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March 14. When writing dialogue do I include everything from “hello” to “goodbye” or stick to what’s essential?

One for the writers here … I certainly don’t *not* put the niceties of conversation in; sometimes it’s the mundanity of communication that tells more of the story. How a character greets someone can give an instant insight to their relationship.

Here’s a couple of examples from ‘This Is Not The End’, which is due out really quite soon now…




"All right?" said Robert, as Wilf bustled through the door of the seminar room, cheeks burning against the bitter north-easterly breeze whilst his scarf protected his lips from the worst of the Arctic air blast. "Aye"" came the muffled reply. "You?" "Not bad. How was your Christmas?" "Not bad. It was good to catch up with people." "Family?" "Aye, of course. And from school. Hadn't seen most of them for six months. Probably the longest time we'd not seen each other in the last six years." "That's a third of your life!" "Mad, isn't it." "And is the band going to be getting back together?" chuckled Robert.
Wilf found the seminar room tucked away on the third floor of the five story block that housed his faculty. A half dozen of his fellow students were already present. He couldn't remember any names, and certainly hadn't been involved in any conversations with any of them either. He skirted round the back of the room and took a seat by the window, next to a radiator that was as cold as his demeanour towards the others, a mood borne much more from insecurity than any dislike. A girl sitting two rows in front turned round and smiled at him. "Hello," she said in a gentle accent that Wilf placed somewhere in Scotland. "History of language?" Wilf nodded. "Aye." He paused, a thaw quickly ensuing, and then added with a nervous chuckle, "I'm in the right place then?" "Let's hope so," she replied. "I'm Cheryl, by the way." Wilf shrugged his shoulders out of his coat, and pulled his bag round on the top of the desk. "Hi Cheryl. I'm Wilf." "There's so many people to get to know," Cheryl continued as Wilf rummaged around in his bag before pulling out his pad and pencil case. "Aye, I know. It's a bit scary, really. Everyone seems so confident." He scanned the room: a mature student decked in a Coventry City football shirt was instantly recognisable from the lecture halls in which he had consistently worn variations on the theme, whilst a younger man in sore need of a shave and a haircut chatted to a girl in a donkey jacket and a nose piercing and her - assumed - boyfriend decked in leathers
With nobody around when Wilf went into the callbox, he was spared the fraudulent guilt manifested by the ritual this time. "Hi Mam," he said when the call from home to the box was connected. "Hi Wilf, love. How're you doing?" The script rarely varied. Was he eating well? How was the course? Was he keeping on track with his work? Was he sure he was eating well? How was Dominic? Would he like a word with Dad? For his part, Wilf was keen to know what he was missing at home (generally nothing remotely approaching excitement) and what Elsie was up to. It was easier to ask, he said, than to ring her himself, because it would mean an evening phone call. He didn't especially relish the prospect of spending half an hour on the street corner, and the prospect became even less appealing when Robert told him the summer riots had started on the next street down to Kirkaldy Road. This time, the rehearsed exchange veered. "I was wondering about coming home," said Wilf after the formalities had concluded Mam sounded panicked. "What? Already? You've got to give the course more of a go than that, love." "No, Mam, not for good. Just for a weekend, maybe? In a couple of weeks, when it's Els's half term, I'd thought?"
Mar 14, 2025, 07:12 PM·Public·Metatext
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