Writing a tense conversation

[LuminaryGhost]

I want one of my scenes, a tet-a-tet between two characters, in which there is a huge power imbalance (one of them is a literal god), to feel as tense as possible.

There should be a constant threat, a feeling that at any moment the conversation could turn sideways and the God could obliterate the person he is talking to if he does not like what he is hearing.

Think the coin flip scene from No Country for Old Men, or the conversation between Hans Landa and the farmer in Inglorious Basterds.

Any tips/literary examples I can study?

Many thanks

 

[Finchbearer]

I would say Daphne du Maurier is the Queen of tension.

 

[LuminaryGhost]

I would say Daphne du Maurier is the Queen of tension.

Sounds great! Any particular work?

 

[Finchbearer]

She’s done a lot of short stories so lots of accessible reading. ‘The Birds’ comes to mind, the book that the Alfred Hitchcock film was based, full of tension. ‘Rebecca’ is another one but full length, and another short story called ‘The Breakthrough’ where a scientist conducts experiments to bring back the souls of the dead in a remote facility.

 

[pmmg]

Why not the two you mention?

I am reminded of this from Katamari Damacy.

What does the character need to say to the God? and might that in itself be something the god does not want to hear?

Tension would seem one way in this. The God expects and you deliver...or its quickly something bad. I would carry that in the Gods demeanor, cause he owes nothing to something not approaching himself. Cutting off speech a lot, and insisting on proper adherence to protocol.

"Great God, and Father of the universe, I come before you..."

"Dare you come before me not on your knees?"

"Forgiveness, Great Father..I must speak..."

"Dare you think you have anything to say that is of importance to the Father of the Universe?" Lightning cracks.

"Forgiveness again..."

"And now you waste my time repeating words you have already spoken. --Go and get me a 'GREAT'--'BIG'--Katamari!"

 

[skip.knox]

Much will depend on the POV here, but more generally, I would try to make the stakes clear. If the MC displeases the god, then squish. OK, that's an easy one. There has to be more than all-or-nothing.

What is at stake for the MC going into this encounter? What do they want? What do they hope will happen, what do they fear will happen? And what do they envision happening afterward in each case? Much will depend, too, on the circumstances. Is this a long-planned encounter, or a chance meeting?

Anyway, the same questions apply to the god. Is there anything at all at stake for them, or can they act without thought as to consequences? If the latter, tension will be hard to make, because you're dealing with an ant and a boot heel. What the god does is irrelevant, except for the ant. The ant can pretend and imagine they have persuaded the god not to step on them, but in reality it's just whim. But if there really is something at stake, then the same questions apply as above.

Maybe the reader knows all this, or only some of it, but the author needs to know and have thought it through.

Because now comes the work on tension. Every exchange, even down to every sentence, needs to carry some of the burden. A thing is said, there's a reaction, and that means thus and so, because of the consequences we've laid out (even if only in our authorial mind). If we are solidly inside the MC's mind, for example, then every statement is a card played, and every move changes the game. The MC has to see it and react, adjusting their thoughts, being more hopeful or sweating worse. It's a battle of words, of implications, of posture.

The key throughout is for the author to stay close to the action, in the moment. Once the dynamics all seem like they're in place, then in revision there can be tweaking of sentence length, word choice, and so on.

 

[Mad Swede]

This all depends on how you build up to the conversation. The conversation itself isn't enough, there has to be an underlying reason it is so tense and this reason (or reasons) is something you have to build up to. So don't just think about the conversation itself.

 

[A. E. Lowan]

You're going to want to pay particular attention to two aspects during your scene: pacing and internal narrative. Whoever has the biggest stakes in the scene is your PoV character. Pacing needs to be tight, a fencing match between your characters. Short, punchy language broken up by lengthier explanations for variation's sake and to give the reader a second - and only a second - to breathe. These are great tools, but what's going to make your scene is the internal narrative of your PoV character. What are they thinking about during this match? A fight? Are they afraid of violence? Annihilation? What can this god do? Does the PoV character know that? What internal conflicts is the PoV character struggling with, if any?

For an example, this is from our first book, Faerie Rising: The First Book of Binding. Very tense.

~~

“Now, isn’t this better? We can have a conversation in peace. We never got a chance to talk before, you and I.”

“Is… is that all you want? To talk?”

Midir unfastened the last button on his suit jacket and fixed those cold, hard eyes on Cian’s face. “Did I say that?”

Cian trembled harder.

Midir draped the rumpled jacket over the back of a chair near the expansive window and wasted a small grimace on its condition. He then turned back and looked Cian over, his expression a mixture of interest and speculation. “You’ve grown quite a bit. You’re dressed like a vagrant, however. That simply won’t do.” He indicated one of the other chairs in the seating arrangement. “Come, sit with me.”

Cian hesitated, but when Midir frowned at him he stepped forward, the memory of pain etched in his mind. He walked stiff-legged with terror past the sprawling bed—the bed he could not look at—his arms wrapped tightly around his body, and at last sat perched at the very edge of the seat Midir chose for him.

The older man smiled. “That’s a good boy.” He reached out with one hand and ran his long fingers through Cian’s hair.

Cian did not think his heart could hammer any harder and fought against his panic to not throw up.

“You have grown so beautiful, Cian. They called you The Glorious Dawn even as a child, but I don’t think they had any idea how much you would outshine your famous mother.” He stroked down the side of Cian’s face. “All of my brothers courted her, you know, even the married ones.” His mouth twisted into a smirk. “She led them on a merry chase, playing them off each other, accepting gifts and songs and giving tokens. It went on for centuries.”

Midir was so close Cian could see himself reflected in his eyes. He could see his own fear. He dug his fingers into his arms and tried to calm his breathing. He needed to keep Midir talking. Maybe if he was talking he would be too distracted to hurt him again. Maybe it would even buy Etienne time to rescue him. “Why did she choose my father?” His voice was weak and tremulous.

Midir looked as if he was remembering. “At first I thought it was spite or caprice. Éibhleann of the Waters was never actually stupid, but she could be foolish. I’m not sure you have enough experience to understand that distinction. Anluan wanted her more than any of the other Sons of Dagda and made many public declarations that he would forever love her above any others—which I heard angered and humiliated Niamh, his Queen.” A smirk of pleasure crossed his face for a moment at that. “Your father, Eoin, was the youngest and least powerful of my brothers, and lived under Anluan’s patronage as one of his knights. He had a reputation for gallantry and bravery but had so little power and magical ability it was rumored that he was evidence of Dagda’s waning hold on the High Kingship of Faerie.

“And yet Éibhleann chose the least of Dagda’s sons to be her love.” Midir stayed quiet for a moment, lost in thought, his gaze turned toward the window overlooking the city. Finally, he spoke again. “It wasn’t until your father died in battle and she chose to fade to mist and memory rather than live without him, that I knew she really did love him.” He turned back to Cian. “Foolish and excessively dramatic, but still love.”

Cian swallowed. He had to keep Midir talking. “You must all have been disappointed when she chose him.”

Midir’s smile turned bitter. “My brothers were certainly disappointed, but more significantly—with regard to Eoin’s fate—they were angry. I would not be at all surprised to discover that one or more of them were behind his death.”

Cian drew in a small gasp. “But, they were his brothers!”

Midir gave a graceful shrug. “Sidhe politics are a bloody affair, my boy. Anluan may have raised you by hand, swaddled in silk and poetry, but outside his shelter—or more accurately his blinders—we fight and gouge for every scrap we can get. We are simply very elegant as we go about it.”

“But why would they want to kill him? She fell in love with him.”

“Spite, maybe. Or the right opportunity emerged. Murder the husband and then comfort the widow is a classic, you know. But, no, that wasn’t all there was to it. Your parents were together for decades before Eoin was slain. I would wager he was murdered because of you.”

A wash of dread went through Cian that had nothing to do with his confinement. “Me?”

Midir’s smile twisted with the same sadism that Cian remembered from his rape so many years before. It made his blood chill. “Children are precious to us. We live such long lives and produce very few offspring. Some of us never have children of our own.” Pain flashed across his face. “And some of us lose them. So, when Éibhleann bore you, she suddenly became even more desirable than she was before, and there was talk that her fertility was wasted on Eoin. He died soon after.”

Cian’s breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. It was his fault? His parents had died because of him? But he looked back to Midir and again saw that smile. This time anger kindled in his belly, burning back the guilt and some of the fear. His hands dropped to his sides and balled into fists. “What did you have to do with it?”

The smile turned bitter again. “I had nothing to do with it. I did not court Éibhleann.”

“Why not?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. But, as frightened as he was, this was a side of the story he had never heard before.

Midir stepped away, looking like he was trying to decide something as he gazed out the window. When he turned back he looked serious. Sad. “I could not love her.”

Cian tilted his head. “I don’t understand. How did you know that?”

Midir sat in the chair across from Cian’s. “That will take some explaining. I want you to understand some things.”

That surprised Cian. “Why?”

“Because I made mistakes with Senán that I do not want to make with you.”

The quivering in Cian’s belly travelled up into his chest. What did that mean? Eyes wide, he could only nod.

 

[Karlin]

There's a curious story in the Bible, in which Abraham argues with God about destroying Sodom and Gemorrah. Abe even suggests that God is being unjust. Genesis 18. There is tension there, in a very terse way.

 

[LuminaryGhost]

There's a curious story in the Bible, in which Abraham argues with God about destroying Sodom and Gemorrah. Abe even suggests that God is being unjust. Genesis 18. There is tension there, in a very terse way.

Interesting suggestion... I'll give it a look

 

[LuminaryGhost]

You're going to want to pay particular attention to two aspects during your scene: pacing and internal narrative. Whoever has the biggest stakes in the scene is your PoV character. Pacing needs to be tight, a fencing match between your characters. Short, punchy language broken up by lengthier explanations for variation's sake and to give the reader a second - and only a second - to breathe. These are great tools, but what's going to make your scene is the internal narrative of your PoV character. What are they thinking about during this match? A fight? Are they afraid of violence? Annihilation? What can this god do? Does the PoV character know that? What internal conflicts is the PoV character struggling with, if any?

For an example, this is from our first book, Faerie Rising: The First Book of Binding. Very tense.

~~

“Now, isn’t this better? We can have a conversation in peace. We never got a chance to talk before, you and I.”

“Is… is that all you want? To talk?”

Midir unfastened the last button on his suit jacket and fixed those cold, hard eyes on Cian’s face. “Did I say that?”

Cian trembled harder.

Midir draped the rumpled jacket over the back of a chair near the expansive window and wasted a small grimace on its condition. He then turned back and looked Cian over, his expression a mixture of interest and speculation. “You’ve grown quite a bit. You’re dressed like a vagrant, however. That simply won’t do.” He indicated one of the other chairs in the seating arrangement. “Come, sit with me.”

Cian hesitated, but when Midir frowned at him he stepped forward, the memory of pain etched in his mind. He walked stiff-legged with terror past the sprawling bed—the bed he could not look at—his arms wrapped tightly around his body, and at last sat perched at the very edge of the seat Midir chose for him.

The older man smiled. “That’s a good boy.” He reached out with one hand and ran his long fingers through Cian’s hair.

Cian did not think his heart could hammer any harder and fought against his panic to not throw up.

“You have grown so beautiful, Cian. They called you The Glorious Dawn even as a child, but I don’t think they had any idea how much you would outshine your famous mother.” He stroked down the side of Cian’s face. “All of my brothers courted her, you know, even the married ones.” His mouth twisted into a smirk. “She led them on a merry chase, playing them off each other, accepting gifts and songs and giving tokens. It went on for centuries.”

Midir was so close Cian could see himself reflected in his eyes. He could see his own fear. He dug his fingers into his arms and tried to calm his breathing. He needed to keep Midir talking. Maybe if he was talking he would be too distracted to hurt him again. Maybe it would even buy Etienne time to rescue him. “Why did she choose my father?” His voice was weak and tremulous.

Midir looked as if he was remembering. “At first I thought it was spite or caprice. Éibhleann of the Waters was never actually stupid, but she could be foolish. I’m not sure you have enough experience to understand that distinction. Anluan wanted her more than any of the other Sons of Dagda and made many public declarations that he would forever love her above any others—which I heard angered and humiliated Niamh, his Queen.” A smirk of pleasure crossed his face for a moment at that. “Your father, Eoin, was the youngest and least powerful of my brothers, and lived under Anluan’s patronage as one of his knights. He had a reputation for gallantry and bravery but had so little power and magical ability it was rumored that he was evidence of Dagda’s waning hold on the High Kingship of Faerie.

“And yet Éibhleann chose the least of Dagda’s sons to be her love.” Midir stayed quiet for a moment, lost in thought, his gaze turned toward the window overlooking the city. Finally, he spoke again. “It wasn’t until your father died in battle and she chose to fade to mist and memory rather than live without him, that I knew she really did love him.” He turned back to Cian. “Foolish and excessively dramatic, but still love.”

Cian swallowed. He had to keep Midir talking. “You must all have been disappointed when she chose him.”

Midir’s smile turned bitter. “My brothers were certainly disappointed, but more significantly—with regard to Eoin’s fate—they were angry. I would not be at all surprised to discover that one or more of them were behind his death.”

Cian drew in a small gasp. “But, they were his brothers!”

Midir gave a graceful shrug. “Sidhe politics are a bloody affair, my boy. Anluan may have raised you by hand, swaddled in silk and poetry, but outside his shelter—or more accurately his blinders—we fight and gouge for every scrap we can get. We are simply very elegant as we go about it.”

“But why would they want to kill him? She fell in love with him.”

“Spite, maybe. Or the right opportunity emerged. Murder the husband and then comfort the widow is a classic, you know. But, no, that wasn’t all there was to it. Your parents were together for decades before Eoin was slain. I would wager he was murdered because of you.”

A wash of dread went through Cian that had nothing to do with his confinement. “Me?”

Midir’s smile twisted with the same sadism that Cian remembered from his rape so many years before. It made his blood chill. “Children are precious to us. We live such long lives and produce very few offspring. Some of us never have children of our own.” Pain flashed across his face. “And some of us lose them. So, when Éibhleann bore you, she suddenly became even more desirable than she was before, and there was talk that her fertility was wasted on Eoin. He died soon after.”

Cian’s breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. It was his fault? His parents had died because of him? But he looked back to Midir and again saw that smile. This time anger kindled in his belly, burning back the guilt and some of the fear. His hands dropped to his sides and balled into fists. “What did you have to do with it?”

The smile turned bitter again. “I had nothing to do with it. I did not court Éibhleann.”

“Why not?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. But, as frightened as he was, this was a side of the story he had never heard before.

Midir stepped away, looking like he was trying to decide something as he gazed out the window. When he turned back he looked serious. Sad. “I could not love her.”

Cian tilted his head. “I don’t understand. How did you know that?”

Midir sat in the chair across from Cian’s. “That will take some explaining. I want you to understand some things.”

That surprised Cian. “Why?”

“Because I made mistakes with Senán that I do not want to make with you.”

The quivering in Cian’s belly travelled up into his chest. What did that mean? Eyes wide, he could only nod.

Thanks for the example!

 

[LuminaryGhost]

This all depends on how you build up to the conversation. The conversation itself isn't enough, there has to be an underlying reason it is so tense and this reason (or reasons) is something you have to build up to. So don't just think about the conversation itself.

So are you referring to preestablishing the stakes and character motivations and the like?

 

[Mad Swede]

So are you referring to preestablishing the stakes and character motivations and the like?

Yes, although it's more complex than that. skip.knox mentioned that something needs to be at stake, but that stake may only be what motivates the tension and helps steer the outcome of the conversation. What is at stake may be about something in the characters back stories, in which case you'll need to have dropped some of this in a bit earlier in the story to set things up. Those back stories will also drive character reasoning and motivation, so in the internal narrative that A. E. Lowan mentions you'll need to bring out some of this reasoning. Note that it is the reason for the conversation and the outcome of the conversation which should be directly plot related, the tension can simply be a means to an end in your writing of the scene itself.

 

[Qaraq1001]

One specific way to create tension is to have one of the characters very resistant to replying, if at all. That creates great tension for the character who is trying to get them to speak.

 

[Prince of Spires]

To give you two more things to consider:

The first is that an uncertain outcome increases tension for the characters. A character believing they'll die (or that X will happen no matter what) will act differently and project tension differently than if the outcome is uncertain. I've once read about torture (I'm a writer, I research stuff...) that if the person being tortured believes they are wounded to the point of dying, then they'll pretty much stop talking, while if they believe that they can actually survive the ordeal and still end their suffering they're much more likely to break.

The other is a fate worse than death. If I remember correctly, then the reason the scene between Hans Landa and the farmer in Inglorious Basterds has so much tension is not that the farmer fears for his live (though he does). It's that Hans Landa has found something that the farmer fears for more than for his own life. The farmer's daughter is threatened, and he wants to protect his daughter more than anything in the world. Find what your character fears more than his own death, and push on that.