Gimme
a beat . . .
Okay, so I just stole Michael
Jackson’s title and Janet Jackson’s lyric. (I like to dance; is that a
crime?)
Let’s not beat around the bush.
(Sorry.) What’s a “beat,” and do ya need it?
Beat: a description
that replaces or accompanies an attribution (Renni Browne;
Dave King).
Perfect definition, as long as
ya know what an attribution is. (Well . . . do ya?) An attribution
tells the reader who’s talkin’. Examples of attributions, or tags,
would be: she said, John said, they said, and so on. When using an
attribution after dialogue, the dialogue ends with a comma inside the
closing quotation mark, followed by the attribution. Example: “Kelly
Mortimer is nearly perfect in every way,” she said. (I like the movie Mary
Poppins as well.) A writer can also use attributions between
two sentences or before the dialogue.
Without beats, this dialogue
featuring three people would look something like this:
“How are you?” Sally said.
“Fine,” John said.
“Did you miss me?” Janet said.
He said, “No. I missed her.”
“How can you say that?” Janet said.
“Because he never loved you. He loves me,” Sally said.
Oy! Talk about beatin’ a dead
horse. (Sorry.) Fair warning: If anyone sends me a submission like
that, I may haveta beat some sense into ya. (Sorry.)
Now that I’ve explained an
attribution, let’s go back to beats. Unlike attributions, beats are
complete sentences. You don’t use a comma, as with an attribution, you
use a period. Beats usually consist of snippets of action and give the
writer another option to show the reader who’s doin’ the talkin’. You
can use ’em to break up dialogue or at the beginning or end of a
sentence.. All beats can be just as bad as all attributions, so use
them in moderation.
Can ya imagine:
“How are you?” Sally moved
toward him.
“Fine.” John dropped his bag to the floor.
“Did you miss me?” Janet’s expression mirrored hope.
He grabbed Sally’s hand and pulled her closer. “No. I missed her.”
“How can you say that?” Janet crumpled to the couch.
Sally’s
smirk was bigger than Alaska. “Because he never loved you. He loves
me.”
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No
comments on the cheesy
sentences. This ain’t Gone With the Wind, so don’t
beat me up over it. (Sorry.)
Let’s try a mix. (It can’t get
any worse. At least I hope it can’t.)
“How are you?”
“Fine, Sally,” John said as he dropped his bag to the floor.
“Did you miss me?” Janet’s expression mirrored hope.
He grabbed Sally’s hand and pulled her closer. “No. I missed her.”
“How can you say that?
“Because he never loved you, Janet. He loves me.”
Well, if that don’t beat all!
(Sorry.) I know; it’s horrid, but it beats a kick in the rear. (Sorry.)
Still, the sentences served their purpose. (Namely, to get my word
count up so I can finish this darn column.) It’s the best of the three
sections because it incorporates action, leaves some stuff out to
improve the pacing, and it ain’t as repetitious.
If you have only two people in a
scene, you don’t haveta identify characters every time they say
somethin’, as long as it’s clear to the reader who’s saying what. It’s
annoying to haveta go back and pick up a thread because you’ve lost
track of which character is jabbering. (And we all know it isn’t wise
to annoy a bipolar Italian. . . .)
Did I answer the question? Y’all
remember: Do ya gotta put beats in your manuscripts? . . . Beats me. .
. . (Sorry.)
Until next month (I’m beatin’ a
hasty retreat.) (Sorry.), miss me.
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