Back in my little baby actor days, I was creating my acting career just as the independent film movement exploded. It was a lot like the independent publishing movement in that it suddenly democratized film in a way it had never been before, and my best friend and I decided to make a movie of our own.

At the time I was dating another actor, and he asked if he could see the film, so I gave him a videotape of it. (Yep, an actual video cassette. Of actual film.)

A few days later he returned it. “What did you think?” I asked.

“You did it,” he said with a smile. “You really did it.”

Friends, I’m sure you are interpreting his meaning as clearly as I did.

So much of our communication lies not in the words we use, but in their meanings:

• What we say versus what we actually mean.
• What we say and don’t mean.
• What we mean and don’t say.
• What meaning our conversational partners may take from what we say that we did or did not intend.

Often when I encounter dialogue that feels clunky or ineffective or flat it’s because it hasn’t taken into account all this nuance and subtext that exists in interpersonal conversation.

Good dialogue is like poetry, regular language distilled down into layers of meaning in a fairly economical format.

Good dialogue is like poetry, regular language distilled down into layers of meaning in a fairly economical format. Strong dialogue exists on multiple levels: not just what is said, but all the sedimentary layers of what is not said.

We humans are tricksy little creatures. Yes, we use language to convey information, but often we are conveying much more than the words themselves, and sometimes more than we even think we are.

Good Dialogue Is Deeper Than Words

The other day as we were getting ready for bed my husband asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

I sighed. “I’m working on it.”

He looked confused. “I’ve been feeling a little nauseous since dinner,” he said.

“Oh. I feel fine,” I said, and went back to my book.

Obviously there was a lot more meaning going on here than what was actually said.

• My husband’s a sensitive guy and often tuned into my moods, so I interpreted his question about whether I was feeling okay as his having picked up on my state of mind, which has been a bit staticky lately. But I also know he doesn’t really like to talk about squishy things like feelings, so I was touched by his asking about mine.

• That clearly wasn’t what he meant. He had an upset stomach and was trying to pinpoint the cause, and wondered if it was something we had eaten.

• I was a little disappointed by that, because while I really didn’t want to talk about what I was processing, which I indicated with my oblique answer, I also kind of wanted him to want to know about it. And I like when he picks up on what I’m feeling because it makes me feel connected and cared for, so when I realized what he meant I felt as if he either wasn’t seeing or didn’t care about my mood, even as I really didn’t want to discuss it (complex and contradictory creatures that we humans are).

• I also felt myself bristling just a little at the implication that the dinner I made might have made him feel sick, both because I’m feeling extra sensitive right now but also because it hit on a frequent sore spot between us about my level of food hygiene versus his. (I rampantly eat raw cookie dough, trust leftovers longer than he does…and don’t even get me started about our differences over the sponge.)

That’s a lot of subtext and meaning in a fairly simple exchange, and it’s what makes human communication and connection so challenging.

But it’s also what makes story dialogue rich and interesting and lets it multitask for your story. This kind of oblique communication fills a lot of story functions:

• It may fill in background on each of our characters and personalities and proclivities.
• It offers insight into relationship dynamics and history.
• It creates some context for the story, the characters, and where the characters are in their arcs.
• It creates tasty conflict and tension with subtext and undercurrents.
• It might further the plot and raise stakes, for instance if this is a story about a marriage that’s going through a rocky period. (Don’t worry, ours isn’t. This was just your garden-variety miscommunication.)

Good dialogue multitasks, whether it is straightforward or more oblique. It conveys much more than just the words that are said.

There’s nothing wrong with using more literal, on-the-nose dialogue—that can carry meaning also, but different meaning. If this scene were about two characters actually saying all of the subtext that was running beneath the surface of my conversation with my husband, it might suggest something different about their relationship or mood or personality, their current state of mind or situation. Maybe it would show how open and straightforward a couple is. Maybe it would indicate that they are deeply connected. Maybe it would show they are at a breaking point that blows up into unfettered sincerity. Maybe it would lead to a scene about whatever’s going on with each of them that might further the plot or the character arcs.

Good dialogue multitasks, whether it is straightforward or more oblique. It conveys much more than just the words that are said.

Read more: “How to Create Tension with Dialogue and Subtext“

Mining Your Dialogue for What’s Being Communicated

In your own stories, look at your dialogue and see if you can mine out what purpose it’s serving beyond simply the meaning of the words themselves. Why are these people having this conversation at this moment in the first place? How does it move the story forward? What does it reveal about their characters or relationship or current state? What other factors are in play besides just the words: the tone, the phrasing, the word choice, the silences, the expressions, body language, reactions? All of those factors and more contribute to the meaning of the dialogue. Even the most literal of exchanges can be operating on more than one level using some of these tools, and add richness and depth to your story.

Why does your character say what they say? What aren’t they saying? Why not? How do they say what they say? How is that affected by their state of mind, their mood, their thoughts and what they’re feeling, what happened in their day, what’s happening in their lives, their relationship and history with the other person? 

A great way to get practice at this is by starting to pay more attention in your daily exchanges. While real-life conversation is not story conversation, it can offer a lot of insight into how to create effective meaning and layers.

Let’s say your spouse comes home and asks what’s for dinner. Notice your reaction. Do you take this as a simple straightforward question, or does it mean something more to you? What subtext does it imply? What are you actually hearing and responding to?

Is it hitting on a nerve of your always feeling like you do most of the work at home? If that’s the first thing out of their mouth does it make you feel like they see you only as the person who takes care of things at home, rather than asking about your day? Does it feel like a reminder of one more thing on your already long to-do list when you are exhausted and overwhelmed? Does it remind you that you didn’t go to the store? Or that you asked your spouse to shop and they forgot? Does it make you feel like a bad spouse? Does it please you because it’s said with a long appreciative sniff as your spouse comes in the door?

Read more: “The Best Character Tool You May Not Be Using“

Once you start paying attention to everyday communication, you may find that it opens up a whole Narnia world that you were not consciously aware of. Analyzing your real-life conversations this way may feel like crawling up into your own navel or getting lost in the rabbit warren of how much is happening beneath the surface. But it’s narrative gold for your story.

And it may make you a better communicator and improve your relationships: My husband and I have gotten into the healthy habit, when we can, of realizing what’s swirling beneath the surface and candidly sharing that with each other so we avoid unspoken resentment building up.

Don’t use dialogue casually (certainly not in story—and Buddhism suggests not in daily life either), and don’t waste a word. Take time to be as deliberate with dialogue as you would be in writing poetry, and imbue what your characters say with as much meaning as possible for the story.