in charge. “Well, I’ve got good news for you. How your day ends will be completely up to you.”
In attempt to defy his leather strap tightening power trip I tried to use a little of my power to heal the chaffed and bleeding skin around my wrists, but no power came. I let my head fall back against the table, resigned. “I thought you might say something like that.”
“You were in very bad shape when I found you." He peeled up some of the adhesive holding the large bandage onto my stomach and peered underneath it. "Curiously, your body maintains a limited ability to heal itself while you are unconscious. Without it, I might not have been able to get your stomach pieced back together”.
Feeling satisfied with his work, he replaced the bandage and walked across the room to retrieve a large stack of parchment paper from his workstation. Walking back towards me, he shook the papers as he spoke. “You’ve spent the better part of the last half century undoing my work.”
My stomach sank. Here I thought I'd been working so discretely, yet pasty doctor guy possesses what seems to be an entire dossier on me. “Sounds like time to retire.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I still have a great deal many more years left in me. Actually, I feel as though my best work is to come.” He sat on the edge of the table, a little too close.
I stared at the ceiling, trying not to show my discomfort. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“I need your help, Ark." It sounded like a request, but I knew it really wasn't.
My eyes still focused straight ahead, I tried to feel again for my power. “The last time I chose to help someone I got shot by an arrow which came alive and tried to eat me, repeatedly stabbed in the stomach by my dead apprentice and then woke up here in the presence of your sunshiny disposition. Forgive me if I decline.” I turned my head to find him staring at me. The man was pale. Very pale. “You don’t get out much do you?”
He broke our eye contact and repositioned his glasses on his nose. “My work keeps me busy."
“What exactly would you say your work is?” I knew the answer to the question, but I wanted to hear it from him.
With a hint of pride he explained, “I find ways to finally put an end to this war.” At this, he stood up a bit more straight.
“Oh, I see. You've dedicated your life to finding new and exciting ways to commit mass murder? The world might benefit from you ghouling around less in this basement, and more from you getting some sunshine, pasty." My attempt to get under his skin clearly didn't take.
His eyes met mine. “And maybe you should stop moving your mouth long enough to hear my offer. If you find yourself unable, I can stop it for you.” Ok, maybe it did.
“I’d say that the chances of me helping you are somewhere around," I paused and feigned deep thought, as though I were actually performing the calculation in my head, then with a measure of finality said, "zero." I followed this up with my most melodramatic, "kill me if you must."
“There are things worse than death, Ark,” he stated with a flat tone as he placed his hand on my forehead. At this, my eyes snapped shut and my memories came. Horrible memories.
I've heard that dialogue tags are frowned upon, so I've attempted to not use them. However, I'm still not confident that I am writing it properly.
Please feel free to give me feedback on my dialogue, writing, pace or anything else from this scene. Thanks as always to the Mythic Scribes : )
This is part of my second chapter:
Alright, never mind. It’s just a dream. There’s no way he read my mind. Or knew my name. He stood from his work station and moved towards me. “And no, you are not dreaming. How are you feeling?”
I wiggled my arms and legs to find that I was strapped to the table by my wrists and ankles. How very terrific. “I’m feeling like I’m having a very bad day,” I lifted my head and looked down at the straps cutting into my wrists to illustrate my point, “and that it’s about to get worse.”
He grabbed the end of the leather strap on my left arm, then my right, and pulled them even tighter. The act was clearly less about making sure they were tight, and more about letting me know he was in charge. “Well, I’ve got good news for you. How your day ends will be completely up to you.”
In attempt to defy his leather strap tightening power trip I tried to use a little of my power to heal the chaffed and bleeding skin around my wrists, but no power came. I let my head fall back against the table, resigned. “I thought you might say something like that.”
“You were in very bad shape when I found you." He peeled up some of the adhesive holding the large bandage onto my stomach and peered underneath it. "Curiously, your body maintains a limited ability to heal itself while you are unconscious. Without it, I might not have been able to get your stomach pieced back together”.
Feeling satisfied with his work, he replaced the bandage and walked across the room to retrieve a large stack of parchment paper from his workstation. Walking back towards me, he shook the papers as he spoke. “You’ve spent the better part of the last half century undoing my work.”
My stomach sank. Here I thought I'd been working so discretely, yet pasty doctor guy possesses what seems to be an entire dossier on me. “Sounds like time to retire.”
“Oh, don’t you worry. I still have a great deal many more years left in me. Actually, I feel as though my best work is to come.” He sat on the edge of the table, a little too close.
I stared at the ceiling, trying not to show my discomfort. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“I need your help, Ark." It sounded like a request, but I knew it really wasn't.
My eyes still focused straight ahead, I tried to feel again for my power. “The last time I chose to help someone I got shot by an arrow which came alive and tried to eat me, repeatedly stabbed in the stomach by my dead apprentice and then woke up here in the presence of your sunshiny disposition. Forgive me if I decline.” I turned my head to find him staring at me. The man was pale. Very pale. “You don’t get out much do you?”
He broke our eye contact and repositioned his glasses on his nose. “My work keeps me busy."
“What exactly would you say your work is?” I knew the answer to the question, but I wanted to hear it from him.
With a hint of pride he explained, “I find ways to finally put an end to this war.” At this, he stood up a bit more straight.
“Oh, I see. You've dedicated your life to finding new and exciting ways to commit mass murder? The world might benefit from you ghouling around less in this basement, and more from you getting some sunshine, pasty." My attempt to get under his skin clearly didn't take.
His eyes met mine. “And maybe you should stop moving your mouth long enough to hear my offer. If you find yourself unable, I can stop it for you.” Ok, maybe it did.
“I’d say that the chances of me helping you are somewhere around," I paused and feigned deep thought, as though I were actually performing the calculation in my head, then with a measure of finality said, "zero." I followed this up with my most melodramatic, "kill me if you must."
“There are things worse than death, Ark,” he stated with a flat tone as he placed his hand on my forehead. At this, my eyes snapped shut and my memories came. Horrible memories.
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