Great Courses Exercise 7

Write dialog, then add more. 

Version 1. Just dialogue:

“I love walking on the beach, don’t you? It’s just so nice—wading in the surf and looking for beach glass."

“We're missing the game."

“Aw, pooh, there’s always a game on. It’s not every day you can enjoy the sunshine at Alki. It’s a perfect day for beachcombing!” 

“Whatever. I don’t see what’s so interesting about pieces of old beer bottles. It’s just trash."

“Trash? Only if you lack imagination, honey. There’s a million things to do with beach glass. Remember that candle holder I made for you last Valentine’s Day? It was pretty and romantic, wasn’t it? I used that red glass and white sand and…"

“I guess. Look, I’m going up to Salty’s to grab a beer and catch the rest of the game."

“You are? Oh, but I’m not nearly done soaking up the sun. I don’t want to go into that stinky bar."

“Suit yourself."

“You’re taking off without me? But I thought we were going to spend the afternoon together. John, wait!"

Version 2: Dialogue and tags. 

“I love walking on the beach, don’t you?” said Carrie. “It’s just so nice—wading in the surf and looking for beach glass."

“We're missing the game,” said John.

“Aw, pooh, there’s always a game on. It’s not every day you can enjoy the sunshine here at Alki. It’s a perfect day for beach combing!” said Carrie. 

“Whatever. I don’t see what’s so interesting about pieces of old beer bottles,” said John. “It’s just trash."

“Trash? Only if you lack imagination, honey. There’s a million things to do with beach glass. Remember that candle holder I made for you last Valentine’s Day? It was pretty and romantic, wasn’t it? I used that red glass and white sand and…"

“I guess,” said John. "Look, I’m going up to Salty’s to grab a beer and catch the rest of the game."

“You are? Oh, but I’m not nearly done soaking up the sun. I don’t want to go into that stinky bar,” said Carrie, sounding a bit like a toddler who doesn’t want her nap.

“Suit yourself,” said John.

“You’re taking off without me? But I thought we were going to spend the afternoon together. John, wait!"

Version 3: Dialogue and slightly more descriptive tags.

“I love walking on the beach, don’t you?” said Carrie. “It’s just so nice—wading in the surf and looking for beach glass."

“We're missing the game,” said John curtly. 

“Aw, pooh, there’s always a game on. It’s not every day you can enjoy the sunshine here at Alki. It’s a perfect day for beach combing!” said Carrie, her voice rising in pitch. 

“Whatever. I don’t see what’s so interesting about pieces of old beer bottles. It’s just trash.”  

“Trash? Only if you lack imagination, honey. There’s a million things to do with beach glass. Remember that candle holder I made for you last Valentine’s Day? It was pretty and romantic, wasn’t it? I used that red glass and white sand and…"

“I guess,” said John, interrupting as Carrie began to wax rhapsodic. "Look, I’m going up to Salty’s to grab a beer and catch the rest of the game."

“You are? Oh, but I’m not nearly done soaking up the sun. I don’t want to go into that stinky bar,” said Carrie, sounding a bit like a toddler who didn't want her nap.

“Suit yourself."

“You’re taking off without me? But I thought we were going to spend the afternoon together. John, wait!” she cried, her voice taking on a quavery tone. 

Version 4. Dialogue and description/narrative.

Carrie and John were walking on Alki beach. Carrie had removed her shoes and tossed them carelessly against the sea wall. Her feet were in the shallow surf, her jeans rolled to her knees. John was six feet away, up on the wet sand, still wearing his new white Converse All-Stars, trying to avoid the waves. 

“I love walking on the beach, don’t you?” said Carrie. “It’s just so nice—wading in the surf and looking for beach glass.” Just then a wave washed over Carrie’s feet and soaked the rolled-up hem of her jeans. She screamed, then stood and looked out at the waves, laughing.  

“We're missing the game,” said John. He turned away from the tide and looked over at the boulevard lined with sports bars, coffee shops, and restaurants. Just then, a loud groan could be heard from a patio crowded with guys wearing Seahawks jerseys and holding glasses of beer.

“Aw, pooh, there’s always a game on. It’s not every day you can enjoy the sunshine here at Alki. It’s a perfect day for beachcombing!” Carrie bent over and sifted through the wet sand at her feet. She picked up a bit of blue glass and pocketed it. She looked at John, beaming. 

“Whatever. I don’t see what’s so interesting about pieces of old beer bottles. It’s just trash.” He spit a large wad of tobacco on the sand, where it was engulfed by a wave and washed away with the shards of plastic that dotted the beach. 

“You lack imagination, honey. There’s a million things to do with beach glass. Remember that candle holder I made for you last Valentine’s Day? It was pretty and romantic, wasn’t it? I used all that red glass and white sand and…"

“I guess,” said John, interrupting her description. "Look, I’m going up to Salty’s to grab a beer and catch the rest of the game.” He turned and began walking away, toward the crowded patio.

“You are? Oh, but I’m not nearly done soaking up the sun. I don’t want to go into that stinky bar,” said Carrie in a whiny voice. She stood there in the surf, her back to the waves, watching John go. Moisture pooled in her eyes and her nose grew red.   

“Suit yourself.” John slogged through the soft dry sand, leaving Carrie in the waves.

“You’re taking off without me?” Carrie's voice faded as John left her for the crowd and the game. "But I thought we were going to spend the afternoon together. John, wait!” 

Version 5: Dialogue and narrative and inner monologue (John’s POV).

Carrie and John were walking on Alki beach. Carrie had removed her shoes and tossed them carelessly against the sea wall. She splashed her winter-pale feet in the shallow surf, her jeans rolled to her knees. John walked six feet away on the wet sand, still wearing his new white Converse All-Stars. He was nervous about getting them dirty and wet. Also, it was January and the water was cold. He wondered why Carrie thought it was fun to freeze her feet off in Elliott Bay. 

“I love walking on the beach, don’t you?” said Carrie. “It’s nice—wading in the surf and looking for beach glass.” Just then a wave soaked the rolled-up hem of her jeans. She screamed like a toddler who has never seen a wave before, then stood there like a fool, getting even wetter. He could hear her laughing like an idiot. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, embarrassed.   

“We're missing the game,” said John rather loudly so that she would hear him over her goofy laugh. He turned away from her and looked longingly at the boulevard lined with sports bars, coffee shops, and restaurants. A loud cheer, then a groan, could be heard from a patio crowded with guys wearing Seahawks jerseys and holding glasses of beer. Something important must have happened in the playoff game, and he had missed it. 

“Pooh, there’s always a game on. It’s the first sunshine all winter! It’s a perfect day for beachcombing!” Carrie bent over and sifted through the wet sand at her feet. She picked up a bit of blue glass and pocketed it. She looked at John, beaming as if she’d just found one of Her Majesty's Crown Jewels on the Seattle beach. 

“Whatever. It’s just trash.” He spit a large wad of tobacco on the sand, where it was engulfed by a wave and washed away with the shards of plastic that dotted the beach. She wrinkled her nose like she was about to make a comment about his habit, but then her expression changed and she raised her right finger in the pose that meant she was about to deliver one of her little speeches. 

“You lack imagination, honey.” He winced. He hated when she used that endearment. She didn’t notice, and went on with her flight of fancy. "There’s a million things to do with beach glass. Remember that candle holder I made for you last Valentine’s Day? It was pretty and romantic, wasn’t it? I used all that red glass and white sand and…"

“Yeah,” said John, not so much in agreement but as a way of interrupting her chatter. He didn’t want to go near the topic of the pink-and-white monstrosity that he had chucked in the garbage as soon as he got home from their date. "Look, I’m going up to Salty’s to catch the rest of the game.” He turned and began slogging through the soft sand, toward the crowded patio. He didn’t care whether she followed him. 

“You are? But I’m not done yet! I don’t want to go into that stinky bar,” said Carrie, her voice getting louder and whinier. He wanted to slap her when she sounded like that.

She stood there in the surf, her back to the waves, watching John go. Moisture pooled in her eyes and her nose grew red. He turned around and looked at her, and saw that she was about to cry, but he wasn’t about to let her manipulate him into missing the game, again. 

“Suit yourself.” He kept walking, leaving her at the water’s edge.

“You’re taking off without me?” Her voice faded as he left her for the friendly, beer-soaked bar, hoping he wasn’t too late for the second half. Her heard her cry plaintively, "John, wait!” He was done waiting for her.