Writers in the Storm

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Bringing Your Stories to Life with Nonverbals

By Tiffany Yates Martin

Imagine, for each of the below statements, receiving each of the above reactions:

  • “Could you take the trash out?”
  • “I got you a puppy!”
  • “I have something to tell you.”
  • “I love you.”

Actions, so the cliché goes, speak louder than words. Most experts agree that nonverbals make up the bulk of communication, and yet so often authors write scenes that rely mostly on dialogue to convey the dynamics between characters.

Words are a writer’s stock in trade, and what people say matters--but how they react arguably matters even more, as the above exercise indicates. Nonverbals can radically change the effect, meaning, or impact of dialogue.

They’re also key to revealing character--both POV characters as well as every other character in the story. Beyond the words they say and think, readers come to know characters through how they act, react, and interact.

Nonverbals are a powerful tool in your writer’s toolbox for bringing characters and scenes vividly to life on the page. But what are they, exactly, and how can you use them effectively?

What Are Nonverbals and What Do They Do?

Notice in the above photos how much is conveyed--far more than simply each person’s expression. In the top left, for instance, the forward lean might suggest interest or threat or slumping disrespect; the character’s shirtlessness could suggest casualness or provocation (either good or bad); the hand concealing one eye might indicate deception, shyness, skepticism. Every nonverbal this man is evincing could suggest any number of reactions, moods, traits--and even his tattoos convey something about his personality traits or preferences. That’s a lot of information from a single frozen pose, as in each of the other photos as well.

Nonverbals are basically just what they sound like--everything characters do and every behavior they elicit that isn’t the main action or dialogue: body language and posture, demeanor and affect, expressions, eye contact, gestures, level of attentiveness, etc.

They also include contextual details like how they dress, how they’re groomed, their comportment, choices and preferences, what they notice and don’t notice, and countless other under-the-radar elements of what makes up a three-dimensional human being.

Even nuances of dialogue like volume, tone, vocalized reactions, and silence are considered nonverbals.

Let’s look at an example to see what nonverbals can add to a scene--this is an excerpt from Kiley Reid’s wonderful book Such a Fun Age:

Seconds later, Zara’s phone exploded with sound. She flinched, said, “Whoops,” and turned the volume down. Synth filled the aisle, and as Whitney Houston began to sing, Zara began to twist her hips. Briar started to hop, holding her soft white elbows in her hands, and Emira leaned back on a freezer door, boxes of frozen breakfast sausages and waffles shining in waxy cardboard behind her.

Emira joined them as Zara sang the chorus, that she wanted to feel the heat with somebody. She spun Briar around and crisscrossed her chest as another body began to come down the aisle. Emira felt relieved to see a middle-aged woman with short gray hair in sporty leggings and a T-shirt reading St. Paul’s Pumpkinfest 5K. She looked like she had definitely danced with a child or two at some point in her life, so Emira kept going. The woman put a pint of ice cream into her basket and grinned at the dancing trio. Briar screamed, “You dance like Mama!”

There are five words of dialogue in these two paragraphs; much of the impression readers have of this scene lies in the nonverbals:

  • Zara’s flinch indicates she’s self-conscious about the loud ringtone in the tony grocery store the group is in.
  • The women’s respective reactions reveal character/mood/affect: Zara immediately launches into dancing; Briar’s cute body language and hops suggest she’s a child (and an unself-conscious one) even without our knowing already, and Emira’s hanging back at first tells us something about her too.
  • But Emira quickly joins right in with abandon--showing us another facet of her personality--till her relief at seeing the woman who comes into the aisle indicates that part of her is worried about propriety or is self-conscious or embarrassed, etc.
  • The woman’s appearance, casual attire, and affect (“like she had danced with a child or two at some point in her life”) suggest to Emira that she isn’t offended or annoyed by their antics, along with her carrying on with her shopping and grinning at their group, and thus Emira is comfortable continuing.
  • Briar’s scream indicates joy or perhaps that she’s a very unfettered, outgoing child.

That’s a lot of character info in two short grafs, none of which would have been conveyed by just a description of the action and dialogue:

Zara’s phone rang loudly. “Whoops.” She turned the volume down and started dancing with Briar, and after a moment Emira joined in. A woman coming into the aisle for ice cream smiled at them as Briar said, “You dance like Mama!”

Nonverbals help you paint your protagonists and their interactions with texture and depth. What is conveyed, for example, if your protagonist pulls the lapels of her jacket closed when her male boss walks in? If she sits up tall behind her desk, or leans back? If she grips the edges of her seat below his sightline? If she knocks over her coffee mug in a flurry of frenetic hand gestures? Each of these nonverbal cues tells readers something very different--and very distinct--about what’s going on inside her, and that’s what plunges us directly into your characters and scenes.

But they’re also invaluable for adding context and depth to other characters and their interactions with your protagonist. What do your POV characters observe in the people around them that informs the dynamics of the scene? How do other characters act and react, what is their affect or demeanor or mood?

Let’s say in our hypothetical scene above the boss knocks on her doorjamb with a single knuckle, grins, and leans one shoulder in the open doorway. Or he lets himself in the closed door without preamble, walking behind her desk and sitting on the edge so close his knees brush hers. Or fidgets in the chair across from her, or manspreads in it and leans forward leering, or stands looming over her, arms crossed.

In each instance, readers not only have a clear picture of the scene, but we’re forming impressions of the characters and what’s happening between them--just as your protagonist is. Which is an excellent way of plunging us directly into the scene and bringing it to life: We “see” it too, so we feel we’re part of it. It’s vivid, immediate, and real.

How to Use Nonverbals to Strengthen Your Story

The best way to learn how to effectively use nonverbals in your own scenes--as with so many other aspects of craft--is to learn to pay attention to them in others.

  • Try this exercise: Turn on a scene in a movie or TV show, but close your eyes and only listen. What do you know or infer about what’s going on from just the dialogue? Now back up that same scene and watch it--but this time with the sound off. How do the nonverbals change your impressions and the dynamics?
  • At night my husband watches TV in bed with headphones on (so I can read, of course), and I like to look up and see how much I can pick up on what a scene is about by watching something I’ve never seen before with no sound. Try this and you may be astonished how clearly the true dynamics of a scene come through without your hearing a single word of dialogue.
  • You can also do this with whatever you’re reading. Pick out especially vivid passages and dissect the prose as we did with Such a Fun Age Above to see what you glean about the characters and their dynamics from nonverbals, how much of the nuance of a scene is conveyed beneath the surface of simply what’s being said.
  • Become a student of human nature--others’ and your own. Tune into your own behavior, reactions, expressions in moments of emotion, for instance. (This is also a great cognitive behavioral psychology/Buddhist method of gaining some objectivity in these moments, as an added bonus.) When I’m nervous I talk much faster, for instance; I gesture a lot; I smile and laugh so much my face aches.
  • In conversations with others, notice how much of what you’re reacting to lies beyond the other person’s words: their facial expressions from which you infer their reactions, how they sit or stand, how close they are to you, nonverbal vocalizations of agreement or encouragement or skepticism or scorn.
  • And of course, we’re writers, so sit in a coffeeshop or bookstore (thank you, vaccines!) and watch other people interact. How much of their conversations can you glean simply from watching their body language, gestures, expressions?

Final Thoughts

Writers are sociologists of the human condition, avocational animal behaviorists whose subject is the endlessly faceted, fascinating Homo sapiens. Bring all that depth and color to your characters, scenes, and stories by digging into the rich vein of communication that lies under the surface of simply what is said.

Do you take care to add nonverbals to your stories as you write, or do you add them in later? How do you decide which ones to add and which ones to leave out? Share your process with us down in the comments!

* * * * * *

About Tiffany

Tiffany Yates Martin has spent nearly thirty years as an editor in the publishing industry, working with major publishers and New York TimesWashington PostWall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling and award-winning authors as well as indie and newer writers, and is the founder of FoxPrint Editorial and author of the bestsellerIntuitiveEditing: A Creative and Practical Guide to Revising Your Writing. Check out her free “Self-editing Checklist” on the Resources page of her website, www.foxprinteditorial.com. Under the pen name Phoebe Fox, she's also the author of six novels, including the upcoming The Way We Weren't (Berkley).

Top Image from Jumpstory


To dig deeper into bringing characters to life, join me and Jane Friedman Wed., June 2 for our webinar Craft Believable and Compelling Characters, 1-2:15 EST. $25. (Recording available for attendees afterward.)

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5 Quick Dialogue Tips: Round 1

By Julie Glover

I enjoy presenting workshops, and the latest one I did was on “Writing Dialogue That’s Real But Even Better.” Toward the end, I give ten tips for writing dialogue, and I figured I’d share five of them with y’all today and five next time!

(All examples come from YA paranormal short stories I'm releasing later this year!)

1. Minimize dialogue tags.

Sometimes you need a “he said” or “she asked,” but oftentimes you don’t need a dialogue tag at all. You can show who’s speaking by having the character do or feel something before or after the part in quotes.

Before

“There she is!” my father announced, and my family exploded with excitement.

“Faye!” they all greeted me, and my two nieces, seven and four years old, dropped their Candy Land game and surged toward me. They hugged my torso with exclamations of “Auntie Faye!”

I was glad to see everyone, but suspicious too. Why were they here?

“Hey, girls!” I scooped each niece into a cozy embrace, and their soft curls tickled my nose.

“For our guest of honor,” my mother said, handing me a crystal chalice.

After

My father stood front and center. “There she is!”

“Faye!” My name reached the rafters in a chorus of excitement.

My two nieces dropped their Candy Land game, surged toward me, and hugged my waist. “Auntie Faye! Auntie Faye!”

I was glad to see everyone, but suspicious too. Why was my entire family here?

“Hey, girls!” I scooped each niece into a cozy embrace, and their soft curls tickled my nose.

My mother handed me a crystal chalice. “For our guest of honor.”

Above example is from My Team's Fairy Godmother.

Avoiding tags when possible is a better use of your word count, helps with flow, and deepens POV.

2. Use body language, tone, and internal thought for subtext.

The spots outside and around quotation marks are prime real estate for deepening character and plot. After all, what do we do when we're in conversation with others? We mentally process our thoughts and their words. We have visceral reactions to the content, tone, and body language of others. We give background for why we're perceiving things as we do.

Before

“It’s got to be better than before, when it was impossible to live up to the Nickie Gold Standard," Karyn says.

“Nickie sucks out every bit of energy my parents have," I answer. "They barely know I’m alive.”

“So no perks? Nothing?” Karyn fishes for a way to spark my optimism or at least my snark.

“Well,” I say, “Nickie did tell me I can take just about anything from her old wardrobe.”

After

“It’s got to be better than before, when it was impossible to live up to the Nickie Gold Standard.” Karyn air-quotes those last words, like they’re a brand.

Actually, the way things were before sounds pretty good. “Nickie sucks out every bit of energy my parents have. They barely know I’m alive.”

“So no perks? Nothing?” Karyn fishes for a way to spark my optimism or at least my snark. I feel for her. This wilting version of me isn’t exactly a TARDIS-full of fun.

“Well,” I say, looking for any silver lining, no matter how tarnished. “Nickie did tell me I can take just about anything from her old wardrobe.”

Above example is from My Sister's Demon.

Create tension and help the reader learn more about your characters with subtext—the unspoken part of the conversation.

3. Make sure the reader knows who’s talking!

When I’m copyediting, one of the most common comments I add in the margin is “Who’s talking here?” Without proper cues, it’s easy to lose track of who the speaker is. That’s even more likely to become an issue when dialogue goes back and forth for a while between or among speakers.

Before

DeDe strolled into sight, sporting a tangerine bikini on her tanned body. “Yeah, good thing you were there,” she drolled. “Can we get back in the pool now?” Her mother pursed her lips and cocked her head. A show of disapproval.
“I’m glad you’re okay. Justin was really worried when he first brought you in.”


As if she’d filled her obligation, she turned back to her mom, raised her eyebrows in question, and received a curt nod of dismissal. And permission apparently, because she sashayed out of the room and I heard the sliding door to the backyard open and close.

Don’t mind DeDe. She’s trying to make new friends. New kid on the block, you know?”

After

DeDe strolled into sight, sporting a tangerine bikini on her tanned body. “Yeah, good thing you were there,” she drawled. “Can we get back in the pool now?”

Her mother pursed her lips and cocked her head. A show of disapproval.

DeDe forced a smile onto her face and turned to me. “I’m glad you’re okay. Justin was really worried when he first brought you in.”

As if she’d filled her obligation, she turned back to her mom, raised her eyebrows in question, and received a curt nod of dismissal. And permission apparently, because she sashayed out of the room and I heard the sliding door to the backyard open and close.

“Don’t mind my sister.” Justin gestured toward her exit with his head. “She’s trying to make new friends. New kid on the block, you know?”

Above example is from My Neighbor's Shapeshifter.

Make sure the speaker’s identity is clear by ensuring the character’s names or pronouns are periodically mentioned, by giving characters distinct voices, and by creating a new paragraph each time the speaking stick is passed, so to speak.

4. Use names in dialogue sparingly.

Other than getting one another’s attention or emphasizing a point, people rarely say one another’s names in conversation. (Not that many shows realize this. Looking at you, Supernatural.)

Before

“It’s one in the morning.” She scans my black tee and skull jammie pants with obvious disapproval. “Glynnis—”

“It's Glyn, Joanne” I remind her for the fiftieth time.

“I know you don’t have school in the morning, but it’s too late to be up and rummaging through the pantry. If I hear someone down here in the middle of the night, Glynnis, I’m likely to mistake you for a robber.”

The irony hits me with a thud. My stepmom has no clue there are live-in burglars in her house. Ghost burglars.

Speaking of which, Glynnis…” She enters the kitchen, swishing past me in her thick robe—under which she’s probably wearing nothing, dear God help me—and gets a glass from the cupboard.

Old Elsie moves away from the stove, giving Joanne plenty of space.

“I’m missing a pair of earrings.” Joanne fills her glass with water from the sink, leans against the kitchen cabinet, and lifts an eyebrow.

After

“It’s one in the morning.” She scans my black tee and skull jammie pants with obvious disapproval. “Glynnis—”

“Glyn,” I remind her for the fiftieth time.

“I know you don’t have school in the morning, but it’s too late to be up and rummaging through the pantry. If I hear someone down here in the middle of the night, I’m likely to mistake you for a robber.”

The irony hits me with a thud. My stepmom has no clue there are live-in burglars in her house. Ghost burglars.

Speaking of which…” She enters the kitchen, swishing past me in her thick robe—under which she’s probably wearing nothing, dear God help me—and gets a glass from the cupboard.

Old Elsie moves away from the stove, giving Joanne plenty of space.

“I’m missing a pair of earrings.” Joanne fills her glass with water from the sink, leans against the kitchen cabinet, and lifts an eyebrow.

Above example is from My Stepmom's Ghosts.

In the After example, the stepmom uses a name just once, so that the reader can note the stepdaughter's correction and the stepmom ignoring her preferred nickname—thus telling you something about each of them. Your dialogue will reflect reality and flow better if characters speak another’s name only when they have good reason to do so.

5. Be careful with exposition in dialogue.

While watching a crime show on TV, I tend to chuckle when a police car pulls up to a building, one officer says something like “This apartment showed up as one of the suspect’s former addresses. Let’s see what clues we can find here,” and the other officer appears to have had no idea whatsoever where they were going and why.

Of course, they would have discussed all that long before they arrived, but the viewer needs to know so the screenwriters just dropped exposition into dialogue. Yes, sometimes you have to give some information to the reader through dialogue, but if so, do just a little, make it as smooth as possible, and use realistic timing.

Before

He was average in height, but the way he held his body made him more striking in stature. His copper-brown hair and mocha eyes would have been unremarkable, except they contrasted so sharply with his stark, pale skin.

“What on earth is he doing here?” Kirsten spit out the question as if she had cobwebs in her mouth.

“Checking out colleges like us?” Us and hundreds of other students from our campus and nearby high schools. He must attend a local high school to be here, though I hadn’t heard any rumor buzz. I couldn’t wrench my eyes from him, this miracle man, while he shook hands with other guys in his circle and raised the sides of his mouth in a full, but tightly-shut grin. Hiding what lay past those peach lips. “I wonder if he’d let me interview him.”

“Interview him?” She slapped the slick college catalog closed. “Are you crazy? There is no way I’m going anywhere near that guy. I can’t believe we’re even allowing them out in the open…as if they’re harmless.”

Her opinion was widely shared, but rarely spoken in public anymore. Was she that narrow-minded?

I shook my head. “Our government brokered an agreement with vampires. They’re euthanasiasts now, helping terminally ill patients pass easily while still getting the blood they need. We should see them as mercy killers.

She glanced back at him. “The important word is ‘killers.’ No, thanks.”

After

He was average in height, but the way he held his body made him more striking in stature. His copper-brown hair and mocha eyes would have been unremarkable, except they contrasted so sharply with his stark, pale skin.

“What on earth is he doing here?” Kirsten spit out the question as if she had cobwebs in her mouth.

“Checking out colleges like us?” Us and hundreds of other students from our campus and nearby high schools. He must attend a local high school to be here, though I hadn’t heard any rumor buzz. I couldn’t wrench my eyes from him, this miracle man, while he shook hands with other guys in his circle and raised the sides of his mouth in a full, but tightly-shut grin. Hiding what lay past those peach lips. “I wonder if he’d let me interview him.”

“Interview him?” She slapped the slick college catalog closed. “Are you crazy? There is no way I’m going anywhere near that guy. I can’t believe we’re even allowing them out in the open…as if they’re harmless.”

Her opinion was widely shared, but rarely spoken in public anymore. Was she that narrow-minded?

I shook my head. “They’re euthanasiasts now. Mercy killers.

She glanced back at him. “The important word is ‘killers.’ No, thanks.”

Above example is from My School's Vampire.

There's a paragraph one chapter later that explains the government agreement, but it doesn't need to be here in conversation. They both know about the agreement! All the reader needs is a tease.

Try applying the same approach: Tease First, Explain Later.


That's it for today—five quick tips for writing dialogue. Many of you likely know these tips already, but it's always good to have reminders! Dig deep into your editing process and look for ways to improve dialogue so that it reveals character, keeps the plot moving, and pops. In particular, make sure it's real enough to keep the reader engaged!

Stay tuned for Tips 6 through 10 next time!

Do you have a dialogue pet peeve, or something that you struggle with when you write dialogue? Are you brave enough to let us see it down in the comments?

About Julie

Julie Glover is an award-winning author of mysteries and young adult fiction. She also writes supernatural suspense under the pen name Jules Lynn.

Her first YA release was Sharing Hunter, a Golden Heart­­® Finalist, and her most recent release is Driving Emma, a young adult contemporary short story. Later this year, she will be releasing five YA paranormal short stories.

When not writing, she collects boots, practices rampant sarcasm, and advocates for good grammar and the addition of the interrobang as a much-needed punctuation mark.

Top image credit: ©GrazieGranata, CanvaPro

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How Your Book Ends—destination or discovery?

by Barbara Linn Probst

I attended an online workshop this winter where I heard Cuban-American writer Ana Menéndez make the intriguing statement: "Endings, like hemlines and male facial hair, are subject to trends." Ana noted that, personally, she knows a story's ending before she begins, although she doesn't always know how she’ll get there.

Her reflections intrigued me, so I decided to ask other writers: “At what point do you know your story's ending?”  I also asked:  “What kind of endings do you like to write?” Thirty people responded to my question, often at length.

I posed a related question on a few reader groups I belong to about the kind of endings they liked to read— twist, happily-ever-after, unresolved/ambiguous, epiphany, redemption, bittersweet, a lesson learned, an ending that represents a new beginning.  I’m always interested to see if writers and readers agree!  More about that at the end of this piece.

The reflections of the thirty writers, in response to the first question, fell into three camps: I know before I start; I rarely know; and sometimes/sort of/it often changes. Here are some examples of what they told me.

I have to know before I start writing …

I always know the ending when I plot, and often work backwards from there.

I always know basically how I want a story to start and end. It will, of course, be fleshed out and massaged, but the kernel remains.

I always know the ending before I start writing, even if I don't know how to get there. It gives me motivation to finish the rest!

I usually know how the story ends and do a lot of figuring-out about how to get there.

I don't actually start writing until I have a pretty good handle on a couple of major twists and the ending.

I’ve known the ending on every project I’ve written before I start writing.

But the getting-there can be hard …

I usually know my endings, but on the path to get there, those endings often change.

Always know the last line. The challenge is getting there!

I know the rough ending, but not the setting for the final scene or how my characters actually get there.

I rarely know when I start out …

My stories seldom follow the path I think of when I start writing.

I'm never sure where my characters are going until they get there.

I seldom know where a story will end when I start writing and I change my mind at least six times per story while I'm drafting.

I might think I know, but it usually changes along the way …

I have an idea of where I'm going, but the end shifts and often surprises me. The girls in the basement have me on a very limited "need to know" program.

The characters tend to take me in detours I didn’t expect.

 I know “an” ending when I begin. I need that bracket, but it morphs during the process.

Although I have an idea of how I want it all to work out, I’m willing to let the characters lead me and help me find the story (and the ending).

I always have an ending in mind before I begin, though I may change my original plans.

I typically have the whole story in my head, including the ending, before I begin plotting. However, the darn characters often have different ideas, and the ending surprises me. If after finishing that last line and I lean back in my chair and say “WOW,” I figure it’s the right ending for the story.

I usually know the ending somewhere around the middle, although I suspect I always knew it and didn’t tell myself earlier

Readers, of course, have no idea about any of this! What they see is the final product. Of the fifty-two readers who responded to my question about the kind of endings they liked, many noted that it depended on their mood and the kind of book they were reading, since the ending needed to “feel right” for the plot and style of the book. 

Tastes vary, so there was no consensus on the “best” kind of ending. Two elements seemed to stand out the most, though: everything-tied-up versus open-ended, and surprise versus inevitability.

“Everything resolved” or open-ended?

For every person who liked a book that ties up all the loose ends, there was another who disliked stories with everything neatly tied-up, because that’s not how life works.

No loose ends please.

I definitely do not like a vague, open ending, as though the author had no clue how to end his/her book!

I don't like a book with a tied-up ending. It seems too predictable to me. Vague endings give me more to think about.

I prefer an ending that doesn't tie everything up too neatly. I like when an ending makes me think, and makes me imagine what happens to the characters after the last page.

To twist or not to twist?

Many loved a twist ending, something they didn’t see coming, though others didn’t. 

"Twists" are okay, provided they aren't way out of line with the characters and their actions as portrayed earlier in the storyline.

I love the feeling of: "Wow, I so didn't see that coming!"

I like an ending that feels like the inevitable conclusion to the story, yet is surprising, which I know is hard to pull off! An ambiguous ending can be wonderful, if skillfully handled. I don’t care much for twist endings—they always feel like a cheap trick, unless done just masterfully. I haven’t read many twists that were.

Give me something completely "out of the blue" and unexpected!

It depends upon how much "sense" the ending makes.  But don't just throw in a totally unexpected ending—it doesn't work for me.

So what do we make of all this?  

Two tentative conclusions:

First, most of us writers seem to have an idea where we’re headed with a story, but it can’t be rigid. Even the most devoted plotters leave room for the unforeseen. There’s no simple answer to my original question—Who’s in charge, author or characters?

Second, your story’s ending will, inevitably, please some readers but not others. What seems to matter most is that the ending has to suit the story.

What about you?

At what point do you know how your story will end? Are you sometimes surprised? Do you like to read the same kind of endings that you like to write?

About Barbara

BARBARA LINN PROBST is a writer of both fiction and non-fiction, living on a historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her debut novel QUEEN OF THE OWLS (April 2020) is the powerful story of a woman’s search for wholeness, framed around the art and life of iconic American painter Georgia O’Keeffe. QUEEN OF THE OWLS was selected as one of the twenty most anticipated books of the year by Working Mother, a debut novel “too good to ignore” by Bustle, was featured in places like Pop Sugar, Entertainment WeeklyParade Magazine, and Ms. Magazine. It also won the bronze medal for popular fiction from the Independent Publishers Association, placed first runner-up in general fiction for the Eric Hoffer Award, and was short-listed for the $2500 Grand Prize. Barbara’s second book, THE SOUND BETWEEN THE NOTES, launched April 2021.

Top Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

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