How To Write Natural Sounding Dialogue

Gary Smailes | 7 November 2025

What Makes Dialogue Sound Natural

Real speech meanders. Characters repeat themselves, start sentences they never finish, and fill silence with verbal clutter. Readers will abandon that mess by page two.

Natural dialogue borrows the texture of real speech but strips away everything that doesn't work. Think compression, not transcription. You want the rhythm and feel of how people talk, minus the dead weight.

Engineering Better Than Recording

Record yourself in conversation for ten minutes. Transcribe five minutes of it. Now count how many times you said "um," repeated the same point, or started over mid-sentence. Count the tangents that led nowhere. Notice how much gets said without actually moving the conversation forward.

Your characters need to sound human, but they work harder than humans. Every line should either reveal something about who's speaking or push the scene toward its goal. Usually both.

Take this real-life exchange:

"So, um, I was thinking about what you said yesterday, or was it Tuesday? Anyway, about the, you know, the thing with Sarah. And I just wanted to say that, well, I mean, I get where you're coming from, but I think maybe we should, I don't know, talk to her?"

Here's the engineered version:

"We need to talk to Sarah."

"After what she did?"

"Because of what she did."

Same intention, clearer stakes, and you hear the relationship tension in those short exchanges. The second version moves faster while revealing more about both speakers.

Every Line Has a Job

Weak dialogue fills space. Strong dialogue changes something. Before you write any exchange, nail down what shifts by the end. Power dynamics. Information. Emotional distance. Understanding of the stakes. Something.

Your characters aren't making small talk. They're negotiating, persuading, confessing, threatening, or protecting. Even "How was your day?" serves a purpose if one character is probing for signs of an affair and the other is deflecting.

Watch this progression:

"How was your day?" (Testing for guilt)

"Fine." (Deflecting)

"Just fine?" (Pushing harder)

"What do you want me to say, Karen?" (Breaking point reached)

Four lines, and we've moved from surface politeness to raw frustration. That's dialogue doing work.

Strategic Imperfection

Perfect grammar kills dialogue. Nobody speaks in complete, polished sentences when they're angry, scared, or excited. But you don't want to transcribe every stutter either.

Use imperfection where it serves character or emotion:

• Interruptions when tension peaks
• Trailing off when characters realize they've said too much
• Sentence fragments when they're thinking faster than they're speaking
• Overlapping when they're fighting to be heard

A character confessing guilt might start strong and crumble:

"I need to tell you something. About last Friday. I wasn't really at the office, I was... Look, this is harder than I thought it would be."

The breakdown reveals more than clean sentences would. But use this technique sparingly. A page of fragments and interruptions exhausts readers.

Situation Shapes Speech

Your characters don't have one voice. They have a range, and situation determines where they land on that spectrum. Stress makes vocabulary simpler and sentences shorter. Formality requires complete thoughts and careful word choice. Intimacy invites casual grammar and shared references.

The same character sounds different:

• Job interview: "I believe my experience aligns perfectly with your needs."
• Fight with spouse: "That's not what I meant and you know it."
• Drunk confession: "Remember Jenny from college? I should've married her."

Status matters too. High-status characters make declarative statements. They interrupt and don't apologize for taking up space. Low-status characters hedge, qualify, and ask permission to continue speaking.

Compare these:

High-status: "Change the deadline. We need two more weeks."

Low-status: "I was wondering if maybe we could possibly discuss extending the deadline? Just by a week or two?"

The One-Sentence Test

Before you draft any conversation, write one sentence describing what needs to happen:

"Marcus must convince Elena to lie to the police without admitting he's guilty."

"Sarah needs to discover that Tom knows about the affair."

"The team has to decide who goes on the suicide mission."

Now write the scene. Every line should either push toward that goal or create an obstacle. If a line does neither, cut it.

This sounds restrictive, but it's liberating. Instead of wandering through pointless banter, your characters focus on what matters. The dialogue gains urgency because something's at stake in every exchange.

Test yourself. Take any conversation you've written and identify which lines advance the goal and which ones just fill space. You'll be surprised how much fat you find. Cut ruthlessly. Your remaining lines will carry more weight and sound more natural because they're doing the work real conversations do: trying to get something from another person.

Your readers want to eavesdrop on characters who matter, saying things that change the story. Give them that, and they'll believe every word.

Crafting Distinct Character Voices

Your characters shouldn't sound like variations of you. They need their own vocal fingerprints, shaped by everything from where they grew up to what keeps them awake at night.

Think about the people you know well. Your college roommate who turns everything into a sports metaphor. Your grandmother who never uses contractions. Your boss who ends statements like questions when she's nervous. These speech patterns didn't happen by accident. They grew from personality, background, and habit.

Building Voice from the Ground Up

Start with the fundamentals that shape how someone speaks. A Harvard-educated lawyer and a high school dropout from rural Alabama won't use the same vocabulary or sentence structure. Neither will a nurse who's seen too much death and a kindergarten teacher who believes in endless possibility.

Education affects complexity. Characters with advanced degrees might favor longer sentences and precise terminology. Those who learned through experience rather than books tend toward concrete language and shorter, punchier phrases.

Region shows up in idiom and rhythm. Southern characters might "reckon" instead of "think" and speak in longer, more meandering sentences. New Yorkers get to the point faster and interrupt more freely.

Profession leaves marks too. A mechanic talks about fixing things, even relationships. A therapist asks probing questions and reflects feelings back. A salesperson pitches everything, from dinner plans to vacation destinations.

Values and worldview run deepest. An optimist sees opportunities where a pessimist sees obstacles. A religious character might reference faith or use gentler language around profanity. Someone who grew up poor talks differently about money than someone who inherited wealth.

Contractions and Formality

Most people speak in contractions. "I'll" instead of "I will." "We're" instead of "We are." Characters who avoid contractions sound either foreign, extremely formal, or like they're concentrating hard on each word.

Use formal speech strategically. A character might drop contractions when:

• Lying and choosing words carefully
• Angry and speaking with precision
• Trying to impress or intimidate
• Speaking a second language
• Coming from a background that values formal speech

Compare these versions of the same sentiment:

Casual: "I'm not sure that's gonna work."

Formal: "I am not certain that will be effective."

Stressed: "I do not think that will work."

Each reveals something different about the speaker's state of mind and background.

The Light Touch with Dialect

Dialect tempts writers into phonetic spelling that makes readers work too hard. "Ah'm fixin' tah go tah th' store" slows comprehension and looks dated.

Instead, suggest accent through word choice and syntax. A Southern character might say "fixing to go" instead of "about to go." Someone from Boston drops R's in specific patterns: "pahk the cah" but keeps the R in "door." A New Yorker might say "How you doing?" instead of "How are you doing?"

Pick two or three signature phrases and use them sparingly. Let word order and vocabulary do most of the work. A character who says "The store, I'm going to it" suggests different origins than one who says "I'm heading to the store."

Status Shows in Every Sentence

High-status characters take up space with their words. They make statements instead of asking for permission. They interrupt without apologizing. They use fewer hedging words like "maybe" or "sort of."

Low-status characters do the opposite. They hedge, apologize, and ask for approval even when making simple statements.

High-status: "Change the meeting to Thursday."

Low-status: "I was wondering if we might be able to possibly move the meeting to Thursday? If that works for everyone?"

But here's where it gets interesting: status shifts. A confident CEO becomes tentative when talking to her teenage daughter about drugs. A shy accountant turns commanding when explaining tax law. Let context change how your characters speak.

Emotional Weather Changes Everything

Anger strips away politeness and complexity. Sentences get shorter. Words get sharper. Characters interrupt more and listen less.

Calm: "I disagree with your assessment of the situation."

Angry: "You're wrong."

Grief does the opposite. It makes everything fuzzy and imprecise. Characters lose track of details and speak in generalizations.

Precise: "I saw him at Murphy's Pub on Tuesday around eight."

Grieving: "I saw him somewhere. Recently. He looked tired."

Joy makes language playful. Characters use more metaphors, take creative detours, and speak in longer, more elaborate sentences.

Fear tightens everything. Short sentences. Simple words. Characters repeat themselves and ask for reassurance.

The Voice Thumbprint System

Create a profile card for each major character. Write down:

Three favorite verbs: The actions they choose reveal personality. Does your character "grab" or "take"? "Stroll" or "walk"? "Demolish" or "criticize"?

Three taboo topics: What won't they discuss? Money, family, their military service? Characters change the subject or get uncomfortable when these come up.

One pet metaphor: How do they see the world? Through sports analogies, cooking metaphors, or military terminology?

One go-to filler: What do they say when buying time to think? "Well," "Look," "The thing is," or "I mean"?

Here's an example:

• Verbs: grab, demolish, charge
• Taboos: his father, money problems, the accident
• Metaphor: everything's a battle to win or lose
• Filler: "Look..."

This character attacks problems head-on, avoids personal topics, and frames situations as conflicts. His dialogue reflects that: "Look, we need to grab this opportunity and demolish the competition."

Now take a scene and rewrite it to reflect each character's thumbprint. You'll be amazed how much more distinct they become.

Testing Voice Distinctiveness

Try this: take dialogue from one of your scenes and remove all the tags and action beats. Cover up the character names. Read it aloud. Do you know who's speaking each line?

If not, your voices need work. Go back to the thumbprint cards and push the differences further. Make the lawyer more precise, the teenager more dramatic, the grandmother more formal.

Your characters have lived entire lives before your story begins. Those lives shaped how they speak. Let their words carry that history, and readers will hear unique voices instead of your voice wearing different masks.

Clean Mechanics: Tags, Beats, and Punctuation

Readers trip on clunky dialogue before they notice why. Smooth mechanics keep attention where it belongs, on the people talking and what they want.

Default to said and asked

Said and asked vanish in the reader’s eye. That is good. You want the line to carry the feeling, not the tag.

Overwritten:

• “Leave me alone,” she snarled viciously.
• “Fine,” he hissed.

Clean:

• “Leave me alone,” she said.
• “Fine,” he said.

Save the colorful tag for rare, high-value moments. One per scene, maybe. Even then, the line and action should do most of the work.

High-value:

• “Whisper,” Grandma said, then she did. “The walls have ears.”

Swap tags for action beats

An action beat is a short physical or sensory detail tied to the line. It grounds bodies in space, shows attitude, and sets pace. Beats often replace tags without losing clarity.

Tag-heavy:

• “You took my keys,” Nora said.
• “I borrowed them,” Max said.
• “Without asking,” Nora said.

With beats:

• “You took my keys.” Nora patted empty pockets.
• Max held up the ring. “I borrowed them.”
• “Without asking.” Her hand stayed open.

Now you see hands, a ring, a stance. You also hear subtext. She wants control. He wants to deflect.

Use beats that matter. A shrug every other line numbs the reader. Choose one telling action over three bland ones.

Paragraphing that keeps you oriented

Rule of thumb, new paragraph for each new speaker. Keep the beat with the speaker it belongs to.

Muddled:

Nora stepped closer. “You took my keys,” she said. “I borrowed them,” Max said, rubbing his neck. “Without asking,” she said. He looked past her at the window.

Clear:

Nora stepped closer. “You took my keys.”

“I borrowed them,” Max said, rubbing his neck.

“Without asking.”

He looked past her at the window.

That last line is Max. His beat stays with him, no guesswork.

Punctuation that does not fight you

• Commas go inside the quotes with simple tags.
  • “Lock the door,” she said.
• Question and exclamation marks replace the comma.
  • “Are you serious?” he asked.
  • “Leave now!” she said.
• Split a sentence with a tag, keep the sentence whole.
  • “I thought,” she said, “you trusted me.”
• Trailing off uses ellipses.
  • “I thought you were behind me...”
• Interrupted speech, use a clean break with a beat, or a period if the cut is sharp.
  • “I thought you were going to” The door slammed upstairs. “never mind.”
  • “I thought you were going to.” The door slammed upstairs. “Never mind.”

Direct address needs a comma.

• “Dad, please listen.”
• “Please listen, Dad.”

Keep punctuation consistent across the scene. Consistency reads as confidence.

Let interiority do quiet work

Interiority is the quick flicker of thought between lines. It carries interpretation and misbelief without stepping on the dialogue. Keep it brief.

Flat:
“I’m fine,” Lena said.

With interiority:
“I’m fine,” Lena said. A lie, neat as a folded napkin.

Another way:
“I’m fine,” Lena said. He believed her, of course. He always did.

Two lines, two truths. Same words spoken aloud. Different story.

Use interiority to sharpen stakes, not to explain what is obvious in the line. One beat of thought every few exchanges keeps rhythm and anchors us in a point of view.

Put it together

Draft:
“I didn’t take your keys,” Max hissed. “Why do you always accuse me?” he asked angrily. “Because you lie,” Nora snarled.

Revised:
“I didn’t take your keys,” Max said. He fished in his jacket, coins chiming.

“Why do you always accuse me?”

“Because you lie.” Nora kept her palm out.

Now the mix breathes: one plain tag, one beat, one untagged line that is clear by position, then a line with a beat. The attitude lives in the actions and word choices, not the tags.

The tag-to-beat audit

Run this pass on a finished scene.

1. Print or on screen, highlight all dialogue tags in one color and all action beats in another.
2. Count your mix.
   • Aim for a balance, something like 40–60 percent beats, 30–50 percent plain said or asked, and fewer than 10 percent descriptive tags.
3. Fix clutter first.
   • Replace any “she said loudly” with a stronger line or a specific beat.
   • Cut echoed beats, the repeated sighs and shrugs.
4. Repair punctuation and paragraphing in the same sweep.
   • Commas inside quotes with tags.
   • Question and exclamation marks replace commas.
   • Keep each speaker on a new line.
   • Use ellipses for trailing off, clean breaks and beats for interruptions.
5. Read the scene aloud. If you stumble, smooth the mechanics, not the meaning.

Clean mechanics do not call attention to themselves. They make room for voice, subtext, and stakes to do the talking. Your readers feel guided, not managed, and your scene moves.

Subtext, Tension, and Conversational Dynamics

Natural dialogue hides knives under napkins. People dodge. They joke. They look at the floor. Truth leaks through the cracks.

Say less, mean more

On-the-nose kills tension.

On-the-nose:

• “You’re angry I was late. You feel disrespected.”
• “Yes, I’m angry. You disrespected me.”

Layered:

• “You cut your hair,” Tom said.
• Mara checked her locked screen. “Only had time to cut the route. Traffic at five is a treat.”
• “Car trouble?”
• “Time trouble.”

Same scene. The second version gives you distance, defensiveness, and a little heat. No one says “I’m angry,” yet you feel the edge.

Ways to load subtext fast:

• Deflect with humor. “Nice of you to join us” beats “You’re late.”
• Answer a different question. “Did you get the report?” “Loved the cover.”
• Shift topic. “I saw your car at Jake’s.” “Have you eaten?”

If the line can carry a double meaning, let it.

Put goals in conflict

Give each speaker something to win by the end of the exchange. A confession. A promise. A set of keys. Now rub the goals together.

Goal cards:

• Parent wants honesty. Teen wants privacy.
• Detective wants a timeline. Witness wants to go home.
• Friend wants apology. Friend wants to avoid blame.

Mini-scene:

• “Where were you after eight?” Ruiz said.
• “At the gym,” Eli said.
• “Which one?”
• “The one with machines.”
• “Name.”
• “I already told the other guy. Twice.”

Ruiz narrows. Eli wriggles. Those are goals on the line, and the rhythm comes from push and stall.

Try this quick exercise. Write a one-sentence objective for each speaker. Tape it above your desk. During the scene, check if each line pulls toward or against those goals. Loose lines are usually your chit-chat.

Tilt status with line-level moves

Power shifts inside a sentence. You do not need a monologue to show control.

• Interruptions. Cut in clean with a period and a beat.
  • “I think we should talk about”
  • “We should move,” Greg said. He had the boxes taped.
• One-word answers. These punch above their weight.
  • “Are you coming?”
  • “No.”
  • “Ever?”
  • “Later.”
• Echoing. Repeat a charged word to question or mock.
  • “I need loyalty.”
  • “Loyalty?”
• Button lines. End the exchange on a short line that lands.
  • “I said I was sorry.”
  • “You said it.”

The person who sets pace, interrupts cleanly, and lands the button holds the floor. Let arcs shift these patterns. A character who starts as a hedger can learn to cut in. That change reads.

Use specifics, not explanations

Backstory does not belong on a loudspeaker. Pick one concrete detail and let readers connect the dots.

Flat:

• “We have been fighting about money since college.”

Specific:

• He slid the tip jar toward her. Two coins clinked. Above the register, the old parking ticket from freshman year curled at the corner.

Flat:

• “I know your knuckle cracks when you lie.”

Specific:

• “Where were you?” she said.
• He pressed his thumb into a cracked knuckle. Pop.

Flat:

• “You forgot my birthday last year.”

Specific:

• “Cake’s in the fridge,” she said. The candles were still in the drawer. Unopened. Last year’s number on top.

The detail does the speaking. Your reader does the math. That trust pays off.

Treat silence as a line

Silence changes a scene. It is a decision, not air.

• “Do you love him?”
• She capped the pen. Click.
• “Right,” he said. “Got it.”

No reply is a reply. Let the beat sit. Do not rush to fill it with an explanation.

Another use of silence is refusal.

• “Say you’ll be there.”
• He folded the invitation. Slid it back.
• “Okay.”

You feel the no without a spoken no.

Two rewrites to raise tension

Start with a blunt exchange.

On-the-nose:

• “I got fired today,” Jen said.
• “You always lose jobs because you are careless,” Mark said.
• “I need your help,” she said.

Version A, with metaphor. Keep clarity.

• “HR boxed my desk,” Jen said. “Four years in a carton.”
• Mark looked at the plant sticking out of the flap. Soil on the leaves. “You knock things over when you rush.”
• “I need a net,” she said. “For a week.”

Version B, with deflection.

• “Building’s quieter,” Jen said.
• “Must be nice,” Mark said. “Fewer people to bump into.”
• “I’ll be home more,” she said. “Is the couch free this week?”

Both versions say fired and careless without saying the words. Both seek help. Choose the one that keeps the scene’s spine clear and tightens the line between them. If readers need one extra breadcrumb, add a precise one. “They walked me out at ten.” “Third time this year.” One bead. No lecture.

Practical checkpoints

• If a line states the exact truth, try to bend it once. Joke, dodge, or aim at a nearby target.
• Make sure each speaker wants a thing the other threatens. Even in small talk.
• Use short tactics to tilt power. Cut in. Echo. End on a button.
• Swap exposition for a single telling detail.
• Let a beat of silence count as choice.

The best dialogue sounds like people protecting themselves while reaching for something they need. Keep what matters under the words, and let the scene sweat a little.

Avoiding Exposition Dumps in Dialogue

Readers smell a dump the second two characters start reciting shared facts for the audience. Dialogue should carry pressure, not a lecture. Keep information inside a want, a fear, or a fight.

Kill maid-and-butler talk

Bad:

• “As you know, Sister, Father died five years ago, the farm still sits in probate, and Uncle Joe lives in the guest room.”

No siblings speak like this. They would poke, blame, or bargain.

Better:

• “You kept the guest room made up.”
• “He has nowhere else.”
• “He had a house. Before probate swallowed it.”
• “Father’s lawyer called. Friday.”

Same data. New shape. History rides under the lines.

Quick test. If a line begins with “As you know,” cut or reframe. If both characters already know a fact, find a reason for one of them to pressure or deny.

Make information costly

Truth should scrape something. Pride. Safety. Money. Love. Force characters to pay before a fact lands.

Example:

• “Where did you hide the cash?” Nora said.
• “Under the sink,” Max said. “Blue tin.”

Flat. No cost.

Raise stakes:

• “Where did you hide the cash?” Nora said.
• Max stared at her empty ring finger. “Since when do you ask me, not him.”
• “Since three hours ago.”
• “Laundry shelf. Blue tin. Back left.”

A divorce, a clock, then the answer. Max trades a fact for a jab, then folds under pressure.

Another path is misinterpretation.

• “You told Sam.”
• “I told a neighbor.”
• “Sam is your neighbor.”
• “Not anymore.”

Information enters through argument. Readers earn the truth one scrape at a time.

Seed context with artifacts and setting

Let rooms speak. Props carry history without a speech.

• A news clipping above the sink with one name circled.
• A half-packed suitcase with baby socks tucked in a shoe.
• A hoodie with a school logo, paint on the cuffs.

Use a small beat before a line.

• She set the clipped article on the table. The photo showed a burned porch. Same address as the envelope.
• “Who mailed this?” she said.

You now have context, and no one had to say, “Our house burned down last year.”

Drip-feed backstory with stakes

Backstory works best in sips. Questions need a goal. Answers come partial, then grow, or bend.

Scene start:

• “Where did you learn to pick locks?” Lena said.
• “Summer job,” Theo said.

Later, under pressure:

• “Summer job paid in quarters,” she said. “Who taught you?”
• “My aunt. She kept spare keys for the whole block.”

Later still, when bonds strain:

• “You said your aunt taught you.”
• “She ran a pawn shop. I slept in the back when my mother left.”

The truth widens as trust rises, or cracks. No info dump, yet readers track the history.

Keep lectures off-page

A character wants to explain orbital mechanics, dragon taxonomy, or the family tree. Fine. Keep that speech short or break it with action and objection. A lecture stalls pulse.

Bad:

• “Let me explain how the guild functions. First, the council elects a Regent each spring. Then nine committees handle trade, law, festivals, border watches, education, and so on.”

Better:

• “Who runs this guild?” Mara said.
• “A Regent,” Horst said. He checked the window. “Election in four days.”
• “So who counts votes?”
• “Trade committee.” A horn sounded in the street. Horst flinched. “Do you want a tour or a plan?”

Question. Short answer. Interruption. Choice. The world slips in while tension holds.

Use a ticking clock to slice a speech into pieces. Alarms, doors, a cough, a dropped tray, a storm cresting the hill. Anything that pushes bodies to act.

A mini-fix for an on-the-nose dump

On-the-nose:

• “As you know, Captain, the base lost power last winter because the backup generator failed during the blizzard, which led to three days without heat. We also had supply problems, and half the crew got sick.”

Fix with conflict, artifacts, and short beats:

• The Captain touched the frost line on the wall. “How long last time?”
• “Three days,” Ortega said.
• “Backup died?”
• Ortega held up a cracked spark plug. “Tried to keep this alive with glue.”
• “Supplies?”
• “Low.” He rubbed his nose. “Half the crew coughed blood.”

Same facts, shaped by stakes and proof. The spark plug says more than a paragraph.

Practical tactics

• Build a reason to speak. A goal or threat pulls words out.
• Think price. What does a character risk by naming a fact. Reputation. Freedom. Love.
• Use artifacts. One object plus one line beats five sentences of recap.
• Spread backstory across scenes. Let questions return with higher stakes.
• Interrupt lectures with action, objections, or a clock.
• Save the occasional clear line for moments when confusion would harm the scene. One bead. Not a necklace.

Quick exercise

Grab one scene with a dump. Highlight every line that exists only to inform the reader. Now revise so each highlighted line falls into one of these buckets:

• Someone disputes the data.
• Someone must decide, based on the data.
• The data triggers a consequence in the scene.

Any line outside those buckets moves to narration, breaks into props and beats, or leaves the book. Trim hard. Your dialogue will breathe again.

Revision Passes and Diagnostics for Natural Dialogue

Draft done. Now tune the talk. These passes will catch the flat notes and sharpen the music.

Read it aloud

Your mouth hears trouble before your eyes do. Read the scene out loud or use text-to-speech. Mark three things:

• Stumble points.
• Breath-catch lines.
• Lines you want to paraphrase.

Those marks signal bloat or awkward rhythm.

Before:

• “Look, we need to postpone the gala tonight because the donors will expect a full spread, and we do not have the staff or the catering order in place, and also the weather looks rough,” Helen said.

If you run out of air, the character will too.

After:

• “Look. We need to postpone the gala.” Helen rubbed her temples. “Donors expect a full spread. We lack staff. Catering never confirmed. Weather looks rough.”

Shorter lines. Same content. Clean breath.

Mini-exercise: draw a slash where you need a breath. If two slashes land in one sentence, split it or cut words until one slash stays.

Highlighter test

Give a color to each speaker. Read a page with names covered. If two colors read the same, voices merge. Fix diction, rhythm, and intent.

Before:

• “I do not like surprises,” Raj said.
• “I do not like surprises either,” Nora said.

After:

• “I do not like surprises,” Raj said.
• “Says the man who proposed by calendar invite,” Nora said.

Or push harder:

• “I do not like surprises,” Raj said.
• “Try living with them,” Nora said.

Different rhythm. Different point of view. Voice clarity rises.

Tricks that help:

• One character favors questions. Another favors commands.
• One uses numbers, brands, or jargon. Another uses images or jokes.
• One hedges with maybe, sort of, I guess. Another drops plain statements.

Keep each choice consistent, then let stress bend it when pressure hits.

Trim filler strategically

Conversation includes fluff words, false starts, and repeats. Keep a little for texture where stress or personality needs it. Cut the rest. Your reader will thank you.

Before:

• “Um, I mean, we should, like, head out soon, because, you know, the last train leaves at eleven,” Paul said.

After:

• “We need to head out. Last train leaves at eleven,” Paul said.

Another take, where stress needs a crack:

• “We need to head out. Last train leaves at eleven,” Paul said. “I think.”

One hedge keeps the tremor without slowing the pace.

Adverb and tag sweep

Default to said and asked. Reserve colorful tags for rare, high-value moments. Swap explained emotions for beats or sharper verbs.

Before:

• “Leave me alone,” she said angrily.
• “No,” he retorted loudly.

After:

• “Leave me alone,” she said. Her hand tightened on the rail.
• “No,” he said. His jaw clicked.

Or use a stronger verb when it earns its keep:

• “Leave,” she snapped.

Ask why the line needs volume or emotion. Then show evidence in body, setting, or choice. The beat carries more weight than an adverb.

Pace ratio check

Dialogue without grounding floats. In scenes heavy with talk, aim for one to three lines of narrative or interiority per exchange. Anchor bodies, place, and stakes.

Before:

• “You took the map?”
• “No.”
• “I saw you tuck it into your jacket.”
• “You saw wrong.”
• “We need that map.”

After:

• “You took the map?”
• “No.” He kept his back to the stove.
• “I saw you tuck it into your jacket.”
• “You saw wrong.” The burner clicked, then lit.
• “We need that map.” My voice shook. “The west trail, remember the drop.”

Now we hear fire. We feel distance. Stakes surface without a monologue.

Mini-check: run a finger down the margin. If you pass more than five stacked lines of talk without a beat, add one. A sound, a touch, a thought, a tick of time.

The three-pass edit

Work in layers. Fast, then focused.

Pass one, clarity and goal:

• Write a one-sentence objective for the scene. By the end, X must get Y from Z.
• Cut lines that drift from the objective or fight its pressure.
• Mark places where a decision lands. Build toward those turns.

Pass two, voice distinctiveness:

• Run the highlighter test.
• Assign three favorite verbs to each speaker. Make them show up.
• Strip neutral filler that makes everyone sound the same.
• Add one choice per speaker that leaks status or mood. An interrupt. A hedge. A button line.

Pass three, line-level mechanics:

• Sweep tags. Default to said and asked.
• Trade some tags for beats that reveal stance or subtext.
• Fix paragraphing, one speaker per paragraph. Keep beats with their speaker.
• Clean punctuation. Quotes, commas, periods, question marks. Ellipses for trailing off. A double hyphen for a broken interruption if you need one, or split the line.

Now hand the scene to two beta readers. Give only two questions:

• Where did you skim?
• Whose voice stood out, and why?

Do not defend the draft. Listen. If two readers trip on the same spot, revise there first.

A quick before-and-after clinic

Raw:

• “We cannot meet Friday,” Lina said abruptly. “The board presentation moved, and I need to compile the quarterly data and send a briefing to Karla, who will want changes, and then we have to redo the charts.”
• “Fine,” Marco said impatiently. “You always do this.”

Tuned:

• “Friday is out,” Lina said.
• “Again?”
• “Board moved the presentation.” She tapped the laptop. “Numbers are a mess. Karla will want changes. Charts will need a redo.”
• “You cancel. I wait.” Marco’s smile did not reach his eyes.

Edits used:

• Shorter lines for breath.
• No adverbs. Beats show heat.
• One clipped detail per sentence. Laptop. Numbers. Charts. Smile without warmth.

One more small exercise

Pick one scene. Read it aloud and mark three fixes. Color each voice. Trim one filler string. Swap one adverb for a beat. Add one grounding beat after a run of talk. Take ten minutes. Do not touch anything else.

These passes train your ear. Over time your first draft will arrive cleaner, because you will hear the problem before it lands on the page.

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