Writing Young Adult Fiction For Dummies

by Deborah Halverson

  Example 2

  “Nay, mistress, I would never. Not ever, I wouldn’t.”

  Getting casual doesn’t mean trying to use teen jargon, or slang — those informal words and made-up expressions that distinguish one generation from another. Consider this exchange between two teen boys: “Dude, that flick was sick.” “I’m sayin’, bro! Way killer.” (Translation for fellow old fogies: “sick” is “cool,” not vomitous or snotty.) These are the words of youth, yes, but they tend to call attention to themselves in written dialogue — and they easily sound contrived when usurped by adults. Also, slang will date your book (“groovy,” anyone?), which is only desirable if you’re writing historical or futuristic fiction. For info on slang, pop over to Chapter 16.

  Ditching the fake teen accent

  Too often, adults try to mimic teen speech by using italics to recreate teens’ distinctive way of emphasizing: “It was soooo bad” or “I so did not want a ton of homework” or “John was a total pain. The worst.” You might as well be trying to write the Southern drawl or the Texas twang. (As for filling the pages with exclamation points to convey that youthful zest, don’t even get me started!!!) It’s nearly impossible not to distract readers with such font shenanigans. You want your young readers focusing on what’s being said, not critiquing your teen accent.

  Italicized words may be a red flag that you’re not doing enough with your narrative beats, those lines of narrative that break up your dialogue, where you should be indicating your character’s body language or his actions as he talks (check out the later section “Taking breathers with beats” for details). Narrative beats can take the burden of emotion off the dialogue. The following example uses italics to convey the character’s pain:

  “It was so bad,” he said. Then he rushed from the room.

  Version 2 ditches the italics and gains emotional impact by inserting violent narrative action between two lines of simply stated, relaxed dialogue:

  “It was bad.” He pulled a rose from the vase and rotated it slowly in his fingers. Then he turned to the sink, jammed the rose down the garbage disposal, and hit the grinder button. “She can find another sucker,” he said. He pushed past his mom and ran upstairs. The disposal was still grinding.

  Of course, using one or two italicized words doesn’t mean you have a problem. Just watch out when you’re starting to see a handful or more. That’s not emphasis; that’s a crutch.

  Cussing with caution

  Swearing is a valid tool for writing dialogue, but because your audience is young, you must approach profanity in dialogue with caution (I call for the same caution in Chapter 9’s discussion of narrative voice). Yes, real kids cuss in real life. Swear words serve as conversation fillers; they add emphasis; and they inflict shock, insult, and emotional injury, which is all very useful in real life. But dialogue isn’t “real.” It’s a realistic representation, and representations can be manipulated to avoid profanity.

  Gatekeepers are the parents, teachers, librarians, and booksellers who will put your book into their children’s, students’, and young customers’ hands. Gatekeepers are just as wary of swear words in dialogue as they are of swear words in the narrative. The f-word is the f-word, whether it’s in quotes or not.

  You can usually rewrite your scene to have the character’s actions convey the emphasis or inflict the damage. Characters can break things. They can punch. They can jump up and down while cheering instead of saying, “That’s f-ing fantastic!”

  When all is said and done, you’re the boss of your story. If you decide that cussing in the dialogue is natural to the story and vital to the character and the moment, then that’s your call to make. Profanity does show up in YA novels, usually for older readers. Just proceed with caution and a full understanding of potential potholes.

  Developing an ear for teenspeak

  Writers are praised as being great observers, but they’re also aces at eavesdropping. Inspiration for teen dialogue is all around you if you just sit back and listen. Hang out where the kids hang out in your area and listen to how they talk to each other. But don’t just study what the kids say; focus on how they say it. What verbal tactics do they use when they’re arguing? Does their arguing differ from how adults would argue? Does one kid stick to the issue in dispute while the other jumps from insult to insult until something hits a nerve? Do they sit there fuming after the argument, passing the time in tense silence as they wait for their moms to pick them up? After all, storming out may not be possible if they’re not drivers yet. How do they talk when they’re all snuggly? Are they oddly loud then, as if they want others to pay attention to their public display of affection? Compare that to how you’d behave as an adult in the same situation. Turn yourself into a student of everyday teenspeak and actively look for hints to a kid’s background, mood, and idiosyncrasies.

  Do be careful as you do all this research, though. A grown-up lingering on the fringes of teendom can seem creepy. Put on some headphones with the volume off and fake rockin’ out. You still may seem creepy, but at least it wouldn’t be in a criminal sense.

  If you’re not in the mood to hang with the kids, you can find inspiration in TV shows and movies, too. Although do remember that the characters on screen are uttering dialogue written by a grown-up who’s trying to sound like a kid, too.

  You can find fictional dialogue worth studying in your fellow YA writers’ novels. Read YAs with an ear for how those authors make their dialogue convincingly youthful. What tricks do they use? What’s their dialogue tag style? How do their young characters alter their speech when talking to adult characters? The more you read strong dialogue, the better your chances of writing strong dialogue.

  Exercise: Ready to do some eavesdropping? Find some teen hangouts near you. Locate the teen watering hole or plunk yourself down in the food court of the local mall. You’re bound to find young people grouping there. If you’re a teacher, you have your focus group right in front of you. Next passing period, listen to them chatter instead of taking roll or organizing yourself.

  Version 1: Transcribe the conversation you overhear. Just type the meat of the conversation, though. Filter out the ums and likes and the social pleasantries. Stay on topic. Let your hands rest during the extraneous comments and tangents. See whether the teens ever get back on topic — they may not, which is a lesson in itself. Take home your transcribed lines, imagine a backstory for each kid who spoke, and then fill in some body language and narrative beats. Work out the obvious slang that would date this conversation and iron out the emphatic teen accent. There! You have dialogue, complete with rich surrounding narrative —and a firmer understanding of the relationship between “real” and “realistic” teen speak.

  Version 2: Apply the same eavesdropping principles to one side of a phone conversation. Most teens have cell phones and are happy to talk in public so others know they have friends, so this scenario should be easy to find. Take home your transcribed lines and fill in the other end of the conversation, putting the two speakers in a setting where they can be face to face.

  What the Best Dialogue Doesn’t Say

  Sometimes, it’s not how you say something that matters; it’s what you don’t say at all. Dialogue in teen fiction is most natural when it leaves out all the filler that plagues real-life conversations, when it omits direct answers to questions, and when it doesn’t get bogged down by backstory.

  Censoring the babble

  Realistic dialogue is not a transcript of real speech. Everyday speech is meandering, boring, and sometimes flat-out incoherent when typed onto a page. Seriously, it’s a total mess. See for yourself. Here is everyday speech with the babble unfiltered:

  “I don’t know, it’s like — whatever. You know? Who really cares about tryouts? I don’t. It’s just the same stupid ‘Oh, I’m so popular and everybody loves me’ garbage every year and, like, I’m sick of i
t. It’s just so, I don’t know . . . I’m just tired. Can we go? Can we just leave? I’m so tired.”

  Here is the fictional dialogue version, with the Babble Censor engaged:

  “I don’t know why I even bother. It’s just a popularity contest. ‘Oh, look, my dad drives a Mercedes, and I can shake a pom pom!’ Big joy. I’m done with it. Let’s go.”

  Strong dialogue doesn’t include all the civilities of everyday conversations, either. No “Hi, how ya doing? . . . Fine. What’s up? . . . Not much with me, but did you hear what happened at school today? . . . No, what?” Strong dialogue skips the niceties and gets right to the point of the exchange: “Stop with the locker. Did you hear about Jackie? Knocked up! Seriously. And it’s all over school. She ran out of U.S. History crying. I’d hate to be her. Trudie’s having a field day with it, though.”

  Dodging the question

  Strong dialogue isn’t afraid to leave questions unanswered. Have your characters dodge questions instead of answering them directly. Have characters talk past each other, around each other, and flat out refuse to respond. This runaround reveals characters who are preoccupied, who have something to hide, or who are trying to manipulate a person or a situation. For example:

  “Have a good day, baby.” His mom kissed the top of his head before swiping a slice of his toast and heading for the door. She froze in the open doorway, toast in one hand, keys in the other. “That’s weird.”

  “What?” Michael spooned in another mouthful of Wheaties.

  “I could’ve sworn I parked the car in the driveway last night.” Michael snapped up straight as his mom stepped onto the porch and clicked the garage door open with the key remote. “They say the memory is the first to go . . .”

  In a silent flurry, Michael scrambled away from the table, grabbed his backpack, and rushed to the door. “Can’t be late!”

  He bolted down the steps, leaving his mom facing the empty garage. “Where . . . Oh no. You didn’t. Michael, where’s my car?”

  But he was already rounding the corner.

  “Michael! Where’s my car? Come back here! Michael!”

  Is Michael guilty of grand theft auto? His blatant evasiveness certainly teases that possibility. And how the heck will he return home? Mom’s question will still be hanging in the air when he does. Withholding answers in your dialogue is a powerful way to build tension, enrich conflict, and wreak havoc with the plot in truly wonderful ways.

  Avoiding info dumps

  Strong dialogue doesn’t dump info like some load in the road for readers to scale if they’re committed to their journey. That is “telling” instead of “showing,” and it can be a fatal roadblock in your story. Young readers want (and need) information, but they don’t want to run up against a solid wall of it.

  Instead, reveal backstory and plot information in small bits, without dumping. Try delivering it in an exchange. For example:

  “Joe, stop. Give me a look at that eye. Your dad did that to you?”

  He swatted her hand away. “You act like that’s something new. Heck, he knocked out five of my teeth before kindergarten. Here, hold this.” She juggled the hot dog he shoved at her. “Taxi!”

  A lot happens in this little snippet. You get a glimpse at this character’s backstory before he shuts readers down by cutting away to the taxi, a move that pushes the story forward even as readers try to imagine a past as abusive as he suggests. It may take many pages, many scenes, or many chapters before Joe gives readers a deeper look at his traumatic past. Such patient storytelling is far more intriguing than a block of text with Joe explaining that his dad always hits him, has since he was little, that it makes him sad but what’s the use in talking about it, that none of the teachers he’s told in the past have done anything, and so on. My quick exchange of dialogue covers all that clearly and richly. It’s dynamic, leaving room for questions and unfinished business, so you know this is going to play out in the story ahead.

  Using summarized dialogue

  Sometimes conversations need to happen between characters, but readers don’t need to hear those conversations — when two characters make plans to meet up later, for example, or when a parent tells a kid to do his chores. Those exchanges may take care of necessary business, but they aren’t interesting to read. You can summarize dialogue in the case of mundane exchanges, when things are repeated so often that readers don’t need to hear them again, or when you just need to keep the pace moving and a conversation would bog you down. Check this out:

  Mom was tinkering in the kitchen when I bolted past with my car keys. “I’m going to Mark’s house.”

  “You need to put away your clothes first.”

  “I did put them away.”

  “Shoving them under your bed doesn’t count. Go put them away in the closet.”

  “Aw, shoot. Fine. But then I’m going to Mark’s.”

  Now for the summarized version:

  I almost made it out on the first try. Mom stopped me at the door, though, with orders to put my clothes away. I tried to tell her I’d already done it, but she said shoving them under my bed didn’t count. It was another ten minutes before I was on the road. Who knew if Mark would still be there?

  Although summarizing dialogue may seem to go against the show, don’t tell rule, it’s preferable to boring a reader or slowing the story. Just be sure you’re not summarizing dialogue that furthers the story, adds tension and/or emotion, or escalates conflict. That’s what dialogue is for!

  Don’t linger on the past. Instead, mention it and then show that past informing the present. Keep touching on the past, drawing it out more and more through the book until it’s all finally revealed and the character has had his say. The result is a satisfying read across the full novel.

  Info dump alert! If your characters say, “As you know” or “Like I told you” or “Remember?” you’re probably telling with your dialogue.

  Getting the Balance Right: Dialogue and Narrative

  Strong dialogue doesn’t stand alone — what you do with the narrative surrounding it determines whether it hits a homer or languishes in the on-deck circle, forever swinging but never connecting. In this section, you team up your dialogue with narrative beats that inject rhythm and emotion, with action that enhances rather than just moves, and with white space that punches up the drama while giving young readers the room they need to kick back and enjoy the story.

  Taking breathers with beats

  In real-life conversations, speakers stop now and then to breathe. They give their words a moment to sink in, or they pause to add dramatic emphasis, or they need to physically move, perhaps smooching their sweetie or devoting brief but full-bodied attention to a hairpin turn in a racing video game. Authentic written dialogue does the same thing in moments called narrative beats. Here’s a patch of dialogue with the narrative beats italicized:

  “Want this?” I held up my half-eaten burger. Ricardo wasn’t the kind of guy to get all weirded out about spit. Food was food.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m on a diet.”

  “What diet?”

  “It’s called the seafood diet.” Suddenly he grinned. “I see food, I eat it!” He grabbed my burger and bit off half in one bite.

  Clearly, I wasn’t the kind of guy to get all weirded out about dorkiness. A friend was a friend.

  Life at Horace Walker Middle School wasn’t a place to be picky about friends. Fact was, I was lucky if I made it through the week without being locked in my own locker, or stuffed in the cafeteria trash can, or locked in the janitorial supply closet. Friends didn’t come easy there, so I took what I could get. And Ricardo was what I could get.

  “Here,” I told him, “might as well have my fries, too.”

  Beats are the bits of narrative that surround the dialogue, supporting it or expanding on it some way. The dialog
ue tags (the “he said/she said” stuff) count as beats because they illuminate who is speaking and sometimes how. The paragraph of narration that isn’t italicized in this example qualifies as exposition, being separate from the act of speaking. It’s as if the narrative steps away from the conversation for a moment to address the story in a larger way. Don’t worry — there won’t be a test on this difference. The point is that you realize how narrative beats work in tandem with the spoken words to create strong, revealing dialogue. What I hope you also see in that example is that effective beats contribute rhythm to a written conversation.

  Rhythm is part of what makes dialogue sound natural to the ear, and a big part of rhythm is variety. As with every other element of fiction writing, you want the craft to be invisible so readers can sink into the story. So when you work beats into the rhythm of the conversation, construct the beats in a variety of ways so they’ll blend in.

  Here’s an example that lacks variety, depending too heavily on dialogue tags with clauses tacked on. It suffers from a distracting staccato quality as a result:

  “You! Stop there!” a voice called out as I reached the halfway point in the tunnel.

  “I’m not going back!” I shouted as I increased my pace down the dark corridor.

  “Stop! Now!” the voice called out again, getting closer.

  “I’m not giving up now,” I muttered, breaking into a run.

  “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” the voice repeated as it closed in.

  Here’s a more active and varied version:

  “You! Stop there!” a voice called out as I reached the halfway point in the tunnel.

  I increased my pace. “I’m not going back,” I shouted. The gypsy had said the side tunnel was about here, and finding it meant freedom. It was so dark, though. I put my hands out to feel the wall as I stumbled forward.