Learn these top tips for writing and editing for the web with our Editing Podcast guest Erin Brenner.
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Did the FBI agent climb out of the SUV?
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Yes, he did. He (the FBI agent) is the subject.
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Was Detective Snooper the bane of her life?
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Yes, he was. He (Detective Snooper) is the subject.
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“Doesn’t the pathologist in that TV show ever change her shirt?”
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“No, she doesn’t. She (the pathologist in that TV show) is the subject.
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“The pathologist in that TV show doesn’t ever change her shirt.”
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Non-standard – new information (AVOID)
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The FBI agent fell to the ground: the gravel dug into her elbows.
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Standard – qualifying information
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The FBI agent fell onto something sharp: gravel.
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Standard – qualifying information
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The FBI agent pulled out her gun: a Glock.
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Non-standard with comma (AVOID)
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The FBI agent fell to the ground, the gravel dug into her elbows.
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Standard with semi-colon
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The FBI agent fell to the ground; the gravel dug into her elbows.
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Standard with full point
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The FBI agent fell to the ground. The gravel dug into her elbows.
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Original with semi-colon
He was bald, or mostly bald – a crop of white stubble gilded his ears – and gave off an air of pent-up energy, of emotions kept in check; the same sense Lamb had had watching the video of him, shot eighteen years ago, through a two-way mirror in one of Regent’s Park’s luxury suites. Joke. These were underground, and were where the Service’s more serious debriefings took place; those which it might later prove politic to deny had happened. |
Original with semi-colon
“You can testify that you spoke to your father that night on Sykes’s phone, and you can say why you went to Mario’s. I can’t say those things in closing arguments; I can only talk about evidence already introduced.” Amended with full point “You can testify that you spoke to your father that night on Sykes’s phone, and you can say why you went to Mario’s. I can’t say those things in closing arguments. I can only talk about evidence already introduced.” |
3 COMPONENTS OF EFFECTIVE DIALOGUE
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Cited sources
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‘And who could tell after the blast if the explosion wasn’t atomic?’ he asked.
‘No, my Lady. They’ll not risk anything that illegal. Radiation lingers. The evidence is hard to erase.’ (Dune, p. 181) ‘Is that what you thought, honey? I’m so sorry – I never meant for you to find out.’ “Hey, Captain Letch. Try thinking with your head instead of your dick. Maybe you’ll find out whodunit before someone else gets killed.” |
The Big Sleep, p. 140:
‘Nice work, Marlowe. Are you my bodyguard now?’ Her voice had a harsh note. ‘Looks that way. Here’s the bag.’ She took it. I said: ‘Have you a car with you?’ She laughed. ‘I came with a man. What are you doing here?’ Butchered version: ‘Nice work, Marlowe. Are you my bodyguard now?’ Her voice had a harsh note. ‘Looks that way, Vivian. Here’s the bag.’ She took it. I said: ‘Have you a car with you, Vivian?’ She laughed. ‘I came with a man. What are you doing here, Marlowe?’ |
There was a high-pitched scream and, almost simultaneously, a cry from the lounge. Jonesy jumped off her lap and padded under the bed, reappearing a moment later with a dead mouse in his jaws.
‘Jonesy! Where did you get that?’ (29 Seconds, p. 157) ‘Jake, is that your new car over there?’ Mal said. ‘You don’t have a clue who I am, do you, you bumbling fool?’ Lord Pompous asked. ‘Did you know, Beelzebub, that your wings are scorched?’ Lucifer said, poking the fiery brimstone. |
With vocative comma
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Without comma
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“Let’s eat, children,” said a salivating Wendy.
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“Let’s eat children,” said a salivating Wendy.
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‘Shoot, Sergeant Ash!’ ordered the captain.
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‘Shoot Sergeant Ash!’ ordered the captain.
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To get a lawyer would mean calling on my family for finances. The only officer I would have really liked—a barrister who had been sailing with us several times—was obvious. “As far as I’m concerned, sir,” I said, “I’d be glad if you’d act for me.” (Maddon’s Rock, p. 75)
‘Honestly, darling. I’d never do anything to hurt you. He means nothing to me. Nothing.’ Marie yawned and flicked a crumb off the table. “Don’t push it, love. I have neither the time nor the patience.” ‘Hey, numbskull! Try searching on Google before you email a busy colleague with your query.’ The sounds of the steps grew louder, and the whistling went on cheerfully. In a moment the jerkin showed. I stepped out between the two cars and said: ‘Got a match, buddy?’ (The Big Sleep, p. 96) ‘Maybe in the service,’ Reacher said. ‘Not necessarily in some half-assed private company.’ ‘I don’t see a difference.’ ‘Well, you ought to, soldier.’ ‘Watch your mouth, pal. I’m helping you out here.’ (The Hard Way, p. 141) |
“For shame! For shame!” cried the lady’s maid. “What shocking conduct, Miss Eyre, to strike a young gentleman, your benefactress’s son. Your young master.” (Jane Eyre, Chapter 2)
‘Surely you realized, Master Doolittle, that your father could talk to the animals,’ said Eliza as she slid off the pushmi-pullyu. ‘You, dear Jack, are the light of my life,’ said Bobby. ‘Well, nearly – sweet baby James glows a little brighter.’ |
Unlikely thought
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Thought framed in criticism
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Louise stopped in front of the mirror. Time to brush those blonde locks, she thought.
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Louise stopped in front of the mirror. Christ, blonde really isn’t my colour, she thought.
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'First of all the expert should analyse the mark in detail, describing as many minutiae as she can. Only afterwards should she examine possible matches and carry out a comparison. When analysis and comparison happen simultaneously, experts run the risk of finding matching minutiae [ridge characteristics) because they are looking for them.’
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“The murder,” Simon said. “It was gruesome.”
Ingrid wore a long thin coat. She dug her hands into her pockets. “Go on.” “Aaron was mutilated.” “How?” “Do you really need the details?” he asked. [...] “According to Hester’s source, the killer slit Aaron’s throat, though she said that’s a tame way of putting it. The knife went deep into his neck. Almost took off his head. They sliced off three fingers. They also cut off ...” “Pre- or post-mortem?” Ingrid asked in her physician tone. “The amputations. Was he still alive for them?” “I don’t know,” Simon said. “Does it matter?” |
Witherspoon leaned forward and examined the dead man. It was not a chore he relished. The fact was, he was rather squeamish about dead people, but as corpses went, this was a rather nice one. At least it wasn’t covered in blood.
[…] “The doctor was obviously reading when death occurred,” Witherspoon said. “See how his head is resting on that book. Except for the rather peculiar way his arms are flopped out, one each side, you’d think he was merely taking a nap.” “Well he isn’t napping,” snapped the doctor, glaring at Witherspoon. “He’s dead and the circumstances are very suspicious.” “Suspicious?” Witherspoon echoed. He didn’t think there was anything suspicious about a dead person in a doctor’s surgery. Mind you there were more dead people in hospitals, but surely, if one couldn’t die in a hospital, a surgery was the next best place. […] “Inspector Witherspoon,” Hightower began slowly, as though talking to a thick-skulled child, “if you’d trouble yourself to lift Dr. Slocum’s head, you’ll see why I considered his death suspicious.” Witherspoon swallowed hard and rolled the dead man’s head to one side. He tried not to shudder as a pair of open, beady gray eyes gazed up at him. The face surrounding those eyes was puffed up like bread dough, and the flesh was flushed a bright pink. A hideously swollen tongue protruded from between lips that had been stretched in a horrible parody of a smile. Inspector Witherspoon quickly turned the face away and stepped back. “As you can see, he’s swelled up like a bullfrog,” Hightower continued. “He may well have actually died of heart failure, but I assure you, it was brought on by something else. […] Dr. Slocum’s been poisoned.” |
He bent forward, suddenly, and caught himself with one hand on his knee. Like a runner who hits his limit. Winded and beaten. When Kennon looked up, Caleb could see veins and tendons bulging in his neck. Their eyes met.
“Don’t move,” Kennon said. This time, his voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. Emmeline stood to her full height and took a step toward Kennon. He fired the gun at her. Caleb didn’t know if he was trying to hit her or not. A candle inside a glass sphere exploded three feet from Emmeline’s ankle. Closer, in fact, to Caleb’s head. Behind her, the man on the mattress went on twitching. The device clamped to his face was made of iron. Thumbscrews ran along both its sides in double rows. “Inspector, you’ll hit somebody,” Emmeline said. She kept coming toward him. Her dress was cut long in the back, so that its hem trailed on the floor behind her, a black train. Emmeline stepped carefully between the candles, but her dress swept over them. They tipped, spelling wax, sending up smoke as they went out. Caleb got to his back and struggled until his cuffed hands were behind his thighs. He didn’t take his eyes of Emmeline. “You look sick, Inspector,” Emmeline said. “I could get you something to drink. A glass of water, maybe? Something a little stronger?” Kennon fired again and Emmeline didn’t even flinch. The bullet missed her by ten feet, punching a hole in the back of the building. “Stop—” “You should be more careful what you touch,” Emmeline said. “Some things can go right through the skin.” Kennon fell onto his knees. His face was purple. |
But the man came closer. He wasn’t sure. And closer. The beam of light was just above Matlock now. Then it moved to his midsection and Matlock could see the large barrel of the ugly black automatic.
It was the second, the instant he’d waited for. He whipped his right hand up towards the weapon, simultaneously springing his whole body against the legs of the man in the raincoat. He held the automatic’s barrel, forcing it with all his strength toward the ground. The gun fired twice, the impact of the explosions nearly shattering Matlock’s hand, the sounds partially muted by wet earth and the slashing rain. The man was beneath him now, twisting on his side, thrashing with his legs and free arm against the heavier Matlock. Matlock flung himself on the pinned arm and sank his teeth into the wrist above the hand holding the weapon. He bit into the flesh until he could feel the blood spurting out, mingled with the cold rain. The man released the automatic, screaming in anguish. Matlock grabbed for the gun, wrested it free, and smashed it repeatedly into the man’s face. |
Lamaison saw his chance, and he took it. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and scrabbled his heels on the carpet, trying to get his feet under him. But Reacher was ready. Readier than he had ever been. He kicked Lamaison hard in the side and swung an elbow that caught him on the ear. Wrestled him face down on the floor and got a knee between his shoulder blades and jammed the SIG against the top of his spine. Lamaison’s head was up and Reacher knew he was staring out into the void. He feet were drumming on the carpet. He was screaming. Reacher could hear him clearly over the noise. He could feel his chest heaving.
Too late, Reacher thought. You reap what you sow. |
ORIGINAL UNFILTERED
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FILTERED BY ME
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When the dark mellowed, he shuffled inside and sank onto the seat that a long-dead troglodyte had hewn into the cave wall. The familiar coldness seeped through his trousers and into his flesh.
Roz Watkins, The Devil’s Dice, p. 1 |
When he saw that the dark had mellowed, he shuffled inside and sank onto the seat that a long-dead troglodyte had hewn into the cave wall. He felt the familiar coldness seeping through his trousers and into his flesh.
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The address is typed on a sticker, the postmark a smudge of ink in the top right-hand corner.
Clare Mackintosh, Let Me Lie, p. 15 |
I notice the address and realize it’s typed on a sticker, the postmark a smudge of ink in the top right-hand corner.
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Earlier that morning, she’d groaned at the invasive ringtone from her partner’s iPhone. […] How could such a small slab of silicone produce so much noise?
Val McDermid, Insidious Intent, p. 14 |
Earlier that morning, she’d groaned at the invasive ringtone from her partner’s iPhone. […] She wondered how such a small slab of silicone could produce so much noise.
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‘So do I,’ said Banks. After a short pause he went on. ‘Anyway, I seem to remember you told me you went to Silver Royd girls’ school in Wortley.’
‘That’s right. Why?’ ‘Does the name Wendy Vincent mean anything to you?’ ‘Yes, of course. She was the girl who was murdered when I was at school. [...] It was terrible.’ Banks looked away. He couldn’t help it, knowing the things that had happened to Linda, but she seemed unfazed. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘And there was something about her in the papers a couple of years ago. The fiftieth anniversary. Right?’ ‘That’s the one.’ ‘It seems a strange sort of anniversary to celebrate. A murder.’ ‘Media. What can I say? It wasn’t a [...]’ (Sleeping in the Ground by Peter Robinson, pp. 273–4) |
‘I wanted to believe he could love me the way I loved him. And then I heard him ask Sophie to marry him, and … and …’ She dissolved into weeping.
(Closed Casket by Sophie Hannah, p. 165) ‘See these?’ She jangled the keys inches from my face then lobbed them over the fence. ‘Not taking them. No way. It’s bribery.’ ‘Right, that list of names – you said there were eighteen.’ ‘Eighty. Not eighteen. Sorry.’ I closed my eyes, massaging my aching temples. ‘Go on then. Take it from the top.’ |
He bends down and starts fiddling with the dial. “Hank asked me to hold something for him.”
(Don’t Let Go by Harlan Coben, p. 201). ‘Just cuts and bruising?’ ‘Yes. The smaller ones had already healed by the time I was found, but this one …’ He placed a finger against chin. I could see star-shaped stitch marks tracing the line of the scar. ‘This one became pretty badly infected. The middle of my face was swollen and there was pus coming out of the wound. I got some sort of bone infection off the back of it as well. It was bad.’ (I Am Missing by Tim Weaver, p. 13) Dave glanced at the signature tattoo on the Matt’s hand. ‘That looks familiar. Who inked you?’ ‘How do you think we should play this?’ I walked over to the window and watched the evening rush-hour traffic. ‘Low profile or head on?’ |
Ray studied his drink and narrowed his eyes. ‘You can be cruel sometimes, you know. I don’t know where you got it from. “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth …” Your mother didn’t have a cruel bone in her body.’
(Sleeping in the Ground by Peter Robinson, p. 261) Laura shrugged. “If you came equipped with a bone saw—” “Door opens, silenced 9mm in the brain, killer closes the door, cuts off Young’s hand and bags it, leaves the musical score in the other hand and gets out of there in, say, under five minutes?” “It’s possible.” I turned to Crabbie. “And the rest of the house was untouched. No trophies taken, no money, nothing like that.” “What are you thinking?” he asked. (The Cold Cold Ground by Adrian McKinty, p. 117) James pressed two fingers to his cheek and winced. ‘I’m heading off to the dentist.’ |
‘Most of that time we’ve been in my house, which I’ve selfishly insisted on because that’s where Laurie is. Kevin had no objections, because it’s comfortable and because Laurie is cooking our meals.’
(Play Dead, p. 119. Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition, 2009) |
MOTIVATION:
The adverb tells us about the emotional motivation behind Carpenter’s insistence (Laurie is his lover), which contrasts with Kevin’s motivation: convenience. |
‘I accept his offer of a glass of Swedish mineral water and then ask him about his business relationship with Walter Timmerman. He smiles condescendingly and then shakes his head.’
(New Tricks, p. 110. Grand Central Publishing; Reissue edition, 2010) |
MOOD:
Removing the adverb might lead us down the path of thinking that Jacoby, the smiler, is being congenial. He’s not. The scene is confrontational, though measured. |
‘Milo is digging furiously in some brush and dirt. The area has gotten muddy because of the rain, but he doesn’t seem to mind.’
(Dog Tags, p. 291. Grand Central Publishing; Reprint edition, 2011) |
SCENE ENRICHMENT:
The adverb enables us to imagine how manic the dog is – we can see his legs pumping, muck flying everywhere, perhaps some doggy drool swinging from the corners of his mouth. That single modifier enriches the narrative. |
1/4/2019
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