How to Write Dialogue in a Story: Making Your Characters Come Alive on the Page
I've been writing fiction for over two decades, and if there's one thing that can make or break a story faster than you can say "he said, she said," it's dialogue. Bad dialogue sticks out like a sore thumb—it's the literary equivalent of hearing someone scratch their nails down a chalkboard. But when dialogue works? Man, it's pure magic. Characters leap off the page, scenes crackle with tension, and readers forget they're reading words at all.
Let me tell you something that took me years to figure out: dialogue isn't conversation. This might sound obvious, but I can't tell you how many manuscripts I've read where writers transcribe exactly how people talk in real life. Trust me, nobody wants to read that. Real conversations are full of ums, ahs, repetitions, and mind-numbing small talk about the weather. Your dialogue needs to be conversation's cooler, more focused cousin—the one who shows up to family gatherings with interesting stories and leaves before anyone gets bored.
The Art of Listening (Yes, Really)
Before you write a single line of dialogue, you need to become a professional eavesdropper. I'm serious. Some of my best dialogue has come from snippets I've overheard in coffee shops, on buses, or while pretending to read in parks. People say the most extraordinary things when they think no one's listening.
But here's the trick—you're not listening for what they say, you're listening for how they say it. Notice how a teenager talks to their parent versus their best friend. Pay attention to how someone's speech patterns change when they're nervous, excited, or trying to impress someone. These subtle shifts are gold for writers.
I once overheard a breakup happening at a Starbucks (I know, I know, but I couldn't help it). What struck me wasn't the dramatic declarations or accusations. It was how they kept talking about everything except what was actually happening. One person kept mentioning how they needed to return a library book. The other wouldn't stop adjusting the sugar packets on the table. That's real human behavior—we often talk around the big stuff, not through it.
Every Character Needs Their Own Voice
This is where a lot of writers stumble. They create these wonderfully distinct characters on paper—a gruff detective, a bubbly barista, a cynical professor—but when these characters open their mouths, they all sound exactly the same. Usually, they all sound like the writer.
Creating distinct voices isn't about giving everyone a different accent or catchphrase (though used sparingly, these can help). It's about understanding how a character's background, education, personality, and current emotional state would influence their speech.
Take my gruff detective. Maybe he's economical with words because he's seen too much to waste time on pleasantries. He might speak in short, declarative sentences. He probably doesn't use many adjectives. Compare that to the bubbly barista who might speak in run-on sentences, peppering her speech with "like" and "you know" and jumping between topics like a caffeinated squirrel.
I keep a dialogue journal for each major character. Weird? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely. I write practice conversations between characters, arguments about mundane things, their internal monologues. By the time I'm writing the actual story, I can hear their voices so clearly that the dialogue almost writes itself.
The Subtext Game
Here's something they don't teach you in creative writing 101: the best dialogue is often about what's not being said. Subtext is the secret sauce that transforms functional dialogue into something memorable.
Think about the last argument you had with someone close to you. Were you really arguing about who forgot to take out the trash, or was it about feeling unappreciated? In fiction, your characters should rarely say exactly what they mean. They should talk around it, hint at it, or say the opposite while their actions reveal the truth.
I learned this lesson the hard way when an editor returned my manuscript with a note saying my dialogue was "too on the nose." Every character said exactly what they felt and meant. It was efficient, sure, but it was also boring as hell. Real people don't walk around declaring their deepest fears and desires to everyone they meet. They hide, they deflect, they lie—even to themselves.
The Rhythm Section
Dialogue has a rhythm, just like music. Short sentences create urgency. Longer, meandering sentences can show nervousness or contemplation. The rhythm should match the scene's mood and the character's state of mind.
When I'm writing an argument, I use short, sharp exchanges. The sentences get shorter as tensions rise. Interruptions increase. Incomplete thoughts—
"You never listen to—" "Don't start with that again." "I'm not starting anything, I'm just—" "Just what? Just reminding me what a disappointment I am?"
See how that feels different from a contemplative conversation between old friends? Those might have longer pauses, more complete thoughts, a gentler back-and-forth rhythm.
Tags, Action Beats, and the Dreaded Adverbs
Let's talk about dialogue tags. "Said" is not dead. I repeat: "said" is not dead. Beginning writers often think they need to spice up their dialogue with creative tags: she expostulated, he ejaculated (please, for the love of all that is holy, don't use this one), they pontificated. Stop it. "Said" is invisible. Readers' eyes skip right over it, which is exactly what you want.
That said (see what I did there?), you don't need a tag for every line of dialogue. Once you've established who's speaking, you can let the conversation flow. Even better, use action beats to show who's speaking while adding visual interest to the scene.
Instead of: "I can't believe you did that," she said angrily.
Try: "I can't believe you did that." She slammed her coffee mug on the table, brown liquid sloshing over the rim.
The action shows the anger without telling us she's angry. It also gives us something visual to latch onto.
As for adverbs in dialogue tags... look, Stephen King famously said the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and while I don't completely agree, he's got a point. "She said sadly" is lazy writing. Show us the sadness through the character's words, actions, or thoughts. Make the dialogue itself carry the emotion.
Dialect and Accents: A Minefield
Nothing makes me close a book faster than dialogue written in heavy dialect. You know what I mean: "Ah reckon we'uns better git on down yonder 'fore the sun sets."
Just... no.
A light touch is key here. Maybe drop the 'g' from -ing words for a casual speaker. Use regional vocabulary or speech patterns rather than phonetic spelling. Let word choice and sentence structure do the heavy lifting. A character from Boston might "wicked" as an intensifier. Someone from the South might use "y'all" or "fixin' to." But please, please don't make your readers decode every line of dialogue.
The First Draft Dialogue Dump
Here's a secret: my first draft dialogue is terrible. It's clunky, too long, and everyone sounds the same. And that's okay! First draft dialogue is about getting the information on the page. You're figuring out what needs to be said, what information needs to be conveyed, what conflicts need to surface.
The magic happens in revision. That's when I go through and give each character their distinct voice. I cut the small talk (unless it serves a purpose), tighten the exchanges, add subtext, and layer in those action beats. I read it aloud—this is crucial. If you stumble over it, your readers will too. If it sounds unnatural coming out of your mouth, it'll sound unnatural in their heads.
Context is Everything
Dialogue doesn't exist in a vacuum. Where your characters are talking matters as much as what they're saying. Two people having a heart-to-heart in a noisy bar will speak differently than if they're in a quiet library. Someone confessing their love while hanging off the side of a cliff (bit dramatic, but you get the idea) won't be composing eloquent speeches.
I once wrote a scene where two characters were having an important conversation while assembling IKEA furniture. The frustration with the instructions, the missing screws, the backwards panels—it all became part of their dialogue. They'd start to address the real issue, then get distracted by "No, that piece goes there," and "Did you see another Allen wrench?" The setting became a character in the conversation.
The Power of Silence
Sometimes the most powerful dialogue is no dialogue at all. A character who refuses to answer, who walks away mid-conversation, who responds to a declaration of love with silence—these moments can be devastating. Don't be afraid of white space on the page. Let your characters breathe, think, not respond.
I learned this from playwright Harold Pinter, master of the pause. In his plays, what happens in the silences is often more important than the words surrounding them. Fiction writers can learn from this. We have tools playwrights don't—we can describe what's happening in those silences, what the characters are thinking, feeling, doing.
Avoiding the Info Dump
We've all read those painful scenes where characters tell each other things they already know for the reader's benefit. "As you know, Bob, our father died when we were young, leaving us to be raised by our grandmother in rural Kentucky." Bob knows this. He was there.
If you need to convey backstory through dialogue, make it natural. Have characters argue about their interpretation of past events. Have them remind each other of specific moments, not entire life histories. Or better yet, find ways to show this information through action and narrative rather than dialogue.
The Revision Process
When I'm revising dialogue, I have a checklist:
- Does each character sound distinct?
- Is there subtext?
- Have I cut the boring bits?
- Are the dialogue tags invisible or necessary?
- Does the rhythm match the mood?
- Would real people actually say this (even if not exactly like this)?
- Does it move the story forward?
If a line of dialogue isn't doing at least two things—revealing character, advancing plot, building tension, establishing mood—it probably needs to go.
Reading Your Way to Better Dialogue
Want to write better dialogue? Read plays. Seriously. Playwrights live and die by their dialogue. Read Tennessee Williams for emotional subtext. Read David Mamet for rhythm and profanity as art form. Read August Wilson for distinct voices and cultural authenticity.
But also pay attention to dialogue in the novels you love. What makes it work? How do your favorite authors handle tags, pacing, dialect? Don't just read for story—read like a writer, analyzing the craft.
Final Thoughts
Writing good dialogue is hard. It's one of those skills that seems like it should be easy—after all, we talk every day—but it requires practice, observation, and revision. Lots of revision.
The good news? When you nail it, when you write dialogue so real that readers can hear it, when your characters' voices become so distinct that readers know who's speaking without tags—that's when your story comes alive. That's when readers stop seeing words on a page and start seeing people.
So go eavesdrop. Practice voices. Read your dialogue aloud. Cut mercilessly. Add subtext. Remember that dialogue is conflict, revelation, and music all rolled into one. Most importantly, trust your ear. If it sounds right, it probably is.
Now stop reading articles about writing dialogue and go write some. Your characters are waiting to speak.
Authoritative Sources:
King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Scribner, 2000.
McKee, Robert. Dialogue: The Art of Verbal Action for Page, Stage, and Screen. Twelve, 2016.
Pinter, Harold. Complete Works: One. Grove Press, 1990.
Rosenfeld, Jordan. Writing the Intimate Character: Create Unique, Compelling Characters Through Mastery of Point of View. Writer's Digest Books, 2016.
Stein, Sol. Stein On Writing: A Master Editor of Some of the Most Successful Writers of Our Century Shares His Craft Techniques and Strategies. St. Martin's Griffin, 2000.
Wilson, August. Three Plays: Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, Fences, Joe Turner's Come and Gone. University of Pittsburgh Press, 1991.